Don Gutteridge - Governing Passion

“Our killer, come to finish the job?”

“It appears that way, doesn’t it?”

“Devil’s Acre is only a quarter of a mileaway. It’s possible,” Cobb said. “But how would he know who shewas? Our victims seem to have been unknown to the killer.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Well, Simon Whitemarsh was a man, not awoman. And I reckon our killer has it in for young, blond women — of any class. And Sarie Hickson was wearing a wig as well. She wasnot really blond. Our killer, I figure, goes after what hesees.”

“So you figure Miss Pettigrew was frightenedby a peeping Tom?”

“Most likely. I don’t see any connection toour case.”

Bagshaw’s thin lips quivered. “Well, I’mafraid she does and she happens to be a member of an importantfamily. Her father was in solid with the Family Compact.”

“But we can’t very well patrol Devil’s Acreand Birch Grove, too.”

Bagshaw’s beady eyes grew beadier. “That’sexactly what we’re going to do.”

“You’re takin’ one of the men off the Devil’sAcre patrol?”

“I am. And I intend to have this constable goout to Birch Grove and stay there overnight, from dusk to dawn,until the madman is caught. We’re here to protect the respectablemembers of society, who pay our wages with their taxes.”

“Who’re ya gonna send?”

Bagshaw grinned deliciously. “You,” hesaid.

***

Cobb felt his new assignment as the ultimatehumiliation. After all, he had been selected from among theoriginal four constables, by former chief Wilfrid Sturges, as thebest candidate for the new detective position. Selected because hewas by far the best of the patrolmen. He had worked with MarcEdwards on more than half a dozen murder cases, all of themsuccessful. He had learned from the Major (as he called Marc), andmade himself into an investigator, while using his network ofsnitches to further his duties as patrolman. Now he had been givena baby-sitting job for a frightened young woman who, having escapedthe mad killer of blondes, was now in no danger as long as shestayed in her home.

An order was an order, however galling, so atseven o’clock that evening Cobb found himself using the bell-pullon the front door of Birch Grove, a rambling clapboard manor set ina grove of birch trees off north Jarvis Street. The door was openedby a black-suited butler. The man’s features were squeezed into themiddle of his round face, as if he had sucked in his breath and theexpression had frozen. It gave him a look of permanent distaste forthe world he looked out upon.

“The tradesman’s entrance is around back,” hesaid sepulchrally.

“I ain’t trade,” Cobb snapped back. He was inno mood to put up with a butler’s shenanigans. “I’m the police. AndI been ordered here to protect yer mistress.”

“Ah. . I got a note saying a ConstableCobb was due. Are you he, sir?”

“I am. And I’m gettin’ cold toes standin’ onyer stoop.”

“Then you’d better come in,” the butler saidstiffly.

From farther within the house, Cobb heard afemale voice say, “Is that the constable, Gulliver?”

“It is, ma’am. But he’s come to the wrongdoor.”

“Well, show him in, do.”

Cobb took off his helmet and plunked it inGulliver’s automatically outstretched hands. Gulliver winced, as ifa cold fish had been dropped there, but held his ground as Cobbremoved his coat and draped it over the helmet.

Christine Pettigrew, in a plain grey dress,came up behind Gulliver and held out her hand. “We meet again, Mr.Cobb. It’s good of you to have come.” The plain dress could notdisguise the tall, regal beauty in it. Her blond hair shimmered,but in her pale blue eyes there was a wariness bordering on fear,ready to shy away from whatever it saw before it that might be toopainful to bear.

“I hope me bein’ here will make you feelsafer,” Cobb said.

Just then an elderly woman swept into theroom from the other side. She was a crone with bony features thatmight have once been handsome but were now fleshless andsharp-edged. Her brown eyes seized upon what they took in, seemedto draw one inward to a powerful and confident personality. Thiswoman had ruled some roost for a long time.

“Come, come, Mr. Cobb,” she said brusquely,coming up to him and Christine. “There is no need for you to haveactual contact with Miss Pettigrew. There’s a cup of tea waitingfor you — in the kitchen downstairs .”

“I was just gettin’ acquainted,” Cobb saidgruffly.

“Well, you’ve gone far enough in thatdirection, sir. Follow me.”

As Cobb turned to obey, he spotted Gullivertossing his coat on a nearby stool.

***

Cobb was placed at a small table at one end of thekitchen, a mug of tepid tea in front of him. Mrs. Baldridge, thecrone, went to the far end, where she engaged the cook and scullerymaid in heated conversation. Cobb drank his tea, but his mood washotter than the beverage.

“Where am I to be stationed?” he called outwhen he had finished.

“You can stay down here with the rest of theservants. When the household has settled down — my mistress retiresat ten — you will go upstairs and sit, or stand, in the parlour. Ofcourse, you may wish to make the rounds of the garden from time totime.”

Well, Cobb thought, this is going to be along and boring assignment.

Just then a pretty upstairs maid arrived onthe stairwell.

“What is it, Bridget?” Mrs. Baldridge saidshortly.

Bridget blushed and stammered, “It’s MissPettigrew. She wants the constable to join her in thesewing-room.”

***

Miss Pettigrew ordered coffee and sweetmeats fromGulliver, who looked as if he might faint from chagrin at the sightof his mistress seated across a little table from Horatio Cobb andpreparing to engage him in polite conversation. When Gulliver left,Christine said, “I have no-one to talk to around here exceptBaldridge, and she’s been here for donkey’s years.”

“She helped to raise you?”

“My parents died before I was twelve, soshe’s been like a second mother to me. But one can’t spend allone’s time talking to one’s mother, can one?”

“What do you want to talk about?” Cobbsaid.

“Anything except what has to do with BirchGrove. It’s not the same around here since Christopher leftme.”

“Your husband?”

“Oh, no. My twin brother. We’ve beenseparated only once before, you know.”

“You’ve got a twin, eh?”

“Yes. For twenty-five years we’ve beentogether, we’ve been soul-mates, and now he just up and leaves me.Do you think that’s fair?”

“Depends on why he left, I suppose.”

Christine’s expression darkened suddenly. “Heleft to get married, that’s why.”

“Ah. . I see. And where’s he gettin’hitched?”

“Away off in Kingston.”

At this point Gulliver arrived with coffeeand chocolates. Cobb helped himself to both and earned a glare fromthe butler, who backed discreetly out of the room, his facesqueezed perilously inward.

“Are you not goin’ to the weddin’?” Cobbsaid.

“I don’t see why I should, do you?”

“You’re the fella’s sister.”

“I have no intention of meeting this bride — ever.”

“Are they stayin’ in Kingston?”

“Oh, no. They think they’re coming back here.But I won’t have it, will I?”

“I can see you’re worked up about allthis.”

“It’s his bride, you see. He tells me shelooks like me, thinking that that would make me feel better aboutbeing abandoned, about being left here with an old crone of a womanservant and a big, old, empty house. But I won’t be appeased!” Theblue eyes now blazed, and she seemed to be talking right past Cobbto some invisible soul farther into the room.