The Hyde Park Headsman (47 page)

“How are you?” she said quietly. “I haven’t even had time to ask you how everything went with the move. Is the new house comfortable? I know it’s beautiful.” She gave Charlotte’s deep green gown an admiring glance. It had the new accented shoulders with a very fine sweep of feathers and was highly becoming. “Have you got everything sorted out and in its right
place yet?” And before Charlotte could answer, her expression changed. “What about the Headsman? Is it true Thomas arrested someone and then had to let him go again? Or is that nonsense?”

“No, it’s true,” Charlotte replied, equally softly, moving a little to keep her back to a group of excited celebrants near her. “After the butler’s murder he arrested Carvell, but one of his men found that Carvell could account for where he was when the omnibus conductor was killed, so he had to let him go.”

Emily looked surprised. “What made him think it was Carvell? I mean, enough to arrest him this time? That butler was a swine.” She said the word with uncharacteristic viciousness. “He could have had any number of enemies. If I had had to have anything to do with him I should have been sorely tempted myself.”

“Don’t exaggerate,” Charlotte said dismissively. “He was rather bossy, and had a sneer built into his face.”

“He dismissed that girl for singing,” Emily protested with genuine anger. “That was brutal. He used his authority to humiliate other people, which is inexcusable. He was a bully. I wouldn’t have wished beheading on him, but since it has happened, I cannot say I grieve for him in the slightest.”

Pitt had joined them, carrying a plate of pastries and savories for Charlotte. He had obviously overheard the last remark. His face lit with a dry amusement.

“You are one person I had not suspected,” he said quietly. Then his expression changed to one of seriousness. “Congratulations, Emily. I am delighted for you both. I hope it is the beginning of a fine career.”

A burst of laughter drifted across the room, and someone called out with a loud cheer.

“Oh it will be,” Emily said with not so much conviction as determination. “Whom do you suspect?” she went on without hesitating. “Do you suppose the omnibus conductor could have nothing to do with it after all?”

“And someone else killed him?” Pitt raised his eyebrows. “Why?”

Emily shrugged her slender shoulders. “I don’t know.”

Charlotte took the plate from Pitt. “Perhaps he was an offensive little swine, like the one who put me off the omnibus the other day,” she said with sudden venom. “If someone had taken his head off I should not have grieved overmuch.”

Emily looked at her curiously, her expression one of complete bewilderment. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh!” Charlotte pulled a face, hesitated whether to tell Emily or not, and realized the only way to deal with it was lightly. “The miserable little …” She could not think of a word sufficiently damning. The rage still boiled inside her, her memory scalding hot for its sheer humiliation.

Emily was waiting, even Pitt was looking at her with a sudden interest in his eyes, as if the story had taken on a new importance.

“Slug,” Charlotte said with tight lips. “He wouldn’t let me onto the omnibus because I had a bundle of cushions tied up in a sheet. He thought it was laundry!”

Emily burst into giggles. “I’m so sorry,” she apologized happily. “But I really …” The rest was lost as she chortled with delight, picturing it in her mind.

Charlotte could not let it go. “He was so self-important,” she said, still filled with indignation. “I would have given a great deal to have been able to squash him in some way or other.” She shook herself. “He was so beastly to the man who stood up and came to the back to try to assist me. Can you imagine that?” She glanced at Pitt, and saw from his face that he was lost in thought. “You aren’t listening, are you! You think it was ridiculous of me!”

A footman with a tray offered them savories and they each took one.

“No,” Pitt said slowly. “I think it is probably the sort of reaction most people would have. And you did what most people do….”

“I didn’t do anything,” she protested. “I wish now I had, but I couldn’t think of anything.”

“Exactly.” He agreed. “You came home fuming, but you did nothing.”

Emily was regarding him curiously.

“The omnibus conductor …” Charlotte said slowly, comprehension beginning to dawn. “Oh no—that’s absurd! Nobody chops—” She stopped.

A large lady brushed past them, her sleeves barely missing the pastries. Someone else laughed exuberantly.

“Maybe not.” Pitt frowned. “No, perhaps it is a foolish idea. I’m reaching after anything. There must be a better reason, something personal.” He turned to Emily. “But this is your celebration. Let’s talk about you and your victory. When does
Jack take his seat? What is his maiden speech to be about, has he decided? I hope it is not for some time, if it is still about the police!”

Emily pulled a face, but she laughed, and the conversation moved to politics, the future, and Jack’s beliefs and hopes.

It was over an hour later when Charlotte was alone with Pitt for a few moments that she broached the subject of the Headsman again. In spite of her very real pleasure for Jack and Emily, she was beginning to realize just how serious the situation was for Pitt, and his new and now gravely threatened promotion.

“What are you going to do now?” she asked quietly, so the thin woman with the checked skirt and the enthusiastic voice a yard away could not hear her. Then as Pitt looked blank, she continued. “If it can’t be Carvell, who can it be?”

“I don’t know. Possibly Bart Mitchell. He certainly had every reason to kill Winthrop, and possibly Arledge, if he misunderstood his attention to Mina. But I can’t think of any reason for the bus conductor or Scarborough, unless they knew something…. He must be a very violent man. His experiences in Africa, easy life and death …” He trailed off, leaving the idea unfinished.

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” She screwed up her face.

“It doesn’t seem very satisfactory,” he replied. He nodded to an acquaintance and continued talking. “Actually we haven’t found out his past movements, or the exact date of his return from Africa. Possibly he did not know of Winthrop’s nature until very recently. Obviously Mina is desperately ashamed and does all she can to conceal it. She seems to feel it is somehow her fault.” He frowned, his voice dropping and taking on a hard, angry edge. “I’ve seen women who have been beaten before. They all seem to take the blame on themselves. I can remember years ago, when I was a constable, being called in to fights, finding women bleeding and half dead, and still convinced it was their own fault and not the man’s. They’ve lost all hope, all worth or belief, even every shred of dignity. Usually it was drink … whiskey more often than not.”

She stared at him, visions of an unguessed and terrible world yawning open in front of her. She remembered Mina’s overwhelming shame, her diffidence, and how she had blossomed since Winthrop’s death. It seemed so obvious now, the
only thing remarkable was why it had taken so long to reach its tragic climax.

“But it doesn’t really explain why he killed Arledge,” Pitt went on more thoughtfully. “Unless Mina knew he had killed Winthrop and somehow or other betrayed the fact to Arledge—unwittingly, of course.”

“That would make sense,” Charlotte said quickly. “Yes, that sounds as if it could have been. But then why the omnibus conductor and the butler? Or did the butler try his hand at blackmail of Carvell, thinking he killed Arledge, and so Carvell killed him to keep him quiet because he couldn’t prove his innocence?”

Pitt smiled. “A trifle farfetched,” he said ruefully. “But I’ve left poor Bailey looking into Carvell’s story about being at the concert. I want better proof than we have, something absolutely irrefutable.”

“Do you doubt it?”

“I don’t know.” He looked tired and confused. “Part of me does. My brain, I suppose.”

A group of excited people next to them raised their glasses in a toast. A woman in peach-colored lace was so exuberant her voice was becoming shrill.

“But not your heart?” Charlotte asked quietly, looking at Pitt.

He smiled. “It’s a trifle absurd to think with your heart. I should prefer instinct—which is probably just a collection of memories below the surface of recollection which form judgments for which we cannot readily produce a reason.”

“Very logical,” she agreed. “But it comes to the same thing. You don’t believe he did it, but you can’t be sure. Emily says that the butler, Scarborough, was an absolute pig. He dismissed that poor maid just because she was singing. The girl was beside herself. And what is so inexcusable is that he would know what losing a position would cost her. She may not be able to get another without a good character. She could starve!” Her voice was getting higher and higher with the distress of it, and her sense of outrage.

Pitt put his hand on her arm. “Didn’t you say Emily was going to offer her a position as housemaid or something?”

“Yes, but that isn’t the point.” She was too outraged to be calm. “Scarborough couldn’t know that. And if Emily hadn’t happened to be there, then she wouldn’t have. The man was still a total pig.”

Pitt frowned, his face creased with thought. “He did it in public?”

She was obliged to move aside for a group of people laughing and talking.

“No—well, more or less,” she answered. “The corner of the room, over by that chair where Victor Garrick was sitting with his cello, waiting to play.”

“Oh. Yes, you are right,” he agreed. “The man was vicious and arbitrary. It doesn’t sound as if blackmail would be beyond him—”

They were interrupted by Emily in a swirl of apple-green silk embroidered with seed pearls.

“Mama still hasn’t come,” she said anxiously. “Do you suppose she is not going to? Really, it is too bad of her. She seems to think of no one but herself these days. I was so sure she would at least come to this, since Jack won.” She waved her hand to decline any more champagne, and the footman moved on.

“There’s time yet,” Pitt said, but with a twisted smile, and no belief in his voice.

Emily gave him a long look but said nothing.

Pitt excused himself and went to talk to Landon Hurlwood, who had been a supporter of Jack’s cause and had come to add his presence to the celebrations. He looked comfortable and relaxed, moving from group to group of people, full of vitality and optimism for the future. Under the chandeliers, the light gleamed on the pewter sheen of his hair.

“He’s been such a help to us,” Emily said, watching him greet Pitt with obvious pleasure. “A nice man. That is the happiest I have seen him look since his wife died, poor creature. She was ill for a long time, you know. Actually I never believed she was as ill as she must have been. She was one of those who made such a cause of it, it seemed she never spoke of anything else. Now it appears I wronged her, because she died of consumption, and I feel fearfully guilty.”

“So you should,” Charlotte agreed.

Emily glanced at her sharply. “You were not supposed to agree with me! Dead or not, she was still a most trying woman.”

“I expect he was fond of her, and she may not have been so tedious before she was ill,” Charlotte pointed out.

“You are being contrary,” Emily criticized, then suddenly became serious again. “Are you worried about Thomas? Surely
they cannot expect him to solve every crime. There are bound to be some that are beyond anyone.”

“Of course.” Charlotte became serious also. “But they don’t see it like that. And I haven’t been of any use this time.” Her face tightened. “I don’t even know where to begin to look. I have been trying to think who it could be, if it is not Mr. Carvell.”

“So have I,” Emily agreed, lowering her voice. “More especially, I have been trying to imagine why. Just to say it is madness is not in the least helpful.”

Further discussion or conversation was prevented by a disturbance at the entrance to the room as people parted to allow the passage of an elderly person in black, leaning heavily on a stick.

“Grandmama!” Emily said in amazement. She looked immediately beyond her, expecting to see Caroline, but there was no one except a footman in livery holding someone’s cloak.

Both of them went forward to greet the old lady, who looked formidable in an old-fashioned dress with a huge bustle and a bodice heavily decorated with jet beading. There were jet earrings at her ears and an expression on her face only relieved from total ill temper by a dominating curiosity.

“How delightful to see you, Grandmama,” Emily said with as much enthusiasm as she could pretend. “I am so glad you were able to come.”

“Of course I came,” the old lady said instantly. “I must see what on earth you are doing now! A member of Parliament.” She snorted. “I’m not sure whether to be pleased or not. I’m not entirely certain if government is something respectable people do.” She looked around the room at the assembly, noting jewelry, the light glittering on the champagne glasses, the gleams of the silver trays and the number of footmen in livery. “A bit showy, isn’t it? Putting yourself forward is not really the act of a gentleman.”

“And whom should we be governed by?” Emily demanded, two spots of pink in her cheeks. “Men who are not gentlemen?”

“That is entirely different,” the old lady said, brushing logic aside. “Real gentlemen of the class to whom government comes naturally do not have to seek election. They have seats in the House of Lords by birth, as they should. Standing on boxes at street corners asking people to vote for you is another matter altogether, and really rather vulgar, if you ask me.”

Emily opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“You are a little old-fashioned, Grandmama,” Charlotte said swiftly. “Mr. Disraeli was elected, and the Queen approved of him.”

“And Mr. Gladstone was elected, and she didn’t!” the old lady snapped with obvious pleasure.

“Which goes to show that being elected has nothing to do with it,” Charlotte replied. “Mr. Disraeli was also very clever.”

“And vulgar,” the old lady said, staring at Charlotte, her eyes glittering. “He wore the most dreadful waistcoats and talked far too much, and too often. No refinement at all. I met him once, you know. No, you didn’t know that, did you?”