A woman in hot pink buttonholed Vanderley and led him away. He glanced over his shoulder at them once, reluctantly, but his habitual good manners overcame his desire to avoid the new involvement, and he went gracefully.
'I hope you are satisfied now?' Dominic said waspishly. 'Because if you are not, you are going to leave here unhappy. I refuse to stay any longer!'
She thought of arguing, as a matter of principle. But in truth, she was just as pleased to retreat as he was.
'Yes, thank you, Dominic,' she said demurely. 'You have been very patient.'
He gave her a suspicious look, but decided not to question what seemed to be a compliment, and to accept his good fortune. They walked out into the autumn evening, each with a considerable sense of relief, for their separate reasons, and took the carriage home again. Charlotte had a profound desire to change out of this extraordinary gown before any necessity
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arose to explain it to Pitt-a feat that would be virtually impossible!
And Dominic had little wish for such a confrontation either, much as his regard had developed for Pitt-or perhaps because of it. He was beginning to grow suspicious that Pitt had not countenanced a meeting with Vanderley at all!
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Several days passed in fruitless search for any further evidence. Landladies and landlords were questioned, but there were too many to make anything but a cursory attempt, in the hope that for a little reward someone would come forward. 'Three did. The first was a brothelkeeper from Whitechapel, rubbing his hands, eyes gleaming in anticipation of a little future leniency from the police in recompense for his assistance. Gillivray's delight was short-lived when the man proved unable to describe either Jerome or Arthur Wayboume with any accuracy. Pitt had never expected that he would, and was therefore left with a sense of superiority to soothe his irritation.
The second was a nervous little woman who let rooms in Seven Dials. Very respectable, she insisted-only let to gentlemen of the best moral character! She feared her good nature and innocence of the viler aspects of human nature had suffered her to be deceived in a most tragic manner. She moved her muff from one hand to the other, and beseeched Pitt to be assured of her total ignorance of the true purpose for which her house had been used; and was it not simply quite dreadful what the world was coming to these days?
Pitt agreed with her that it was, but probably no worse than always. She roundly disagreed with him on that-it had never been like that in her mother's day, or that good woman, may her soul rest in peace, would have warned her not to let rooms to strangers.
However, she not only identified Jerome from a photograph shown her, but also three other people who were photographed
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for the purpose of just such identity quests-all of them policemen. By the time she got to the picture of Arthur-obtained from Waybourne-she was so confused she was quite sure the whole of London was seething with all manner of sin, and would be consumed like Sodom and Gomorrah before Christmas.
'Why do people do it?' Gillivray demanded furiously. 'It's a waste of police time-don't they realize that? It ought to be punished!'
'Don't be ridiculous.' Pitt lost his patience. 'She's lonely and frightened-'
'Then she shouldn't let rooms to people she doesn't know!' Gillivray retorted waspishly.
'It's probably her only living.' Pitt was getting genuinely angry now. It would do Gillivray good to walk the beat for a while, somewhere like Bluegate Fields, Seven Dials, or the Devil's Acre. Let him see the beggars piled in the doorways and smell the bodies and the stale streets. Let him taste the dirt in the air, the grime from chimneys, the perpetual damp. Let him hear the rats squealing as they nosed in the refuse, and see the flat eyes of children who knew they would live and die there, probably die before they were as old as Gillivray was now.
A woman who owned a little property had safety, a roof over her head, and, if she let out rooms, food and clothing as well. By Seven Dials
