Pentecost Alley (36 page)

“How on earth do you know that?” he demanded, trying to envision such an affair. “Did Emily tell you? And I suppose Tallulah FitzJames told her?”

Her face fell. “You don’t believe it, do you?”

He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I believe Tallulah could have been to such an affair, and so could Finlay. But I don’t believe she saw him at one the night Ada McKinley was killed. As proof of his innocence, it’s worth nothing.”

“That’s what Tallulah thought. But it proved it to Emily.”

Suspicion in his mind was sharpening.

“Why are you telling me this now, Charlotte? Are you saying Finlay has to be innocent? You said it proved it to Emily—not to you!”

“I don’t know,” she said candidly, looking down and then up at him again. She was very pale, very unhappy. “Thomas … it was Emily who had the second Hellfire Club badge made, and Tallulah put it in Finlay’s belongings so you would find it.”

“She did what?” His voice rose to a shout. “What did you say?”

She was very pale, but her eyes did not waver. She spoke very quietly indeed, almost a whisper.

“Emily had a second badge made so Tallulah could put it in Finlay’s wardrobe.”

“God Almighty!” he exploded. “And you helped her! And then had me go and look for it! How could you be so deceitful?” That was what hurt, not the laying of false evidence, the muddying of a case, but the way she had deliberately deceived him. She had never done such a thing before. It was a betrayal from the one place he had never expected it.

Her eyes widened in horror, almost as if he had slapped her.

“I didn’t know she’d done that!” she protested.

He was too tired to be angry, and too aware of his own guilt over Costigan, and his need for Charlotte and the loyalty, the comfort, she could give him, even the sheer warmth of her physical presence.

She was waiting, watching his face. She was not afraid, but there was hurt and anxiety in her eyes. She understood the pain in him. Her fingers crept over his, soft and strong.

He leaned forward and kissed her, and then again, and again, and she answered him with the confidence and the generosity she had always had.

He sighed. “Even if I’d known, it wouldn’t have altered the evidence against Costigan,” he said at last. “Actually, Augustus FitzJames said he’d had the damn thing made. I wish I knew why he said that.”

“To stop you investigating any further,” she answered, sitting back again.

“But why?” He was puzzled. To him it made no sense.

“Scandal.” She shook her head. “It’s scandalous having the police in the house, whatever they are doing there. I suppose you have to go back and see him tomorrow?”

“Yes.” He did not want to think of it.

She rose to her feet. “Then we’d better go to bed while there’s still some of tonight left. Come …”

He rose also and turned off the gas, then put his arm around her, and together they went up the stairs. At least for a few hours he did not have to think of it.

In the morning Pitt got up early and went to the kitchen while Charlotte woke the children and began the chores of her own day. Gracie cooked him breakfast, glancing at him every now and then, her eyes narrowed, her little face pinched with anxiety. She had already seen the morning newspapers and heard there had been a second murder in Whitechapel. Charlotte had quite recently taught her to read, so she also knew most of what was being written, and she was ready to defend Pitt against anyone and everyone.

The afternoon editions would probably be worse, when there was more news to relate, more details, more accuracy from which to draw blame.

She clattered around, banging the crockery and leaving the kettle to whistle, because she was furious with the people who blamed Pitt, and frightened in case they made things even harder for him, and frustrated because she did not know what she could do to help. She did not even know whether she should mention it or not.

“Gracie, you’ll break it,” Pitt said gently.

“Sorry, sir.” She dropped the kettle with a crash. “It just makes me so mad, sir. It in’t fair! What’ve they done about it? Nuffink! They wouldn’t know Ow ter begin, they wouldn’t. Stupid little article, ’e is, ’ooever wrote them things. It in’t responsible.” She was using longer words these days. Reading had changed quite a lot of her vocabulary.

Pitt smiled in spite of the way he felt. Gracie’s loyalty was peculiarly warming. He hoped he could live up to the high image she had of him. But the more he thought of it, the more afraid he was that he had made an
irreparable mistake with Costigan, that it was something he had overlooked, that he should have seen and understood, which had sent him to an unjust execution.

He ate his breakfast without even being aware of what it was, and rose to leave just as Charlotte and the children came in. Gracie had hidden the newspapers. Even so, Jemima at least was aware that something was wrong. She looked from Charlotte to Pitt, then sat down.

“I don’t want any breakfast,” she said immediately.

Daniel hitched himself onto his chair, reached for the glass of milk provided for him and drank half of it, wiped the white ring off his mouth with his hand, then announced that he did not want any either.

“Yes you do,” Charlotte said quickly.

“There’s a man out in the street,” Jemima said, looking at Pitt. “He knocked on the door and Mama told him to go away. She was very rude. You told me I should never speak to anyone like that. She didn’t say please … or thank you.”

Pitt looked up at Charlotte.

“A man from one of the newspapers.” She forced a smile. “He was impertinent I told him to go away and not to knock on the door again or I’d bring the dog.”

“And she told a fib,” Jemima added. “We haven’t got a dog.”

Daniel looked frightened. “You wouldn’t give him Archie, would you? Or Angus?” he said anxiously.

“No, of course I wouldn’t,” Charlotte assured him. Then, as his face did not clear, she went on. “I wasn’t going to give him a dog, darling, I was going to tell it to bite him!”

Daniel smiled and reached for his milk. “Oh, that’s all right. Archie could scratch him,” he said hopefully.

Charlotte took his glass from him. “Don’t drink all that now or you won’t eat your porridge.”

He forgot about not wanting breakfast, and when Gracie passed him his porridge bowl he was happy enough to take it.

Jemima was more concerned. She sensed the unhappiness in the air. She fiddled with her food, and no one chastised her.

Suddenly there was a ring on the doorbell, and the instant after, a loud knocking. Gracie slammed down the kettle and marched towards the hall.

Charlotte looked at Pitt, ready to go after her.

Pitt rose to his feet. “I’ve got to face them sometime,” he said, wishing he could put it off until he had something to say that would explain it, some answer or reason. There were no excuses.

Charlotte started to speak, then stopped.

“What is it?” Jemima asked, looking at her mother, then at her father. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

Charlotte put her hand on Jemima’s shoulder. “Nothing you need to worry about,” she said quickly. “Finish your breakfast.”

The front door opened and they heard a man’s voice, then Gracie’s answer, high-pitched and furious. A moment later the door banged shut, and then Gracie’s feet marched back down the corridor. For a small creature, she could make a lot of noise when she was angry.

“Cheek of them!” she said, coming into the kitchen, her face white, eyes blazing. “Who do they think they are? Write a few words and think they have all the brains in London! Nothing but a tuppenny upstart.” She turned the tap full on and the jet hit the spoon in the sink and rebounded back, soaking the top half of her dress. She drew in her breath to swear, then remembered Pitt was in the room and choked it back.

Charlotte stifled a laugh that was too close to hysteria.

“I assume that was a reporter from the newspaper, Gracie?”

“Yes,” Gracie conceded, dabbing at herself with a tea towel and not making the situation appreciably better. “Worthless little item!”

“You’d better go and put on a dry dress,” Charlotte suggested.

“Don’t matter,” Gracie responded, putting the tea towel down. “It’s warm enough in ’ere. Won’t come to no ’arm.” And she began rummaging furiously in the flour bin and then the dried fruit bin, looking for ingredients for a cake which would not be baked until mid-morning, but the physical activity was a release for the pent-up tension in her. She would probably pound the dough for bread to within an inch of flattening it altogether.

Pitt smiled a trifle weakly, kissed Charlotte good-bye, touched Jemima on the top of the head and Daniel on the shoulder as he passed and went out to begin the day’s investigation.

Jemima turned wide eyes to Charlotte. “What is it, Mama? Who’s Gracie angry with?”

“People who write things in the newspapers when they don’t know the whole story,” Charlotte replied. “People who try to make everyone upset and frightened because it sells more papers, regardless of the fact that it may make a lot of other things worse.”

“What things?”

“What things?” Daniel echoed. “Is Papa frightened and upset? Is he people?”

“No,” Charlotte lied, wondering frantically how to protect them. Which was worse: trying to pretend everything was all right when it obviously was not, and only making them feel more frightened because they were lied to; or telling them something of the truth, so at least it made sense and they were part of the family? They would be worried and frightened, but not by the formless horrors of imagination and the feeling that they were alone and not trusted.

Without having made a conscious decision, she found herself answering.

“There has been another lady died in Whitechapel, just the same as the one a little while ago. It looks as if perhaps the wrong man was punished. People are very upset about it, and sometimes when you are angry or
frightened, you want to blame someone. It makes it feel less difficult.”

Jemima was puzzled. “Why does it?”

“I don’t know. But you remember when you walked into the chair and stubbed your toe?”

“Yes. It went all blue and yellow and green.”

“Do you remember how you felt?”

“It hurt.”

“You said it was my fault.” Daniel’s eyes narrowed and he looked at his sister accusingly. “It wasn’t my fault. I never put the chair there! You weren’t looking where you were going.”

“I was!” Jemima said indignantly.

“You see?” Charlotte interrupted. “It’s easier to be angry than to admit you were clumsy.”

Daniel beamed with triumph. For once his mother had actually taken sides and he had won the argument.

Jemima looked cross. A flash of temper lit her eyes and she glared at him.

“The point is,” Charlotte went on, realizing her example had not been a fortunate one, “that when people are upset, they get angry. They are upset now because another lady has died, and they are frightened that they may have punished the wrong man, so they feel guilty as well. They are looking for someone to be angry with, and Papa seems like a very good person, because he was the one who thought the man they punished was the one who did it. Now it looks as if he wasn’t.”

“He made a mistake?” Jemima asked, the furrow deep between her fine, soft brows.

“We don’t know yet. It’s too difficult to understand. But it is possible. We all make mistakes sometimes.”

“Papa too?” Jemima asked gravely.

“Of course.”

“Will they get very angry with him?”

She hesitated. Was it better to be forewarned? Would a comforting lie rebound on her later and make the hurt even worse? Or was she adding an unnecessary fear,
expecting far too much of them? She wanted above everything to protect them. But what was protection? Was it lies or truth?

“Mama?” There was the beginning of fear in Jemima’s voice. Daniel was watching her carefully.

“They may do,” she said, meeting the solemn eyes. “But they will be wrong, because he has done the best anyone can do. And if there has been a mistake, then it was everybody’s, not just his.”

“Oh,” Jemima replied. “I see.” She turned back to her breakfast and continued eating, very thoughtfully.

Daniel looked at her, then back at Charlotte, took a deep breath, and resumed his meal also.

“I’ll walk to school with you today,” Charlotte said decisively. “It’s a lovely day, and I’d like to.” If there were other newspapermen waiting outside, or remarks of any sort in the street, she would not have Gracie involved in a full-scale battle with Daniel and Jemima in the middle. She would have to keep a very firm bridle on her own temper.

And as it happened the real unpleasantness did not occur until the afternoon editions were out, and then it was extremely ugly. Someone had given the press a very lurid account of Nora Gough’s murder, with a detailed description of the signs and symptoms of asphyxiation by strangling. This time the broken bones, the boots and the water were not omitted. Nothing was spared, and all was naturally likened to the murder of Ada McKinley as well. There were large pictures of Costigan looking frightened and sulky, only now instead of interpreting his scowl as viciousness, they called it terror of the judgment of the law, as used to crush the common man before the wheels of perjured justice. Pitt’s name was sprinkled liberally in every article and he carried the blame for Costigan’s hanging far more prominently than he had ever won the praise for his original arrest.

Charlotte walked out of the front door and along the road bitterly aware of curtains twitching and whispered
words behind them. The tea parties she would not be invited to, the people who would not see her in spite of her being directly in front of them, the sudden urgent engagements declared when she approached, did not worry her. All her fury was for Pitt and the children. She would have defended them to the last blow, if only there were someone to strike at!

As it was, she strode along the road with her head high, ignoring anything to the right or left of her, and swung around the corner almost knocking over old Major Kidderman, who was taking his dog for a stroll.