The Hyde Park Headsman - Anne Griffin Perry [85]
“I must have spilled a little,” she said airily. “I discussed it with her at the memorial service for Oakley Winthrop. I went to see her today—Will you please listen, Thomas. This is important.”
“I am listening. Can you put the kettle on at the same time? It’s hours since I had a cup of tea.”
“It is on. I’m about to make tea. Are you hungry too?”
“No, I think I’m too tired to eat.”
She ran a bowl of water, putting something into it he did not see, and put it down on the floor in front of him. “Feet,” she said absently.
“I’m not walking a beat,” he answered with a smile. “Have you forgotten, I’m a superintendent now?” He bent forward and unlaced his boots, slipping his feet out with intense pleasure.
“Don’t superintendents’ feet get hot in boots?”
He smiled and put his feet gingerly into the cold water. “What’s in it?”
“Epsom salts, same as always. Mrs. Winthrop has been beaten. And Oakley Winthrop may have been a sadist who liked to beat women anyway. I mean prostitutes—that sort of thing.”
“What?” He looked up at her sharply. “How do you know? Did she tell you that?”
“No, of course not. She spilled hot water on her wrist, and I undid her cuffs to see it. She is purple and green with bruises.”
“An accident …”
“No it wasn’t. There were finger marks. And I’m almost sure her neck was bruised as well, and who knows what else on the rest of her body. That’s why she wears long cuffs and high necks: to hide the bruises.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes I do! And what is more, I am almost sure Bart Mitchell knows it too.”
“How?”
“Because I spoke to her, and I watched her. She was bitterly ashamed, and embarrassed, and she didn’t tell me how it happened. She would have, if it had been all right. Her husband did it, Thomas. The good Captain the Honorable Oakley Winthrop beat his wife.”
“What makes you so sure Mitchell knows about it?”
“Because he saw the bruises as well, and said nothing, of course. If he’d not known he’d have been horrified and asked her what had happened!”
“Maybe he beat her?”
“Why would he? And anyway, she’s afraid for him, Thomas, I’m sure of that. She is terrified he was the one who killed Winthrop.”
“You mean you are not sure of it,” he corrected. “People always say they are sure when what they mean is they think so, but they are not sure. Your kettle is boiling.”
“It won’t come to any harm.” She waved a hand at it. “Thomas, Mina is afraid Bart killed Oakley Winthrop because of the way he treated her.”
“I see,” he said thoughtfully. “And how did you come upon the information about the man who beats prostitutes in the park? Mina Winthrop didn’t tell you that, did she?”
“No of course not.”
“I am waiting.”
She took a deep breath. “Thomas, please don’t be angry—she did it because she is afraid for you. If you don’t forgive her, and say nothing whatever, I shall not forgive you.”
“Forgive me for what?” His eyebrows rose.
“For not forgiving her, of course!”
“Who? Is it Emily?”
“Perhaps I had better not say.” She had not even thought of blaming Emily, but it was an excellent idea. Emily was not Thomas’s responsibility.
“However, she knew about it?” he said very carefully. “At least give me the truth of that.”
“She went into the park at night, and one of the prostitutes told her. I mean, she got into a conversation—naturally …”
“Naturally,” he agreed dryly. “Does Jack know about this? I doubt it will improve his parliamentary chances.”
“Oh no. And you mustn’t tell him!”
“I would not think of it.”
“You promise?”
“I do.” He smiled, although the amusement was very double edged.
“Thank you.” She turned around and made the tea, giving it a moment to brew, then poured him a steaming mugful and brought it back to him. She watched him carefully as he took his feet out of the water and she gave him the warm towel.
“Thank you,” he said after several moments.
“For the tea,” she said gravely, “or the towel?”
“For the information. Poor Mina.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Have my tea and go to bed. I can’t think any more tonight.”
“I’m sorry. I should have waited.”
He reached up and