Free Cater Street Hangman by Anne Perry Page A

becomes a nuisance? You can never tell with police persons. They are used to a different class of neighbourhood altogether.”
    Charlotte would very much have liked his moral support.
    “No, thank you, Maddock. But stay in the hall so I can call for you, please.”
    “Yes, Miss.”
    A moment later the door opened again.
    “Inspector Pitt, ma’am.”
    The man who came in was tall and looked large because he was untidy; his hair was unruly, and his jacket napped. His face was plain, a little Semitic, although his eyes were light and his hair no darker than brown. He appeared intelligent. His voice when he spoke was unusually beautiful, quite incongruous against his somewhat scruffy appearance. He looked Charlotte up and down keenly, irritating her already.
    “I’m sorry to have to tell you when you are alone, Miss Ellison, but we cannot afford to waste time. Perhaps you would like to sit down?”
    Instinctively she refused.
    “No, thank you,” she said stiffly. “What is it you want?”
    “I’m sorry, I have bad news. We have found your maid, Lily Mitchell.”
    Charlotte tried to stand quite still, upright, although her knees were weak. She could feel the blood drain from her face.
    “Where?” her voice was a squeak. This wretched man was staring at her. She did not normally dislike people on sight—no, perhaps that was not quite true—but this man certainly inspired it. “Well?” she said, keeping her voice level.
    “In Cater Street. Perhaps you had better sit down?”
    “I’m perfectly all right, thank you.” She tried to freeze him with a glance, but he seemed oblivious to it. Quite firmly he took her arm and guided her backwards into one of the hardbacked chairs.
    “Would you like me to call one of your maids?” he offered.
    That incensed her. She was not so feeble she could not conduct herself decently, even in the face of shocking news.
    “What is it you wish to do that cannot wait?” she said with great control.
    He wandered slowly round the room. Really, the man had no manners at all. Still, what could you expect of the police? He probably could not help it.
    “Your butler reported last night that she had gone out walking with a man called Jack Brody, a clerk of some sort. What time did you require her to come home?”
    “Half past ten, I think. I’m not sure. No, maybe ten o’clock. Maddock could tell you.”
    “With your permission, I shall ask him.” It sounded more like a statement than a request. “How long was she in your employ?”
    It all sounded so final, so much in the past.
    “Four years, about. She was only nineteen.” She heard her voice drop suddenly, and a sharp memory of Emily came back to her, Emily as a baby, Emily learning to walk. It was ridiculous. Emily had nothing in common with Lily, except that they were both nineteen.
    The wretched policeman was staring at her.
    “You must have known her fairly well?”
    “I suppose so.” She realized just how little she did know. Lily was a face around the house, something she was used to. She did not know anything about the girl behind the face at all, what she cared about, or was afraid of.
    “Had she ever stayed out before?”
    “What?” She had temporarily forgotten him.
    He repeated the question.
    “No. Never. Mister—?” She had forgotten his name, too.
    “Pitt, Inspector Pitt,” he filled in for her.
    “Inspector Pitt, was she—was she strangled, like the others?”
    “Garroted, Miss Ellison, with a strong wire. Yes, exactly like the others.”
    “And—and was she also—mutilated?”
    “Yes. I’m sorry.”
    “Oh.” She felt weakness overwhelm her, and horror, and pity.
    He was watching her. Apparently he saw nothing but her silence.
    “With your permission, I’ll go and speak to the other servants. They probably knew her better than you did.” There was something in his tone of voice that implied she did not care. It made her angry—and guilty.
    “We don’t pry into our servants’ lives, Mr.