Cater Street Hangman Read online

  Emily stood up and went to the door.

  “Emily! You aren’t going to listen?”

  Emily held her finger to her lips, smiling.

  “Don’t you want to know?” she asked.

  Charlotte got to her feet quickly and went over to Emily, standing almost on top of her.

  “Well, I certainly do,” she joined in. “Open the door, just a crack.”

  Emily had already done so. They crouched over it together, and a moment later Charlotte felt the warmth of Sarah right behind her, her taffeta afternoon dress rustling a little.

  “Edward, you must destroy the newspapers,” Caroline was saying. “Say that you lost them.”

  “We don’t know that it will be in the newspapers.”

  “Of course it will!” Caroline was angry, upset. Her voice quavered. “And you know that—”

  Charlotte drew in her breath sharply; her mother was about to betray her.

  “—that it might get left where one of the girls could see it.” Caroline went on. “And I won’t have the servants read it either. Poor Mrs. Dunphy sometimes uses newspapers to wrap kitchen refuse, or Lily might use them in cleaning. It would frighten the poor things out of their wits.”

  “Yes,” Edward agreed. “Yes, my dear, you are quite right. I shall read it and destroy it before returning home. It would be wise if we could keep Mama from hearing about it. It is bound to distress her.”

  Caroline’s agreement lacked any conviction. Charlotte smiled, hiding her face in Emily’s silk back. It was her private opinion that Grandmama was tougher than a Turkish soldier in the Crimea she was always talking about. Apparently Caroline thought so, too. But what was it that had happened? Her curiosity was boiling over.

  “Was the poor girl—” Caroline swallowed; they could hear it from behind the door—” garotted, like Chloe Abernathy?”

  “Hardly like Chloe Abernathy,” Edward corrected, but there was a catch in his voice too, as if reality had just overtaken him. “Chloe was a . . . a respectable girl. This maid of the Hiltons’ was—well, it seems regrettable to speak ill of the dead, especially dead in such a terrible way, but she was a girl of dubious reputation. She had more followers than any decent girl would. I dare say that was what brought about her terrible death.”

  “You said she was found in the street, Edward?”

  “Yes, in Cater Street, not half a mile from the vicar’s.”

  “Well, don’t the Hiltons live in Russmore Street? That leads off Cater Street at the far end. I suppose she went out to meet someone and it . . . it happened.”

  “Hush, my dear. It was quite horrible, obscene. We won’t speak of it any more. We had better go into the withdrawing room or they will begin to wonder what is keeping us. I just hope the whole neighbourhood won’t be buzzing with it. I imagine Dominic will have the sense not to speak of it, at least of the more . . . bestial aspects of it?”

  “Well, you only heard by chance, because you were in Cater Street at just the moment when the police were there; otherwise in the dark you would have known nothing.”

  “I must warn him to be discreet. We don’t want the girls upset, or the servants either. But I had better have a word with Maddock, and see that neither Dora nor Lily goes out walking alone until this wretched man is caught.” There was a sound of footsteps as he moved.

  Charlotte felt Emily’s elbow in her ribs as a sharp warning and they all collapsed backwards and fled to their respective seats. They were sitting awkwardly, skirts crumpled, when the door opened.

  Edward’s face was pale, but he was perfectly composed.

  “Good evening, my dears. I hope you had a pleasant day?”

  “Yes, thank you, Papa,” Charlotte said breathlessly. “Quite pleasant. Thank you.”

  But her mind was out in a shadowed street in some unimaginable horror of dark shapes, sudden pain, choking—and death.

  Chapter Two

  EMILY WAS EXCITED. This was the kind of day she loved, even more than the day after. Today was the day of dreams, of preparations, of last-minute stitching, of laying out every detail of clean underwear, of washing hair and brushing, of curling irons, and then at the very last minute of all, the delicate, infinitely discreet touches to the face.

  Tonight they were going to a formal ball at the house of one Colonel Decker and his wife, and far more to the point, his son and his daughter. Emily had seen them only twice, but had heard delicious stories from Lucy Sandelson as to their dashing style, their elegance, the flair with which they wore the latest fashions; and yet more intoxicating, the abundance and intimacy of their acquaintances among the wealthy and the aristocratic. Truly this ball gave promise of endless doors which, with a little luck and a little skill, might open onto worlds heretofore only dreamed of.

  Sarah was going to wear blue, a soft baby blue which was extremely becoming to her. It flattered her skin, highlighting its delicacy, and caught the colour of her eyes. It was a colour that suited Emily’s warmer tone very well also, complementing her cheeks, darker eyes, and brownish hair with its hazel and gold lights. Still, it would flatter neither of them to wear the same; indeed it would make them look ridiculous and Sarah naturally had first choice.

  Charlotte had decided upon a rich, wine pink, another shade which would have suited Emily. But to be honest, it suited Charlotte, with the redwood colour of her hair and her honey-toned skin even better. No one could call her eyes blue; they were gray in any light.

  Which left only yellow or green for Emily. Yellow always made her look sallow. It looked dreadful on Sarah too; only Charlotte was flattered by it. So, with a touch of ill humour, Emily had settled for green, a soft, lighter than apple green. Now, holding it up in front of her, she had to admit that chance had favoured her. It really was most excellently becoming. She looked all delicacy and spring, like some flower in its self-chosen setting, as if she owed nothing to artifice. Indeed, if dressed in this she could not attract the admiration, and thus of course the attention, of one of the Decker family’s friends, she did not deserve to succeed. Sarah was not in the field, being married; the Madison sisters were unattractively dark, and let us be honest, much thicker round the waist than was desirable, both of them! Perhaps they overate?

  Lucy was handsome enough, but so clumsy! And Charlotte, she knew, would be no rival, because Charlotte always spoilt any visual effect she might have made as soon as she opened her mouth! Why did Charlotte always have to say what she thought, instead of what she certainly had enough wit to know people wished?

  This green really was excellent. She must get another gown in the same shade for daytime. And where was Lily? She was supposed to be coming with the curling irons!

  She went to the door.

  “Lily?”

  “Coming, Miss Emily. One moment, and I’m coming right now!”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just the last touches to Miss Charlotte’s dress, Miss Emily.”

  “The irons will get cold!” Really Lily was stupid at times! Didn’t the girl ever think?

  “They’re still too hot, Miss Emily. I’m coming right now!”

  This time she fulfilled her promise, and half an hour later Emily was totally satisfied. She turned slowly in front of the mirror. The reflection was dazzling; she could think of nothing to add or alter. This was the best image she was able to present; young yet not totally unsophisticated, ethereal without being quite out of reach.

  Caroline came into the room behind her.

  “You’ve been standing in front of that mirror too long, Emily. You must know every fold of your dress by now.” Her reflection was smiling, meeting Emily’s eyes. “Vanity in a woman is not an attractive quality, my dear. However beautiful you are—and you are pretty enough, but not beautiful—it becomes you to pretend indifference to it.”

  Emily stifled a laugh. She was far too excited to be offended.

  “I don’t intend anyone else to be indifferent to it. Are you ready, Mama?”

 
; “Do you feel there is something I have yet to do?” Caroline’s mouth twisted a little.

  Emily swung round, flouncing her skirt. She regarded her mother in mock consideration. On anyone else the brown-gold dress would have been sombre, but against Caroline’s rich skin and mahogany hair it was very handsome indeed. Emily had too much honesty to do anything but approve.

  “Thank you,” Caroline said with some acerbity. “Are you ready to come down? Everyone else is prepared to leave.”

  Emily came down the stairs carefully, holding her dress, and was the first into the carriage. All the way there she was silent, her mind whirling faster and faster through dreams, picturing handsome men, faces as yet indistinct, all turned towards her as she danced, music in her ears, in her body and in her feet, barely touching the ground. One vision melted into another. She progressed to the next day, to admirers calling, to letters, then to rivalry for her attention. A pity gentlemen did not duel any more. Of course, it would all be very proper. Perhaps one of them would be titled. Would she marry him? Become Lady something? There would be a long, passionate courtship first—his family would have chosen someone else for him. Someone of his own social standing, an heiress. But he would be prepared to risk everything! The dream was delicious. It was almost an anticlimax when they arrived. But she knew the difference between dream and reality.

  They had judged it perfectly—probably Mama’s doing. The ball was already in progress; they heard the music even as they mounted the steps to the great doors. Emily caught her breath and swallowed hard in the excitement. There were more than fifty people, swirling gently like flowers in a breeze, colours blending and drifting one into another, interspersed with the dark, stiffer forms of the men. The music was like summer and wine and laughter.

  They were announced. Mama and Papa went down the steps slowly, then Dominic and Sarah, then Charlotte. Emily hesitated as long as she dared. Were all those faces looking at her? Oh, yes, please let it be that they were? She picked up her skirt just an inch or two in her hand, delicately, and began to descend the stair. It was a moment to be savoured, like the exquisite first strawberry of the year, at once sweet and tart, drawing the mouth.

  They were formally introduced, but most of it passed over her head. She was aware only of the son of the family. He was a bitter disappointment. Reality shattered the remnant of the dream. He was ruddy-faced, short-nosed, and definitely too stout for a man of his youth.

  Emily curtsied, as habit dictated, and when he asked her for the honour of the dance she accepted. There was no other civil way to behave, and she was duly led away. He danced badly.

  Afterwards Emily found herself deposited among a group of other young women, most of whom she knew, at least by sight. Conversation was minimal and extremely silly, as everyone’s mind was on the men now congregating at the far side or dancing with others. Such remarks as were made were not listened to, either by those who made them or by those to whom they were addressed.

  Emily saw Dominic and Sarah together, and Mama dancing with Colonel Decker. Charlotte was talking, with an attempt at interest, to a young man with an elegant and weary air.

  It was half an hour, and several dances later, before young Decker returned—much to Emily’s dismay, until she saw that he brought with him quite the handsomest man she had seen in a year. He was of no more than average height, but his brown hair curled richly to his head, his colour was excellent, his features regular, his eyes large, and above all he carried with him an air of assurance that was beauty in itself.

  “Miss Emily Ellison,” young Decker bowed very slightly, “may I present to you Lord George Ashworth.”

  Emily held out her hand and curtsied, eyes down to hide the colour of excitement she felt climbing up her cheeks. Really, she must behave as if she met lords every day, and cared not a whit.

  He spoke to her; she hardly heard the words. She replied gracefully.

  The conversation was formal, a little stilted, but it hardly mattered. Decker was an ass—she needed only half her attention to maintain a subject with him—but Ashworth was entirely different. She could feel his eyes on her, and it was both dangerous and exciting. He was a man who would reach boldly for what he wanted. There might be finesse, but there would be no fumbling, no diffidence. It brought her a tingle of fear to know that she was, at this moment, the object of his interest.

  She danced with him twice within the next hour. He was not indiscreet. Twice was enough; more would have drawn attention, perhaps Papa’s, which could spoil everything.

  She saw Papa across the room, dancing with Sarah, and Mama trying to avoid the very open admiration of Colonel Decker, without at the same time offending him, or allowing the situation to arouse the jealousy of others. At a different time, Emily would have watched for the education it would have given her. Now she had business of her own that required all her wits.

  She was standing talking to one of the Misses Madison, but she was conscious of Lord Ashworth’s eyes on her from across the room. She must stand straight. A bent back was most unbecoming, made an ugly bustline, and did little for the chin. She must smile, but not seem to be vacuous, and move her hands prettily. She never forgot how ugly hands could spoil an otherwise graceful woman, having seen it all too disastrously demonstrated by the other of the Misses Madison, to the total loss of a promising admirer. That was something Sarah had never quite mastered and Charlotte had, which was odder still. Charlotte was so awkward with her tongue, but she had such beautiful hands. She was dancing now with Dominic, her face lifted, her eyes glowing. Really, sometimes Emily doubted she had the sense she was born with! There was nothing to be gained from Dominic. He had no friends of value, and certainly no relations. True, he was comfortably enough placed himself, but that was of no consequence to Charlotte. Only a fool travelled a road that led nowhere. Still, you could not tell some people!

  By midnight Emily had danced with George Ashworth another two times, but nothing had been said about a further meeting, or about his calling on her. She was beginning to fear she had not been as successful as she had at first presumed. Papa would soon decide it was time to go home. She must do something within the next few minutes, or perhaps lose her chance, and that would be appalling. She could not lose so soon the first lord she had spoken to familiarly, quite the handsomest man; and, even more to her liking, a man of wit and boldness.

  She excused herself from Lucy Sandelson on the pretext of being rather warm, and made her way towards the conservatory. It would doubtless be far too cold in there, but what was a little discomfort in the pursuit of such advance?

  She had waited five minutes, which seemed like fifty, when at last she heard footsteps. She did not turn, pretending to be absorbed in the contemplation of an azalea.

  “I hoped you would not have grown cold and returned to the ballroom before I had the chance to disengage myself.”

  She felt the blood surge through her. It was Ashworth.

  “Indeed,” she said as calmly as she could. “I had no idea you had observed my leaving. I did not intend to be obvious.” What a lie. If she had not thought he observed her she would have had to return, and leave again. “I was finding the heat growing a trifle oppressive. So many people.”

  “Do you dislike crowds? I am most disappointed.” He sounded it. “I was hoping I might invite you, and perhaps Miss Decker, to accompany me and one or two friends to the races in a week’s time. There is a big meeting, and all fashionable London will be there. You would have graced the scene, especially if you were to have worn the same delightful shade as you are wearing now. It brings all springtime and youth to mind.”

  She was too choked with excitement to speak. The races! With Lord Ashworth! All fashionable London. Dreams flickered past her eyes in such profusion she could hardly distinguish one from another. Maybe the Prince of Wales would be there; he loved racing. And who knew who else? She would buy another dress in green, a dress for the races, fit to turn every head on the course!

&nbs
p; “You are very silent, Miss Ellison,” he said from behind her. “I should be dreadfully disappointed if you did not come. You are quite the most enchanting creature here. And I promise you, the crowds at the races will be nothing like as stifling as here in the ballroom. It will all be open air, and if we are lucky, sunshine as well. Please say that you will come?”

  “Thank you, Lord Ashworth.” She must keep her voice steady, as if she frequently were invited to the races by lords and it were no cause for ecstasy. “I should be most charmed to come. I have no doubt it will be a delightful occasion, and Miss Decker quite a proper companion. I understand she has accepted?”

  “Naturally, or I should not have been so inconsiderate as to approach you.” That was a lie, but she was not to know it.

  When Papa came to inform her it was time to return home, she followed obediently, smiling, in a haze of delight.

  Race day was fine, one of those cool, dazzlingly sunny days of late spring when the very air seems to sparkle. Emily had prevailed upon Papa to purchase yet another new dress, and in the very green she wished. She had hinted at the eloquent argument that if really successful she might attract a future husband—a thought which could not fail to impress Papa. Three daughters were a severe test of any man’s connections and good fortune if he wished to see them satisfactorily married. Sarah had been matched, if not brilliantly, at least acceptably. Dominic had sufficient means, and was certainly more than personable. He was uncommonly handsome, and seemed of easy temper and good habits.

  Charlotte, of course, was entirely another matter. Emily could not see Charlotte being nearly so easily settled. She was both far too unaccommodating in her nature—no man liked an argumentative woman—and far too impractical in her own desires. She wished for the most awkward and, in the long run, unrewarding attributes in a man. Emily had tried to speak to her regarding her ambitions, to point out that financial means and social standing, coupled with acceptable appearance and behaviour that was at any rate well-mannered, were all one could reasonably expect—indeed, were a very great deal more than most girls ever achieved. But Charlotte refused to be persuaded, or seriously to acknowledge that she even understood.