The Hyde Park Headsman (20 page)

“It may prove to be of no meaning at all, Mrs. Arledge. I would prefer not to leap to conclusions.” It was futile, and he knew it even as the words were on his lips.

“Of course. The valet,” she agreed, her words equally hollow, and she did not meet his eyes. She rang the bell, and when the maid appeared, sent for the valet to meet Pitt in the study.

But the valet’s answers only clouded the issue the more. Either he had no idea where the other silver-backed brush was or he refused to say. Nor did he know where to find the evening studs. He looked confused and embarrassed, but Pitt had no sense that it was guilt.

Walking home slowly along Mount Street towards the park, Pitt had the sad empty feeling that for all his humor and courtesy, Aidan Arledge was far less uncomplicated than he had seemed at first. There was something hidden, something unexplained.

Where did he go after late performances? Where were the things that Pitt had expected to find, and had not? Why had he two sets of keys? Did Aidan Arledge keep a second establishment somewhere, a place his wife knew nothing of?

Why? Why would a man keep a secret establishment?

He could think of only one answer: obvious, glaring and painful. He had a mistress. Somewhere there was a second woman mourning his death, a woman who dared not show her grief, dared not even claim his acquaintance.

Gracie had made up her mind while she was sitting at the kitchen table watching Pitt eat his treacle pudding, but it was after midnight before she could put her plan into effect. She had to be quite sure everyone in the house was asleep. If they were to catch her sneaking out, there would be no acceptable excuse she could give, and her whole venture would be aborted. And after last time, Pitt would be furious and perhaps even dismiss her. That thought was unendurable. But so was the knowledge that he was being criticized in the newspapers
by people who did not know what they were talking about and were not fit to speak to him, let alone air their opinions.

So there was nothing for it but to do her best to find out something. Added to which, with the mistress too busy with the new house to do anything, and Miss Emily all caught up in the by-election, who else was there to help?

Outside on the pavement she walked smartly towards the main thoroughfare. She had enough money to get a hansom to the park, first, and back again, of course. She had borrowed it from the fish money. It was not strictly honest. But then if she did not have any of the fish herself tomorrow, it would not be stealing either.

She did not look the part of a prostitute. No girls were out for business dressed in a maid’s stuff gown, high to the neck, long-sleeved, and cut in plain gray-blue. But then she did not want to succeed in attracting anyone. It was information she was seeking, not trade. Also there was the danger of being seen as a rival and driven off, perhaps violently, by a protective pimp. Like this she would hardly occasion any such feelings. Mockery, perhaps, laughter, even pity, but not fear.

It took her several minutes to find a cab and convince the driver she had the fare, and then another quarter hour to reach the park and be set down.

The cab drove away, the horse’s hooves loud on the deserted road, the carriage lamp disappearing towards Knightsbridge. The darkness closed in and the night seemed huge around her and full of strange sounds, any of which could be someone coming, an idle passerby, someone taking a late stroll, a man looking for a prostitute, a woman looking for trade, a pimp guarding his territory, the Hyde Park Headsman …

“Stop it,” she said aloud to herself. “Pull yourself together, you stupid girl.” And with that admonition, also aloud, she started to walk briskly along the footpath, her sharp step ringing out till it sounded like a beating heart in the night, and she realized she appeared far too purposeful to attract the slightest attention from the people she wished.

Actually it took her nearly an hour, by which time she was cold, frightened and at the point of abandoning the whole venture, before a tall, angular woman with straw-colored hair and a cheap dress came up and looked at her with suspicion and contempt.

“Ain’t no omnibuses pass ’ere, dearie,” she said sarcastically.
“And wi’ a face like yours, it’s about all yer gonna catch.”

Gracie lifted her chin, looked around, then straight at the woman. “Like you done, eh?”

“I’ll get my share, yer cheeky bitch,” she said without malice. “But you won’t get enough to feed a rabbit. Yer look like yer ain’t ’ad a decent bite in years, there’s no flesh on yer bones, poor little cow. Men don’t want a starveling wi’ no bosom and no ’ips.” She pulled a face. “Less they’re bent in some way. Yer should be careful—them ones can turn nasty—’cos they ain’t right in the first place.” She shrugged. “Anyway, this is my patch, an’ I don’t take to poachin’ kindly. Even if I didn’t see yer orf, there’s my pimp wot will.”

Gracie felt a shiver of fear and excitement. She took a shaking breath and let it out slowly.

“I dunno about bent ones …” She put a heavy doubt in her voice. “I don’t take nobody wot gets nasty. I mean”—she stared at the woman—“there’s nasty—an’ nasty, if yer gets wot I mean?”

“Oh.” The woman looked ashen in the glimmer of distant gaslight anyway, so it was hard to tell if her color changed, but there was a slackness of fear in the hang of her mouth. “I don’t mean nuffink like the ’Eadsman. Gawd ’elp us—’e ain’t bothered any o’ us. Guess it’s geezers wot ’e’s after.”

“I don’t want any part of ’im!” Gracie said with a dramatic shudder, which was not entirely assumed. Standing here on the path under the windswept trees in the dark, with the chill air eating through her shawl, and only the faint chain of gaslights in the distance, fear did not have to be imagined. “I don’t want ter be with a geezer wot rubs ’im up the wrong way. ’E’d ’ave ter do us too, just ’cos we seen.”

“Yer right,” the woman agreed, moving a step nearer, as if somehow their sheer physical closeness could be some sort of protection against the violence.

“D’yer reckon as there’s some sorts as’d be ’is meat?” Gracie asked with as much innocence as she could manage. Actually her voice was shaking anyway, so her expression was marred from the start.

“Like wot?” The woman stared along the path towards the shadows in the distance. “Maybe there’s a spot o’ trade comin’ our way. Don’t you mess me up, yer fourpenny scrap rabbit, or I’ll mark yer so nobody’ll want yer.”

Gracie drew herself up to spit back that she would not demean herself, then remembered just in time her new role.

“I gotter live,” she said plaintively. “You’ll do all right. Yer pretty …”

The woman smiled mirthlessly, showing dark, stained teeth.

“Crawly cow,” she said, but without rancor this time. “Well, one thing’s fer sure, I got a lot more’n you’ll ever ’ave, poor bitch. I’ll do this for yer, if ’e fancies yer, which ain’t likely, yer can ’ave this one. An’ if I see yer on my patch again, I’ll do yer.”

“I’ll get meself a man,” Gracie said defiantly.

“A runner?” The woman laughed. “ ’Oo’d wanter run yer, yer ain’t worth nuffink.”

“Yes I am. There’s gents wot likes ’em little, like kids!” Gracie knew this from tales she’d heard from less reputable relatives when they had not realized her childish ears were so sharp, before she first went to work for Charlotte.

“There’s all sorts,” the woman agreed with disgust. “There’s them as likes yer ter talk dirty to ’em, them as likes yer ter cuss summat rotten an’ pretend as yer ’ates them, them as likes ter be told orf like they were kids ’emselves—an’ there’s them as likes ter ’urt yer. Yer wanter watch for them—some o’ them gets real ugly. There’s one around ’ere wot likes ter beat girls up pretty bad, real vicious bastard ’e is, big geezer, but speaks ever so soft like a real gent, minds all ’is manners, then beats yer black and blue. Real bad one, ’e is. Ain’t no money worth that. Yer want ter stay clear o’ the likes of ’im.”

Gracie swallowed and found her throat so tight she could hardly speak. Maybe this was it? Maybe this was the clue Pitt was looking for? Perhaps this man had beaten a girl, her pimp had killed him, and the second victim had been killed because he knew something about it.

“Yer right,” she said chokingly. “ ’E sounds real bad. Mebbe I should try a lighted street or summat. I don’t wanter run inter summat like ’im.”

“Yer won’t, you daft little piece. ’E likes women, not kids.” The woman laughed. “Anyway, I can see business coming. This one’s mine. Good luck, you poor little swine—you’ll need it.” And with a parting wave, she turned and sauntered towards the approaching shadows, swaying her hips as she went.

Gracie waited until she was indistinguishable in the darkness, then turned on her heels and ran.

5

E
MILY WAS DRESSED
magnificently, as befitted the occasion. Her gown was her favorite nile green, elegant as water in the sun, and stitched with silver beading and seed pearls. The waist was tiny and, she admitted, less than comfortable, the bodice crossed over at the front with the bosom low-cut. The bustle almost vanished completely, its fullness replaced by the new fullness at the top of the sleeve, decorated with feathers on the shoulder. The whole effect was quite breathtaking, and she was aware of it in the lingering looks of gentlemen and the sharp glances and fixed smiles of ladies, and then the immediate, muttered conversation.

The dinner had been lavish and served in the grandest manner. Now the guests were all sitting or standing around the reception rooms in small groups talking, laughing and passing on personal and political gossip, although of course the personal was probably the most political of all. The by-election was drawing near and emotions were running high.

Emily was standing, not because she wished to but because her stays, which had contrived her exquisite waist, were far too binding for her to sit down for long with any comfort at all. Dinner itself had been more than enough.

“How delightful to see you, my dear Mrs. Radley, and looking so very—well.” Lady Malmsbury smiled brightly and regarded Emily with no pleasure at all. Lady Malmsbury was in her mid-forties, dark, rather large, and an ardent supporter of the Tory party, and thus of Jack’s rival, Nigel Uttley. Her
daughter Selina was of Emily’s generation, and they had been friends in the past.

“I am in excellent health, thank you,” Emily replied with an equally dazzling smile. “I hope I find you the same? You most certainly seem so.”

“Indeed I am,” Lady Malmsbury agreed, discreetly looking Emily up and down, and disliking what she saw. “And how is your dear Mama these days? I have not seen her for such a long time. Is she well? Of course widowhood is so hard on a woman, at whatever age it occurs.”

“She is very well, thank you,” Emily replied a trifle more guardedly. It was not a subject she wished to pursue.

“You know, I had the oddest experience the other evening,” Lady Malmsbury continued, moving a step closer so her skirts rustled against Emily’s. “I was leaving a recital, a most excellent violin recital. Are you fond of the violin?”

“Yes indeed,” Emily said hastily, wondering what Lady Malmsbury was about to say in such eager confidence. The gleam in her eyes boded no good.

“I too. And this was delightful. Such charm and grace. A most elegant instrument,” Lady Malmsbury continued, still smiling. “And as I was walking down the Strand for a breath of air before taking my carriage home, I saw a group of people leaving the Gaiety Theatre, and one of them reminded me so much of your Mama.” She opened her eyes a little wider. “In fact I would have sworn it were she, were it not for her dress and the company in which she was.” She looked at Emily directly.

Emily had no choice but pointedly to evade the subject, or else to ask the inevitable question.

“Indeed? How odd. A trick of the light, I suppose. Streetlights can give the strangest impressions sometimes.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said that streetlights can give the strangest impressions on occasions,” Emily repeated with an artificial smile. She refused to ask who the company had been.

Lady Malmsbury was not to be deflected.