Anne Perry - Death in the Devil's Acre

“I am sure we shall be perfectly all right,” Emily said.

“Then I bid you good day, Lady Ashworth, Miss Ellison.” He met Charlotte’s eyes for a moment, smiled, then turned and walked back along the pavement to his own carriage.

Emily accepted William’s assistance into the carriage, and Charlotte followed after her, landing in a bundle.

“What on earth is the matter with you?” she said furiously. “Why did you let him go on thinking I am Miss Ellison? I hardly need a job in Christina’s household!”

Emily yanked her skirt free from where Charlotte was sitting on it. “We’ll hardly be in a position to discover much if they know you are married to a policeman!” she pointed out. “Let alone the very policeman who is investigating the murders. Added to which, it will do no harm for the general to see you as still unmarried.”

“What are you-” Charlotte began, then stopped short. There was considerable good sense in what Emily was saying. People like Christina Balantyne did not dine with policemen’s wives! If they knew she and Emily were bent on inquiring into murder, they would never even get through the front door.

After all, they had a certain moral duty to discover as much as they could-it was every person’s duty. And, in truth, they had proved unusually skilled in the past!

“Yes,” she said meekly. “Yes, I suppose you are quite right, Emily.”

If she and Emily were to investigate effectively, they must have all the knowledge available. But to get it from Pitt was no easy matter. So far, he had spoken of no further discovery. It seemed he was trudging day after day through the squalor of the Acre, pursuing a word here, a suggestion there. But if he was any nearer find- ing a connection between Max, Dr. Pinchin, and Bertie Astley, he had not told Charlotte of it.

“Thomas?” she began softly.

He opened his eyes and looked at her. It was late; he was half asleep by the fire in the parlor. She had chosen her time with care, and tried to sound casual. “Have you learned anything more about Max?”

“I know everything there is to know about Max,” he replied, sliding a little farther down in his chair, looking at her through his eyelashes. “Except who his clients were, who his women were, and who killed him.”

“Oh.” She was not sure how to pursue it. “That means he kept no sort of record. Or else it was taken?”

“He was killed in the street,” he pointed out. “Unless it was his house manager who did it, there would be no chance to look for papers. Anyway, according to all I can find out, there were none. He kept names in his head, and all business was strictly cash.”

No records! “Then how could he blackmail anyone?” she asked curiously.

“I don’t know that he did.” He moved his feet off the fender; it was getting too hot. “But he might have had knowledge enough to ruin anyone’s reputation. Proof is not necessary. Word of mouth in the right place, substantiated by a few names and places, would do excellently. Suspicion alone can destroy. But the motive could just as easily have been professional rivalry. He was taking other people’s business. Either way, it is none of your affair. This isn’t a case where an amateur can help.”

She met his gaze and suddenly felt a great deal less sure of herself. “Oh, yes, of course,” she said. After all, she was not really investigating! It was only a matter of keeping her ears open for any odd piece of information that might prove relevant. “But it is only natural I should be interested, isn’t it?” she said reasonably.

Charlotte was something less than honest over the dinner invitation to the Rosses’ on Tuesday. Pitt was working, as she had trusted he would be. She mentioned that they had been invited to dine with Emily and George, and would he mind very much if she went, even though he was unable to? She knew he would not refuse her. After all, he had not been able to take her anywhere himself, or even to offer her much companionship, since the case began. And so far as it went, what she said was true; she would be with Emily and George! Even if it was not in their home, as she allowed Pitt to presume.

Emily lent her a gown, as usual, and Charlotte dressed for the occasion at Paragon Walk, with Emily’s maid to dress her hair. She felt not the least qualm about that, for the whole idea had been engineered by Emily’s connivance, with Alan Ross!

The gown was of apricot silk, with the most delicate lace a shade or two deeper, and appeared to be quite new. In fact, it crossed her mind to wonder if Emily had obtained it for the purpose. It was a color Emily herself should never have worn, with her fair hair and clear blue eyes. The shade was ideal for a warmer complexion and darker, heavier hair with gleams of red in it.

She felt a sudden gratitude for Emily’s generosity, both in providing the gown, which flattered her so much, and for doing it in such a discreet manner. She decided to say nothing, and thus let the gift reach the fullest measure. Instead she swept down the stairs from the spare dressing room like a duchess entering her own ballroom, and swirled to a grand curtsy in the hallway at Emily’s feet. The sense of excitement inside her was as vivid as the light on the chandeliers.

“Your dress is perfect,” she said, rising with a little less grace than she had intended. “I feel fit to dazzle everyone and make Christina quite sickly with envy! Thank you very much.”

Emily was in the palest aquamarine, with diamonds at her ears and throat sparkling like sunlight upon clear water. They were as different as could be, which of course had been the intention-although possibly Emily had not expected Charlotte to look quite so splendid. But if she hadn’t, she rapidly adjusted her thought, and smiled back with unclouded approval.

“Now, just remember not to say anything too candid,” she warned. “Society adores mirrors to its face and its attire, but has no love whatsoever for a reflection of its morals or its soul. I shall be obliged if you bear that in mind before you express your opinions!”

“Yes, Emily.” She did owe her something for the dress.

Emily had obviously taken some care in forewarning George of the purpose of their visit. He had agreed to accompany them, and to refrain from enlightening their hosts about Charlotte’s marriage and thus her current social status, although Charlotte did not know if Emily had also told him the reason for this!

Christina Ross received them distinctly coolly. Obviously the invitation had come from her husband, and she had been obliged to go along with it, since it could hardly be withdrawn. “How kind of you to come, Lord Ashworth, Lady Ashworth,” she said, with a very small smile.

George bowed and passed some civil remark, vaguely complimentary.

“And Miss Ellison.” Christina’s eyes swept over Charlotte’s gown with slight surprise. She allowed it to show, as a delicate insult to what she considered to be Charlotte’s station, and therefore the unsuitability of the gown-let alone how she might have come by it! “I hope you are in good health?” There was a lift in her voice, which was wasted. Charlotte too obviously glowed with an abundance of well-being of every sort.

Christina abandoned the inquiry without waiting for an answer, and indicated where they were welcome to seat themselves.

George did not believe that they should interfere in the solving of the crimes, and he had in fact barely known Bertie Astley. But he was generally good-natured, as long as he was not unduly criticized or robbed of his habitual pleasures. Emily had proved an excellent wife. She was neither extravagant nor indiscreet, she rarely lost her temper, she never sulked or rebuffed him, and she was far too subtle in her dealings with him to need to nag.