speculation about all our acquaintances, and we may do them grave injustice. We will only end by frightening ourselves even more than is already unavoidable.”
“That is easy to say.” Caroline looked at her brandy glass. “But it will be very hard to do. From now on I believe I shall find myself thinking about people in a different way, wondering how much I really know about them, and if they are thinking the same of me, or at least of my family.”
Sarah stared at her, eyebrows arched. “You mean they might suspect Papa?”
“Why not? Or Dominic? They do not know them as we do.”
Charlotte remembered when it had crossed her mind, hers and Mama’s, for a black, shaming hour, and they themselves had considered the possibility of Papa’s involvement. She did not look at her mother. If she could forget it, so much the better.
“What I am afraid of,” she said honestly, “is that one day I might meet someone, and my suspicions show, as they might concerning anyone-but that
“Charlotte!” Edward stood up and banged his fist on the piecrust table, knocking it over. “Stop it! You are very foolishly frightening everyone, and quite unnecessarily. None of you is going to be alone with this man, or any other.”
“We don’t know who he is,” Charlotte was not put off. “He could be someone we had considered a friend, as safe as one of us! It could be the vicar, or the butcher’s boy, or Mr. Abernathy-”
“Don’t be ridiculous! It will be someone with whom we have the barest acquaintance, if indeed any at all. We may not be excellent judges of character, but at least we are not capable of so gross a mistake as that.”
“Aren’t we?” Charlotte was looking at a blank space on the wall. “I’ve been wondering how much of a person is on the surface, how much we really know about anyone at all. We don’t really know very much about each other, never mind those with whom we have only an acquaintanceship.”
Dominic was still staring at her, surprise in his face. “I thought we knew each other very well?”
“Did you?” She looked back at him, meeting the dark, bright eyes, for once seeking only meaning, without her heart leaping. “Do you still?”
“Perhaps not.” He looked away and walked to the brandy decanter to pour himself some more. “Anyone else wish for another glass?”
Edward stood up. “I think we had better all have an early night; after sleep we may have composed ourselves and be able to face the problems a little more-practically. I shall think about it, and let you know in the morning what I have decided is best for us to do until this creature is caught.”
The following day there were the usual grim offices to perform. A police constable called, in the early morning, to inform them officially of the murder, and to ask them if they had any information. Charlotte wondered if Pitt would come, and was curiously both relieved and disappointed when he did not.
Lunch was a more or less silent affair of cold meat and vegetables. In the afternoon all four of them went to pay their respects to the Lessings, and offered to give any assistance they could-although, of course, there was nothing that would do anything to dissipate the shock or ease the pain. Nevertheless, it was a visit which must be paid, a courtesy that would cause hurt if not observed.
They all wore dark colours. Mama wore black itself. Charlotte regarded herself in the mirror with distaste before leaving. She had a dark green dress with black trim, and a black hat. It was not flattering, especially in the autumn sun.
They walked, since it was only a short distance. The Lessing house had all the blinds drawn and there was a constable outside in the street. He looked solid and unhappy. It crossed Charlotte’s mind that perhaps he was used to death, even to violence, but not to the grief of those who had loved the dead. It was embarrassing to be obliged to watch grief one cannot help. She wondered if Pitt felt it, the helplessness, or if he were too busy trying to fit the pieces together: who was where; loves; hates; reasons. She suddenly realized how deeply she would dislike the task, how the responsibility would frighten her. All the neighbourhood looked to him to rescue them from their alarms, to find this creature, to prove it was not someone they loved, each of them with his separate loves, secret suspicions and desperate, unspoken fears. Did they look for miracles from him? He could not alter truth. Perhaps he could not even find it!
They were met at the door by the maid, red-eyed and nervous. Mrs. Lessing was in the front parlour, darkened in respect for the dead, gas lamps hissing on the wall. Mrs. Lessing was dressed in black, her face bleached pale, her hair a little untidy, as if she had not taken it down last night but merely pulled it back with a comb this morning and rearranged a few pins.
Caroline went straight over to her and put her arms round her, kissing her on the cheek. Verity had been an only child.
“My dear, I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “Can we help with anything? Would you like one of us to stay with you for a little while, to help with things?”
Mrs. Lessing struggled to speak, her eyes widening with surprise, then hope. Then she burst into tears and hid her face on Caroline’s shoulder.
Caroline put both her arms round her tighter and held her, touching her hair, arranging the stray wisps gently, as if it mattered.
Charlotte felt a painful welling up of pity. She remembered the last time she had seen Verity. She had been brusque with her, and had meant to apologize for it. Now there would be no chance.
“I’d like to stay, Mrs. Lessing,” she said clearly. “I was very fond of Verity. Please let me help. There will be a lot to do. You shouldn’t do it alone. And I know Mr. Lessing still has-duties-that cannot be left.”
It was several minutes before Mrs. Lessing gained control of herself. She turned to Charlotte, still struggling to master her tears, but unashamed of her grief.
“Thank you, Charlotte. Please-please do!”
There was little for the rest of them to say. Charlotte remained behind, not wishing to leave Mrs. Lessing alone, and it was arranged that Maddock would bring a box of clothes and toiletries for her within the next hour or two.
It was a very hard day. Since Mr. Lessing was sexton to the church, he had duties to perform which kept him from home the great part of it, and so Charlotte stayed with Mrs. Lessing to receive other callers who came to express their condolences. There was little to say, only a repetition of the same words of shock and sympathy, the same expressions of how well they had liked Verity, and the same fears of what horror might come next.
Naturally the vicar called. It was something Charlotte had dreaded but knew was inevitable. Apparently he had been the previous evening, when the news was first heard, but he came again in the late afternoon, bringing Martha with him. The maid let them in, and Charlotte received them in the parlour, Mrs. Lessing had at last agreed to rest on her bed, and had fallen into a light sleep.
“Ah, Miss Ellison.” The vicar looked at her with some surprise. “Are you also calling upon poor Mrs. Lessing? How good of you. Well, you may safely leave now; we will guide and comfort her in this terrible hour. The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.”
“No, I am not calling upon Mrs. Lessing,” Charlotte replied a little sharply. “I am staying here to help her as I can. There is a great deal to be done-”
“I am sure we can do that.” The vicar was clearly annoyed, possibly by her tone. “I am somewhat more used to these types of arrangements than you are, at your tender years. It is my calling in life to comfort the afflicted, and to mourn with those who mourn.”
“I doubt you have time to govern a house, Vicar.” Charlotte stood her ground. “As you say, you will be busy with funeral arrangements. And since it is your calling to comfort the afflicted, you will have other claims upon your time. I dare say poor Mrs. Abernathy is still in need.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Martha’s white face pale even more till her eyes seemed like depressions in her skull and the fair hair of her eyebrows appeared quite dark in contrast. The poor woman looked ready to faint, in spite of her broad shoulders and solid body. “Please sit down.” Charlotte half pushed a chair towards her. “You must be terribly tired. Have you been up all night?”
Martha nodded and sank into the chair.
“It’s very good of you,” she said a little shakily. “So many practical details to see to, so much cooking, letters to write, black to be prepared, and the house still has to be organized, maids given instructions. Is Mrs. Lessing
