Chapter Twelve
Charlotte went back to her letters since Pitt would not question Dora in her presence. She did not know whether he intended to speak to her again before leaving, or whether he would tell her what Dora had told him if it were of any value. For the first fifteen minutes she could only think of what might be said in the kitchen-whether Pitt would ask about anything other than the Hiltons’ maid, or whether, even by accident, he might stumble on the knowledge of Papa and the woman in Cater Street.
When she finally settled to writing, the letters were scrappy, and she feared full of repetition and irrelevancies but, even so, better than letting her mind dwell on the kitchen.
By four o’clock it was darkening outside with fog swirling up from the river and already hanging in haze ’round the gas lamps in the street.
Mama and Emily returned a few minutes later, cold and dissatisfied with the dress. They requested tea immediately and asked if Sarah were home yet.
“No.” Charlotte replied with a slight frown. “Inspector Pitt was here earlier. I’m not even sure if he has gone now.”
Mama looked up agitatedly.
“Why was he here?” she asked with an edge to her voice. Was she harbouring the same fear as Charlotte: that somehow he would find out about Papa and the woman? Charlotte did not wish to ask, in case her mother had not even thought of it.
“Something to do with Dora knowing the Hiltons’ maid, and not having said so before,” she replied.
“Why should Dora lie?” Emily enquired, putting down her cup, still untouched, too hot to drink. “There could be nothing wrong in it if she had.”
“Fear, I suppose,” Charlotte answered her. “Scandal, and all that. Didn’t want to be mixed up with the police. Easier just to deny it.”
“Perhaps she didn’t know her, and Pitt is wrong?” Emily suggested. “It hardly matters anyway. You know it’s quite dark outside. Surely Sarah can’t still be trailing around with Martha Prebble on parish work at this hour?”
Caroline stood up and went to the window. There was nothing to see but opaque fog and darkness.
“If she is I shall speak to her very sharply when she returns. Unless someone has been taken ill, there is no need whatsoever to be out as late as this, and on such a wretched night. We shall have to send Maddock to bring her back. She cannot possibly travel alone in this.”
“I dare say the vicar will accompany her,” Emily observed calmly. “I don’t care for him, any more than Charlotte does,” she looked sideways at her sister, “but he is not so completely without manners or breeding as to let Sarah walk home alone after dark.”
“No, of course not,” Caroline came away from the window and sat down, making a determined effort to control herself. “I am just being foolish. I don’t know why I should be afraid. We know where she is, and no doubt she is doing excellent work. Neither death nor birth, unfortunately, restricts itself to convenient weather or times of the day. And illness certainly doesn’t. I heard old Mrs. Petheridge was very unwell. Perhaps Sarah is sitting with her?”
“Yes, possibly,” Charlotte agreed quickly. She tried to think of some other topic of conversation sufficiently interesting to hold their attention. “Do you think Sir Nigel will marry Miss Decker? She has certainly tried hard enough.”
“Probably,” Emily said drily. “He is a very silly creature.”
They managed to keep the conversation alive for another hour, interspersed with small jobs till Edward returned a few moments after five.
“Where’s Sarah?” he asked immediately.
“With the vicar and Mrs. Prebble,” Caroline replied, glancing instinctively towards the window.
“At this hour?” Edward raised his eyebrows. “Has there been some emergency? They can hardly be doing ordinary parish work in the dark. Have you any idea what kind of an evening it is?”
“Of course I have!” Caroline said sharply. “I have been out in it myself, and I have eyes to look at it even from here.”
“Yes, my dear, I’m sorry,” Edward said gently. “It was a foolish question. I am a little concerned about Sarah. She is putting far too much time into this work. I am all for charity, but it is requiring too much of her at the moment. She will wear herself out, and on a night like this she could very well catch a chill.”
He had said nothing about the hangman, only about a chill from the fog, and Charlotte felt a sudden rush of warmth towards him for it. Perhaps the woman was an indiscretion he regretted and had been unable to cast off. She stood up and kissed him quickly on the cheek and he was too surprised to respond. She turned at the door and caught his eye. Could it even be gratitude she saw there? She was going to the kitchen to find out what Dora had told Pitt.
“I’m going to see if dinner is progressing satisfactorily,” she announced. “I don’t imagine Dora is upset, but I had as well make sure.”
“Why would Dora be upset?” she heard Edward ask as she closed the door.
It appeared the questioning of Dora had elicited very little other than the details of her friendship with the Hiltons’ maid, and she returned to the withdrawing room perfectly satisfied.
It was twenty minutes to six when the door from the hall opened and Pitt stood gray-faced on the threshold. Maddock was nowhere to be seen.
Edward turned and then, when he saw who it was, half rose. He was about to require some explanation for Pitt’s coming unannounced when he saw the man’s face more closely. It was always a mirror of his feelings, and now it showed shock and distress beyond anything they had seen before. His eyes flickered just once to Charlotte, and then back to Edward again.
“For God’s sake, man, what is it?” Edward stood up. “Are you ill?” He must be, to look so dreadful.
Pitt struggled forwards, and seemed unable to find them.
Charlotte felt a bitter coldness inside her. “Sarah,” she said quietly. “It’s Sarah, isn’t it?”
Pitt nodded. He shut his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
Edward did not seem to understand. “What about Sarah? What’s wrong with her? Has there been an accident?” He teetered a little on his feet.
Charlotte stood up and went to him, putting her arm in his and holding on to him hard. She faced Pitt, her heart choking in her throat, pins and needles already numbing her fingers and creeping up her arms. She knew before she spoke what the answer must be.
“The hangman?” she asked. She did not want to know if Sarah too had been molested. It was unbearable.
“Yes,” his face was wracked with misery and guilt.
“It can’t be!” Edward said, shaking his head a little, uncomprehending, unable to believe. “Why Sarah? Why should anyone want to hurt Sarah?” His voice wavered and he struggled to continue. “She was so. . ” He stopped, tears running down his face.
Behind them Emily moved to sit with Caroline, putting her arms round her, clinging, hiding her face. Caroline wept deeply and agonizingly, shaking with her grief.
“I don’t know,” Pitt answered. “God, I don’t know.”
“Is there anything to do?” Charlotte asked huskily. The pins and needles were up to her elbows, and Pitt’s face seemed to swim far away.
“No,” he shook his head.
“Where’s Maddock?”
“I’m afraid he-wasn’t well. He took it very hard. I sent him to fetch some brandy and smelling salts, in case-” he trailed off, not knowing what else to say.
Charlotte gripped her father even harder. “Papa, you had better sit down. There isn’t anything to do. There will be things, tomorrow, but tonight it’s all finished.”
Edward backed obediently towards his chair and his legs seemed to buckle underneath him.
A moment later Maddock came in with a tray, the brandy decanter and glasses. He looked at the ground without speaking. Emily and Caroline did not see him, and he put the smelling salts on the table awkwardly. He was leaving again when Charlotte spoke.
