Paragon Walk by Anne Perry Read Free Book Online Page B

the faint tick to make sure it was still going. She knew perfectly well it was foolish, because he could not return before five at the very earliest, and more likely six.
    The reason for her concern was Emily, of course. Emily was newly with child, her first, and, as Charlotte could remember only too well, those first months could be very trying. Not only did one feel a natural unsureness at one’s new condition, but there were nausea and the most unreasonable depressions to overcome.
    She had never been to Paragon Walk. Emily had invited her, naturally, but Charlotte was not sure if she had really wished her to go. Ever since they were girls, when Sarah had been alive, and they had lived in Cater Street with Mama and Papa, Charlotte’s lack of tact had been a social liability. Mama had found umpteen suitable young men for her, but Charlotte had had no ambitions, like the others, to make her curb her tongue and seek to impress. Of course, Emily loved her, but she was also aware that Charlotte would not be comfortable in the Walk. She could not afford the clothes, nor the time from her household tasks. She knew none of the gossip, and her life would soon be seen to be utterly different.
    Now she wished she could go, to see for herself that Emily was quite well and not afraid because of the appalling crime. Of course her sister could always remain at home, go out only with a servant, and in daylight, but that was not the real terror. Charlotte refused to remember or think of that.
    It was after six when she finally heard Pitt at the door. She dropped the potatoes she was straining in the sink and knocked over the salt and pepper on the edge of the table running out to meet him.
    “How’s Emily?” she demanded. “Have you seen her? Have you discovered who killed that girl?”
    He closed her in a hard hug. “No, of course I haven’t. I’ve barely begun. And yes, I saw Emily, and she seemed quite well.”
    “Oh.” She pulled away. “You haven’t discovered anything! But you know at least that George had nothing to do with it, don’t you?”
    He opened his mouth to answer, but she saw the indecision in his eyes before he found the words.
    “You don’t!” It came out as an accusation. She was aware even as she said it, and she was sorry, but there was no time to apologize now. “You don’t know! Why haven’t you found out where he was?”
    He moved her aside gently and sat down at the table.
    “I asked him,” he said. “I haven’t had time to check yet.”
    “Check?” she was at his elbow. “Why? Don’t you believe him?” Then she knew that was unfair. He did not have the choice of belief, and anyway belief was not what she needed, not what Emily needed. “I’m sorry.” She touched his shoulder with her hand, feeling the hardness of it under his coat. Then she moved away back to the sink and picked up the potatoes again. She tried to keep her voice casual, but it came out ridiculously high. “Where did he say he was?”
    “At his club,” he replied. “Most of the time. He can’t remember how long he was there, or precisely which other clubs he went to.”
    She went on mechanically dishing the potatoes, the fine-chopped cabbage and the fish she had been so careful to bake in cheese sauce. It was something she had only just learned how to make successfully. Now she surveyed its perfection without interest. Perhaps it was foolish to be afraid. George might be able to prove exactly where he had been all the time, but she had heard about men’s clubs, the games, the conversations, people sitting around drinking, or even asleep. How could anyone remember who had been there at a particular time, or even a particular evening? How was one evening different from another to recall it with surety?
    It was not that she thought George might have killed the girl, nothing so appalling as that, but she knew from the past what damage even suspicion can do. If George was telling the truth, he would resent it if