Free Half Moon Street by Anne Perry Page A

what lies behind even the most outwardly serene faces. He wished intensely that Charlotte were home so he could have discussed it with her. The emptiness of the house was like an ache inside him, and he was pleased to return to the problem of the body in the punt.
    In the middle of the morning, while he was combing through reports of missing persons, there was a knock on his door and a sergeant came in looking pleased with himself.
    “What is it, Leven?” Pitt asked.
    “Woman come to the desk, sir, sayin’ as ’er employer is missin’. Ain’t bin ’ome fer a couple o’ days, like. She says it’s not like ’im at all. Most partic’lar, ’e is, bein’ a professional gent, an’ all. Never misses an appointment. ’Is reputation dependin’ on it, dealin’ with the gentry an’ so on. Can’t keep lords and ladies waitin’, or they won’t come again.”
    “Well, make a note of it, Leven,” Pitt said impatiently. “There’s not a great deal we can do about it. Tell Inspector Brown, if you think it’s serious enough.”
    Leven stood his ground. “No sir, that in’t the point. Point is, she told us what ’e looks like. Matches the poor soul as yer found at ’Orseferry Stairs just about exact. I were reckoning yer’d want ter talk to ’er, an’ mebbe even take ’er ter see the poor feller.”
    Pitt was annoyed with himself for not having understood.
    “Yes I would, Leven. Thank you. Bring her up, will you?”
    “Yes sir.”
    “And Leven . . .”
    “Yes sir?”
    “That was well thought of. I’ll tell you if it’s him.”
    “Thank you, sir.” Leven went out beaming with satisfaction, closing the door very gently behind him.
    He was back in five minutes with a small, sturdy woman, her face puckered with anxiety. The moment she saw Pitt she started to speak.
    “Are you the gentleman what I should talk ter? Yer see ’e’s bin gorn two days now . . . least this is the second . . . an’ I got messages askin’ w’ere ’e is.” She was shaking her head. “An’ I in’t got the faintest, ’ave I?” I jus’ know it in’t like ’im, all the years I bin doin’ the ’ouse fer ’im, ’e never let nothing get in the way of ’is work. That partic’lar, ’e is. I seen ’im make time fer folks w’en ’e’s bin ’alf out on ’is feet. Always oblige. That’s ’ow ’e got where ’e is.”
    “Where is that, Mrs. . . . ?” Pitt asked.
    “That’s wot I’m sayin’. Nobody knows where ’e is! Vanished. That’s why I come ter the po-liss. Summink’s ’appened, sure as eggs is eggs.”
    Pitt tried again. “Please sit down, Mrs. . . . ?”
    “Geddes . . . I’m Mrs. Geddes.” She sat down in the chair opposite him. “Ta.” She rearranged her skirts. “Yer see, I bin cleanin’ an’ doin’ fer ’im fer near ten years now, an’ I knows ’is ways. There’s summink not right.”
    “What is his name, Mrs. Geddes?”
    “Cathcart . . . Delbert Cathcart.”
    “Could you describe Mr. Cathcart for me, please?” Pitt requested. “By the way, where does he live?”
    “Battersea,” she replied. “Right down on the river. Lovely ’ouse, ’e ’as. Nicest one as I does for. What’s that got ter do wif ’im not bein’ there?”
    “Perhaps nothing, Mrs. Geddes. What does Mr. Cathcart look like, if you please?”
    “Sort o’ ordinary ’eight,” she replied gravely. “Not very tall, not very short. Not ’eavy. Sort o’ . . .” She thought for a moment. “Sort o’ neat-lookin’. Got fair ’air an’ a mustache, but not wot yer’d call real whiskers. Always dressed very well. Sort o’ good-lookin’, I suppose yer’d say. But ’ow will yer know ’im from that?”
    “I’m not sure that we will, Mrs. Geddes.” Pitt had had to tell people about deaths countless times before, but it never became any easier or pleasanter. At least this was not a relative. “I am afraid there was a man found dead in a small boat on the river yesterday morning. We don’t know who