“Maddock, you had better cancel dinner, and ask Mrs. Dunphy to prepare something cold for about eight o’clock, if you please.”
He gave her a look of incredulity, and she knew he found her inexplicably cold, as if she did not care. She could not explain to him that she cared abominably, so much that she could not bear to think of it, that doing something practical, concerning herself with the grief of others, was more bearable than thinking of her own. She turned from Maddock to Pitt, and saw again in him the tenderness that had so embarrassed her before, but this time it was like warmth and sweetness enveloping her. She knew he understood what she was doing, and why. She looked away quickly, tears choking her. It was far harder to bear than misunderstanding; there was nothing to fight against.
“Thank you, Inspector Pitt.” She tried to keep the wavering in her voice from obliterating her words. “Perhaps if you would ask whatever questions you have tomorrow? There is little we can tell you tonight, except that Sarah left in the early afternoon to visit Mrs. Prebble, and we presumed to do some parish visiting afterwards. If you ask Mrs. Prebble, no doubt she will be able to tell you. . what time. . ” She found herself unable to finish. Suddenly they were not talking about facts, but about Sarah. She could see her clearly in her mind. She forced the picture out. She wanted him to leave before she lost control. “Tomorrow we shall be better able to answer any other questions.”
“Of course,” he agreed quickly. “It would be better for me to speak to the vicar and Mrs. Prebble now anyway.” He turned to Edward again. He seemed unable to look at Caroline. “I’m-I’m sorry,” he stammered.
Edward rose to the occasion. “Of course,” he said. “I’m sure you have done everything anyone could. Sane men are at a loss in the face of madness. Thank you for coming in person to tell us. Good night, Inspector.”
There was nothing to say in the silence after Pitt left. There were no questions, except the one that could not be answered: why Sarah?
It was a long time before anyone moved, and then it was Edward who went to the kitchen to tell the servants formally. Emily took Caroline upstairs. Supper was a cold plate served in the withdrawing room. All except Caroline forced themselves to eat something. At nine o’clock Edward sent Charlotte and Emily upstairs to bed, and waited alone to tell Dominic whenever he might return.
Charlotte went gratefully. Her control was slipping away from her quickly as the evening dragged on. She was suddenly very tired and the effort of stopping the tears was becoming too much.
In her room she undressed, hung up her clothes, washed her face in hot water, then cold, took her hair down and brushed it, then climbed into bed and at last cried with all her heart until she had no more strength left.
The following morning was bleak and cold. Charlotte woke up and for a few minutes everything was as always, but then memory returned. Sarah was dead. She had to say it over several times. It was a little like the morning after Sarah’s marriage; then, too, a lifelong relationship had gone. Sarah was no longer her sister, but Dominic’s wife. She could look back on all the years of her childhood. It was Sarah who had first showed her how to button her own shoes, Sarah with whom she had played at dolls, Sarah’s clothes she had grown into, Sarah who had taught her to read, Sarah in whom she had confided her first admirations and heartaches. Something had gone from her life when Sarah had married and was no longer especially hers. But that was a natural part of growing up; she had always known it would happen one day. This was different. It was not natural. It was monstrous. And this time there was no envy in it, only wrenching, unbearable loss.
Had Sarah known, had she seen the face of her murderer? Had she felt the choking, heart-tearing fear? Please, God, let it have been quick!
There was no point in lying here thinking. Better to get up, find something practical to do. It would be worse for Mama. There was something terrible beyond understanding to lose a child, a person to whom you have given life from your own body.
Downstairs everyone else was also up and dressed, searching for something to do.
Breakfast was almost silent. Dominic looked white and his eyes did not meet anyone else’s. Charlotte watched him for a little while. Then, afraid that he would notice, she looked down at her toast. The mere mechanics of eating became exaggerated, something to do to occupy one’s mind.
Where had Dominic been last night? Was it fair to wonder if Sarah would not have gone out if he had been at home, or if she had expected him? Or had the hangman wanted her, and, if not yesterday, then some other time?
Was he some lunatic from the fogbound slums driven mad by filth and poverty till all he could think of was to kill? Or was he someone from Cater Street who knew them all, who watched and waited for his chance, who followed, perhaps even spoke to them, walked with them, and then suddenly drew out the wire, and-
She must not think about Sarah. It was past now; whatever pain there had been, whatever terror or knowledge, was finished.
Had she known him?
What did he feel this morning? Was he sitting somewhere at breakfast? Was he hungry? Was he alone in some dirty room, eating bread, or was he sitting at a polished dining room table with a family round him, eating eggs and kidneys and toast? Perhaps talking to others, even children? What would he talk about? Had his family even the faintest idea of what he was, where he had been? Were they afraid as she had been afraid? Had they been through all the same suspicions-the first idea, the self-disgust and guilt for having thought of such things, then the examination of little things remembered from the past, fitting them in with the facts and at last having the phantom of fear take definite shape?
And what was he thinking himself? Or did he not know? Was he sitting somewhere wondering as much as she was, perhaps even thinking the same things, looking at others, his father, his brother, fearing for them?
She looked across at Dominic again. Where had he been last night? Did he know-exactly? Pitt would ask him.
Breakfast was cleared away and everyone sought something to do until the police would arrive and begin the questions which had to come.
Mercifully they did not have long to wait. Pitt and his new sergeant arrived before nine. Pitt looked tired-as if he had been up long into the night-and unusually tidy. Oddly enough, it made him look uncomfortable, prepared for some ordeal.
“Good morning,” he said formally. “I’m sorry, but this is necessary.”
Everyone acknowledged that. It was easier to get it over with. They all sat down except Dominic, who remained standing, and waited for Pitt to begin.
He did not temper his approach. “You were out last night, Mr. Corde?”
“Yes,” Dominic coloured painfully. Watching him, Charlotte felt that he also wondered whether, if he had been at home, Sarah would not have gone out.
“Where?”
“What?” Dominic seemed to be lost.
“Where were you?” Pitt repeated.
“At my club.”
“Again? Was anyone with you?”
The blood drained from Dominic’s face as he realized the possibilities in Pitt’s mind. Even though it was Sarah who was dead, he was not excluded as a suspect.
“Yes. . yes,” he stammered. “Several people. I can’t remember all their names. D-do you need them?”
“I’d better have them, Mr. Corde, before you forget-or they do.”
Dominic opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, and gave up. He reeled off half a dozen names. “I–I think those are correct. I think they were all there last night. I didn’t spend all evening with any one of them, you understand.”
“No doubt we shall be able to piece things together. Why were you at your club last night, Mr. Corde? Was there some particular function?”
Dominic looked surprised, then confused as he understood Pitt’s meaning. Why was he not at home?
“Er-no, nothing special.”
Pitt did not pursue it further. He turned instead to Caroline, decided against it, and spoke to Charlotte.
“Mrs. Corde left in the early afternoon to visit the vicar’s wife?”
“Yes, a little after luncheon.”
