Thomas-I’m ashamed of you for wanting me to run away and deny him instead of fighting! I am going to find out who killed that woman, and prove it, just as I did for Emily when they thought she murdered George-for which she had far more reason!”
Caroline sighed and kept her patience, which made it worse. “My dear, that was quite different,” she began.
“Oh? Why? Because she is ‘one of us’ and Thomas isn’t?”
Caroline’s face tightened. “If you insist on putting it that way-yes.”
“Well, you’ve been glad enough to have him ‘one of us’ when you needed him!” Charlotte could feel herself close to losing control, and it made her furious, both with herself and with Caroline.
“You must be realistic,” Caroline began again.
“You mean desert him quickly, so people can see I have nothing to do with it?” Charlotte demanded. “How honorable you are, Mama! How brave!”
“Charlotte, I’m only thinking of you!”
“Are you?” Charlotte’s disbelief was strident, because she thought what Caroline said was probably honest. It was what other people would think too, and it terrified her. She did not care if she was being unjust, she wanted to hurt. “Are you sure you aren’t thinking of the neighbors, and what your friends will say about you?” she went on, mimicking their voices savagely. “ ‘You know that nice Mrs. Ellison, well you’ll never believe it, but her daughter married a policeman-isn’t that dreadful-and now he’s gone and committed a murder! I always said no good comes of marrying beneath you.’ ”
“Charlotte! I didn’t say that.”
“But you thought it!”
“You are being quite unfair! And the kettle is boiling. You are filling the kitchen with steam and it’ll boil dry. For goodness’ sake make the tea and have a cup. Perhaps you will be able to think a little more clearly. Loyalty to Thomas is all very well, but it is self-indulgent. This has happened, and you must be practical and think of the children.”
She was quite right at least in that the room was filling with steam. Charlotte made the tea, burning her hand on the kettle and refusing to admit it. She set the teapot on the table and fiddled furiously in the cupboard for biscuits. When she found them she spilled them onto a plate and set it down, then poured the tea and passed it. Finally she sat down, hardly more composed.
“I would be very grateful if you took the children,” she said carefully. “It would protect them from-from the worst, at least-” She stopped. She had been going to say, “for the time being,” and even that thought was a betrayal.
“Of course,” Caroline said quickly. “And as soon as you want to come, too, you know there is always a place for you.”
“I-am-not-coming,” Charlotte said very slowly and deliberately.
“Then go and stay with Emily in the country,” Caroline urged her. “Thomas would understand. He wouldn’t expect you to stay here. What can you do? Make a show of being brave and letting everyone know you believe he is innocent? My dear, it will only get you hurt, and it will make no difference at all in the end. Leave it to the police.”
Charlotte felt the tears running down her face. She fished out a handkerchief and blew her nose, then took a sip of her tea before replying. She could hardly tell her mother that Emily was no more in the country than Pitt was.
“The police are perfectly happy to leave it as it is,” she said coldly. “Thomas has discovered something they would prefer not to know. I have no wish to join Emily. I have written to her, of course. But I am a very good detective myself; I shall discover who killed Robert York, and it will be the same person who killed this woman in pink.”
“My dear, you cannot know what really happened, or why Thomas was in Seven Dials with this-this woman in pink.” Caroline’s face was very pale. “We don’t know really as much about our husbands as we sometimes imagine.”
Out of her own pain Charlotte was deliberately cruel. “You mean, as you didn’t know about Papa?”
Caroline flinched and the words died before they reached her lips.
Charlotte was sorry, but it was too late. “But he didn’t kill those girls, did he!” she said, finishing what she had begun.
“No, and I was grateful to the police for proving it,” Caroline admitted. “But I could not give back the knowledge of what he had done, nor ever stop wondering at how little I had known him, how much I simply thought I did. Don’t press for the truth, Charlotte. You would be much wiser to leave it to the police, and hope they will tell you only what you have to know.”
“If that is the best you can offer, it would be better if we did not discuss it.” Charlotte stood up, leaving the rest of her tea. “I’ll go and pack some things for the children and you can take them with you now. It will be easier than saying long good-byes. Anyway, there’s no point in your going and then having to come back for them. Thank you; I appreciate it,” and without waiting for Caroline to offer any answer she went straight out of the kitchen and upstairs, leaving her mother at the table with the teapot and the biscuits.
After Caroline was gone, taking Daniel and Jemima with her, holding onto their hands as she had with Charlotte and Emily when they were children, Charlotte felt truly ashamed. She had been unjust. She had expected Caroline to understand things that were completely outside her world. But her mother did not have Charlotte’s experience, and it was both unfair and stupid to suppose she could think as Charlotte did. It was not so long ago Pitt had had to be patient with her, excuse her prejudices and assumptions. And what was worse, she had reminded Caroline of pain, disillusionment that still cut deep, tarnishing old memories, which-now that Edward was dead-were all she had. Charlotte had known what she was doing, and done it just the same. When this was all over Charlotte would say something to her; now she was too frightened, too worried to find the words, or to trust herself to deliver them.
She started by being practical. How much money was there, and what had to be done with it? If it came to a choice between food and coal, how should she portion out the resources? The best thing was to check the cellar and see what there was. From now on it would be more potatoes and bread, and less meat. She would have to ask Gracie where the cheapest places were to shop.
Jack came a little before three. It was heavily overcast and the light was already beginning to fade. Gracie let him in and he went straight to the kitchen.
“I saw Emily,” he said immediately. “I told the butler a wonderful lie about her sister being ill and that I knew it through Lady Ashworth, for whom Emily-sorry. For whom Amelia had worked before. They swallowed it all.” He swung his coattails aside elegantly out of habit and sat down at the table. He looked at Charlotte very soberly. “She agreed to stay there; in fact, she insisted. I hope to God she’ll be all right. I’ve racked my brain for some way to protect her, but I can’t think of anything. She’s got a half day off on Saturday, and she said she’ll meet you in Hyde Park on the first seat as you go in nearest Hanover Close, at two in the afternoon, regardless of the weather. Until then, what can I do?”
“I don’t know,” Charlotte admitted. “I went to the prison yesterday, but they wouldn’t let me see Thomas. I only know what I read in the newspapers.”
“I went out and got them all.” He could not keep the anxiety from his face. “They say he asked people all over the city where he could find Cerise. Several street sellers will swear to that. It seems the running patterer who actually took him to Seven Dials only watched Pitt go in; he didn’t go in himself. It was a brothel, of sorts, and the landlord says Pitt asked him to describe the woman very closely and only wanted to see her if she was the right one. The landlord took him up. No one else passed, and when the man went up a few minutes later he found Pitt bending over with his hands around her neck.” He was very pale. “I’m sorry.”
She searched his face, but his gaze did not waver.
“Then there’s no point in going to Seven Dials,” she said as calmly as she could. “Not that I ever thought there would be. The answer is in Hanover Close. I must go and see Veronica York again. Will you take me?”
“Of course. And I’ll take you to Coldbath Fields as well. You shouldn’t go alone.”
“Thank you.” She tried to think of something else to say, and failed.
This time she was allowed into the prison, a great cold place whose massive walls were like misery set in stone, condensation making even the inner corridors feel cold and sour. Everywhere was the smell of human sweat
