Cater Street Hangman

Ashworth frowned. “How? Jervis didn’t cheat, did he? Even if he did, he wasn’t caught, which is the main thing. After all, everyone cheats. The accusation will look mere spite!”

“Nothing to do with cheating, dear fellow. Man’s married to Jervis’s cousin, of whom he’s very fond-Jervis, I mean.”

“So?”

“Seems she has a lover, which is common enough, and nothing in itself. Gave him five children and he’s bored with her, and she with him. Understandable. All perfectly all right, as long as it’s discreet. Seems she wasn’t. Country weekend, didn’t lock her door. Someone came in, mistaking it for another lady’s room, and found her with some fellow or other. Upshot of it all is that this wretched cheat threatened to divorce her.”

Ashworth shut his eyes.

“Oh my God. She’d be ruined!”

“Of course. Upset poor Jervis no end. Very fond of her, apart from the family name and all that. Makes things dashed difficult for him in society, cousin who’s divorced.”

“And your cheating feller gets away with it scot-free?”

“Quite! Having a deuced good time; he’ll marry again, when it suits him. And she, poor creature, an outcast. Teach you to lock your doors.”

“Didn’t catch her himself?”

“Gracious, no. He was in bed with Dolly Lawton-Smith, oblivious to the world. But that’s irrelevant. Different for a man, of course.”

“What about Dolly? Wouldn’t do her any good.”

“Nor harm either. Everyone knows about everyone else; it’s what is seen that counts, and the vulgarity of being caught. Instead of being a bit of a fellow, makes one look ridiculous. And divorce is of no great importance to a man, but it ruins a woman. After all, it’s one thing to have a little fun oneself, but one is made to look a complete fool if it is seen that one’s wife prefers someone else.”

“And Dolly’s husband?”

“Oh, I believe they have an amicable enough arrangement. He certainly won’t divorce her, if that’s what you’re thinking. Why should he? No one caught him cheating at cards!”

“Poor old Jervis,” Ashworth sighed. “What a perilous life.”

“Talking of peril, what about all the grisly business in Cater Street? Four murders! Man must be mad. Damn glad I don’t live there.” He frowned suddenly. “You go there quite often, don’t you? That pretty little thing I saw you with at Acton’s. Didn’t you say she lived there? Liked her. Woman of spirit. Not blue-blooded, but dashed pretty.”

Dominic opened his mouth to speak, then decided to listen instead. He liked Emily, but regardless of that, there was a certain loyalty.

“Blue blood gets a bit tedious at times,” Ashworth said slowly, disregarding Dominic entirely. “All too strictly brought up, looking for the right marriage. I ought to marry money, I suppose, or at least some expectation of it, but so many rich young women are such utter bores.”

Dominic remembered Emily’s determined little face. Whatever she was, and sometimes she was uncommonly irritating, she was never a bore. In her own way, she was as wilful as Charlotte, if a good deal more devious.

“Well for heaven’s sake, George.” Danley leaned back and signalled to one of the women, holding up his empty glass. “Marry a woman of blood and money, by all means, but keep this other one as a mistress! I would have thought the answer sufficiently obvious.”

Ashworth glanced sideways at Dominic with a grin. “Dashed good suggestion, Charlie, but not in front of her brother-in-law!”

“What?” Danley’s face dropped, then the colour swept up his cheek.

“Don’t care for your sense of humour, George.” He pulled one of the passing girls onto his knee, disregarding her giggle. “Uncivil of you.”

Dominic looked at him. “Miss Ellison is my sister-in-law,” he said with distinct pleasure. “And I cannot see her settling for mistress to anyone, even someone as distinguished as George. However, you may try, by all means!”

Ashworth was grinning broadly. He was a remarkably handsome man. “The fun is in the chase. For more generous entertainment one can always come here. Emily offers something a good deal more-interesting. Involves the brain, and the skill, don’t you see?”

Sarah was always at home when Dominic returned from his nights out. She was no longer cool, nor did she mention the matter of any untoward affection between Charlotte and himself again, but he knew from her manner, and a certain reticence, that she had not forgot it. There was nothing he could do; indeed he did not seriously consider doing anything. But even so, it was unpleasant. It robbed him of a warmth, a happiness that he used to take for granted.

The police were still questioning people. The fear was still there, although the first urgency had gone. Verity Lessing had been buried, and mourners picked up their lives again. Suspicions were presumably still festering under the surface, but the hysteria was decently controlled.

It was October, and rapidly chilling, when Dominic ran into Inspector Pitt quite by chance in a coffeehouse. Dominic was alone. Pitt stopped by his table. Really he was an inelegant creature. No one could possibly have mistaken him for a man of society. There was no concession to fashion in him, and only a passing accommodation to convention.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Corde,” Pitt said cheerfully. “Alone?”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Pitt. Yes, my companion has left.”

“Then may I join you?” Pitt put his hand out onto the back of the chair opposite.

Dominic was taken by surprise. He was not used to entertaining policemen socially, still less in public. The man seemed to have no sense of his position.

“If you wish,” he replied with reluctance.

Pitt smiled broadly and pulled out the chair. He sat comfortably.

“Thank you. Is this coffee fresh?”

“Yes. Please, help yourself. Did you wish to speak to me about something?” Surely the man was not foisting himself on him for purely social reasons? He could not be so insensitive.

“Thank you.” Pitt poured from the pot and drank with delicately flared nostrils. “How are you, and your family?”

Presumably he meant Charlotte. Emily was probably exaggerating, but there was no doubt Pitt did admire Charlotte.

“Well enough, I think, thank you. Naturally the tragedies in Cater Street have not left us untouched. I suppose you are no nearer a solution?”

Pitt pulled a face. He had remarkably mobile, expressive features. “Only insofar as we have eliminated more possibilities. I suppose that is some kind of progress?”

“Not much.” Dominic was not in a mood to spare his feelings. “Have you given up? I observe you haven’t been to bother us any more.”

“I haven’t thought of anything else to ask you,” Pitt said reasonably.

“I had not noticed that’s preventing you in the past.” Damn the man. If he could not solve the crime he should call in assistance from his superiors. “Why don’t you hand over the case to someone higher up, or get help?”

Pitt met his eyes. Dominic was made a little uncomfortable, a little self-conscious by the sheer intelligence in them.

“I have, Mr. Corde. Everyone at Scotland Yard is bending their minds to it, I assure you. But there are other crimes, you know? Robberies, forgeries, embezzlement, corruption, burglaries, and even other murders.”

Dominic was stung. Could the man possibly be patronizing him?

“Of course there are! I hadn’t imagined ours was the only crime in London. But surely you consider ours to be the most serious?”

Pitt’s smile vanished. “Of course. Mass murder is the most dreadful crime of all-the more so since it will almost certainly be repeated. What do you suggest we do?”

Dominic was taken aback by the sheer brazenness of it.