“I mean have you had this place for many years?” Pitt asked the flower seller.
“Oh. Yeah, ’bout fourteen.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Then it was you who saw Aaron Godman after the Farriers’ Lane murder?”
Somewhere over the far side of the square a horse squealed and a coachman swore.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but what’s that ter you?” she asked, squinting narrowly at him.
“Did you already know Mr. Godman?”
“I seen ’is picsher.”
“What was he wearing that night, do you remember?”
“Coat, o’ course, that time o’ night. What else would ’e be wearin’?”
“Top hat? White silk scarf?”
“Go on wi’ yer! ’e were an actor, not a toff—poor devil.”
“You sound sorry for him.”
“Wot if I were? That bastard Blaine did ’is sister up proper, poor bitch. ’Anged the poor soul anyway.”
“Was he wearing a white scarf?”
“I already told yer, ’e were dressed for workin’!”
“No scarf. Are you sure?”
“Yeah! ’Ow many times do I ’ave ter tell yer? No scarf!”
“Have you seen Constable Paterson lately?”
“An’ if I ’ave?”
Pitt reached into his pocket and produced a sixpence. “I’ll have some more flowers.”
Wordlessly she took the sixpence and handed him four bunches. He had to put them half in his left-hand pocket to hold them all. A couple of gentlemen in evening dress passed him, top hats gleaming, and looked at him with amusement.
“Have you seen Paterson in the last few days?” he said again.
“Yeah. ’e came ’ere day afore yesterday,” she replied. “Asked me all the same questions again, ’e did. An’ I answered ’em the same. Then the clock struck.” She jerked her head backwards towards the building behind her. “An’ ’e asked me about that.”
“What about it? Wasn’t that the clock that told you he was here at a quarter to one?”
“That’s what Mr. Paterson said to me. ’e were positive it were. Couldn’t shake ’im. In the end I could see as it must ’ave bin. But first off I said as it were quarter past midnight, as that’s wot I thought it were! Yer see …” She squinted at him, making sure he was giving her his full attention. “Yer see, it’s a funny kind o’ clock, that. It don’t ring once fer the quarter past, twice fer the ’alf, an’ then three times for the quarter to, like most, but only once at the quarter to as well. ’e said it must ’a bin quarter past, cos of ’ow much I’d sold. But I first thought it were quarter to one, cos w’en that clock’s bin cleaned, like it ’as now, it rings funny. Makes a kind o’ whirring sound on the quarter to. Didn’t do it that night.” She opened her eyes very wide and suddenly frightened. “That means it were a quarter past midnight, don’t it?”
“Yes …” Pitt said very slowly, a strange almost choking feeling welling up inside him, excitement, horror and amazement at once. “Yes, it does mean that, if you are sure. Quite sure? Did you see him take the hansom?”
“Yeah—from that corner there.” She pointed.
“You sure?”
“ ’Course I’m sure! I told Mr. Paterson that an’ ’e looked sick. I thought ’e were goin’ ter pass right out in front o’ me. Poor bastard looked fit to drop dead ’isself.”
“Yes.” Pitt took out the rest of the change from his pocket and offered it to her, about two shillings and nine- pence halfpenny.
She stared at it incredulously, then put out her hand and grabbed it, pushing it deep into her pocket, holding her hand there.
“Yes, he would,” Pitt said quietly. “If Aaron Godman bought flowers from you at quarter past midnight, and took a hansom cab straight home to Pimlico, then he could not have been the one who murdered Kingsley Blaine in Farriers’ Lane at half past.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head fractionally. “Come ter that, I don’t suppose ’e could, poor little swine! Still, ’e’s ’anged now—can’t bring ’im back. God rest ’im.”
10
P
Charlotte met him at the kitchen door, her face startled and her hair loose around her shoulders. She had obviously been asleep in the rocking chair waiting for him.
“Thomas? Oh, you’re wet through! What on earth have you been doing? Come in! Come—” Then she saw his
