Anne Perry - Highgate Rise

“Well there are others who have suggested more personal forms of passion,” Prudence pointed out, frowning at Charlotte. “Perhaps Mr. Lutterworth, because of Dr. Shaw’s involvement with Flora-if, of course, it was Stephen he meant to kill, not poor Clemency.”

“Then why would he kill Mr. Lindsay?” Angeline shook her head. “Mr. Lindsay certainly never did her any harm.”

“Because he knew something, of course.” Prudence’s face tightened in impatience. “That does not take a great deal of guessing.”

They were all standing close together near the door, the sunlight slanting between the curtains and the blinds making a bright patch behind them and causing the black crepes to look faintly dusty.

“I am surprised the police have not worked it out yet,” Lally added, glancing at Charlotte. “But then I suppose they are not a very superior class of person-or they would not be employed in such work. I mean, if they were clever enough to do something better-they would, wouldn’t they?”

Charlotte could accommodate a certain amount of insult to herself and keep her temper, but insult to Pitt was different. Again her anger slipped out of control.

“There are only a certain number of people who are willing to spend their time, and sometimes to risk their lives, digging into the sin and tragedy of other people’s affairs and uncovering the violence in them,” she said acidly, staring at Lally, her eyes wide. “So many people who look the picture of rectitude on the outside and pretend to civic virtue have inner lives that are thoroughly sordid, greedy and full of lies.” She looked from one to another of them, and was satisfied to see alarm, even fear in some of their faces, most especially Prudence’s. And seeing it she instantly relented and was ashamed. It was not Prudence she had intended to hurt.

But again there was no verbal retreat, only physical, and this time she excused herself, bade them farewell and swept out, head high, twitching her skirts smartly over the step. A few moments later she was back in Aunt Vespasia’s carriage and once again going towards Stephen Shaw’s lodgings. There were now far more questions she wished to ask him. Perhaps it really was all to do with radical political ideas, not merely Clemency’s slum profiteers, but Lindsay’s socialist beliefs as well. She had never asked him if Lindsay knew about Clemency’s work, or if it had taken her to the new Fabian Society; it simply had not occurred to her.

Mrs. Himer admitted her again with no surprise, and told her that the doctor was out on a call but she expected him back shortly, and if Charlotte cared to wait in the parlor she was welcome. She was brought yet another pot of tea, set out on a brand-new Japanese lacquer tray.

She poured herself a cup of tea and sat sipping it. Could Shaw really know anything that someone would kill to keep secret? Pitt had said little to her about the other patients he had investigated. Shaw seemed so certain all the deaths he had attended were natural-but then if he were in conspiracy with someone, he would say that. Was it possible he had helped someone to murder, either by actually providing the means, or simply by concealing it afterwards? Would he?

She recalled his face to mind easily, the strength in him, and the conviction. Yes-if he believed it to be right, she had no doubt he would. He was quite capable of exercising his powers. If ever a man had the courage of his convictions it was Stephen Shaw.

But did he believe it was right-or could ever be? No, surely not. Not even a violent or insane person? Or someone with a painful and incurable disease?

She had no idea if he was treating such a person. Pitt must have thought of all this too-surely?

She had resolved nothing when some thirty minutes later Shaw burst in, half throwing his case into the corner and flinging his jacket over the back of the chair. He swung around, startled to see her, but his expression lit with delight and he made no pretense of indifference.

“Mrs. Pitt! What fortune brings you back here again so soon? Have you discovered something?” There was humor in his eyes, and a little anxiety, but nothing disguised his liking for her.

“I have just been visiting the Misses Worlingham,” she answered, and saw the instant appreciation of all that that meant in his face. “I was not especially welcome,” she said in answer to his unspoken question. “In fact Mrs. Clitheridge, who called at the same time, has taken a strong dislike to me. But as a result of certain conversation that took place, several other thoughts come to my mind.”

“Indeed? And what are they? I see Mrs. Turner gave you some tea. Is there any left? I am as dry as one of poor Amos’s wooden gods.” He reached for the pot and lifted it experimentally. It was obvious from the weight that there was considerable liquid left in it. “Ah-good.” He poured out her used cup in the slop bowl, rinsed it from the hot water jug, and proceeded to pour himself some tea. “What did Celeste and Angeline say that sparked these new ideas? I must admit, the thought intrigues me.”

“Well, there is always money,” she began slowly. “The Worlinghams have a great deal of money, which Clemency must have inherited, along with Prudence, when Theophilus died.

He met her eyes with total candor, even a black laughter without a shred of rancor at her for the suggestion.

“And you think I might have murdered poor Clem to get my hands on it?” he asked. “I assure you, there isn’t a penny left-she gave it all away.” He moved restlessly around the room, poking at a cushion, setting a book straight on a shelf so it did not stand out from the rest. “When her will is probated you will see that for the last few months she had been obliged to me even for a dress allowance. I promise you, Mrs. Pitt, I shall inherit nothing from the Worlingham estate except a couple of dressmakers’ bills and a milliner’s account. Which I shall be happy to settle.”

“Given it all away?” Charlotte affected surprise. Pitt had already told her that Clemency had given her money away.

“All of it,” he repeated. “Mostly to societies for slum clearance, help to the extremely poor, housing improvement, sanitation, and of course the battle to get the law changed to make ownership easily traceable. She went through thirty thousand pounds in less than a year. She just gave it away until there was no more.” His face was illuminated with a kind of pride and a fierce gentleness.

Charlotte asked the next question without even stopping to weigh it. She had to know, and it seemed so easy and natural to ask.

“Did she tell you why? I mean, did she tell you where the Worlingham money came from?”

His mouth curled downward and his eyes were full of bitter laughter.

“Where the old bastard got it from? Oh, yes-when she discovered it she was devastated.” He walked over and stood with his back to the mantel. “I remember the night she came home after she found out. She was so pale I thought she would pass out, but she was white with fury, and shame.” He looked at Charlotte, his eyes very steady on hers. “All evening she paced the floor back and forth, talking about it, and nothing I could say could take away the guilt from her. She was distraught. She must have been up half the night-” He bit his lip and looked downwards. “And I’m ashamed to say I was so tired from being up the night before that I slept. But I knew in the morning she had been weeping. All I could do was tell her that whatever her decision, I would support her. She took two more days to decide that she would not face Celeste and Angeline with it.”

He jerked up again, his foot kicking against the brass fender around the hearth. “What good would it do? They had no responsibility for it. They gave their whole lives to looking after and pandering to that old swine. They couldn’t bear it now to think it had all been a farce, all the goodness they thought was there a whited sepulcher if ever there was one!”