Cater Street Hangman by Anne Perry

considered certain, fixed.
    He looked at her with a very slight smile, as if there were understanding between them.
    “If I knew that perhaps I should know who it is. But his reason is not a simple one—and not a clean one, like a robbery or revenge. It is something darker than that, twisted deeper into the soul.”
    She was frightened, and she disliked him, disliked his familiarity, his intrusion into her emotions, forcing her to know things she did not want to know.
    “I think you had better go, Mr. Pitt. There is nothing whatsoever I can tell you. And I believe you wished to see Mr. Corde, although I’m sure he can tell you nothing either. Perhaps you had better consider the other girls—who were killed.” She drew breath and tried to steady herself.
    “I shall consider everything, Miss Ellison. But yes, I would like to see Mr. Corde. Perhaps you would be good enough to call Maddock, and send for him?”
    The evening was not a pleasant one. Dominic would not tell anyone what Pitt had asked him, although Edward did press him as far as discretion would allow. Dominic remained almost silent which was worrying in itself because it was out of character. Charlotte was afraid even to entertain her thoughts. She kept just beyond framing the possibility that Pitt had discovered something that embarrassed Dominic, something to be ashamed of. Of course, it could have nothing to do with the death of Lily, or the others, but everyone knew that men, even the best of them, occasionally did other things that were not known. It was the nature of men, and to be expected but not acknowledged, for one’s own peace of mind.
    She talked determinedly of other things, aware that sometimes what she said was nonsense, but better nonsense than the long gaps in conversation when thoughts intruded.
    In spite of being tired, she slept badly and woke late, causing her to have to rush to get ready for church. She had never particularly enjoyed church, the formality of it, the atmosphere of rigid propriety, the polite greetings that were a ritual rather than a matter of friendship, the form of service that was always the same till she found herself saying the words and singing the responses like a parrot. She could go through the whole thing automatically, providing she did not stop to think where she was. Once she stopped she had to look at the words to get herself started again until habit took over. And, of course, the vicar would preach a sermon. It was usually on sin, and the need for repentance. The woman taken in adultery was his favourite story, although he never drew from it the same meaning that Charlotte did. And why was it always the woman? Why were men never taken in adultery? In all the stories she had ever heard it was women who committed the adultery, and men who found them and commented on it! What about the men with whom they were found? Why didn’t the women throw stones at them? She had asked Papa that, a long time ago, and been told with some surprise not to be ridiculous.
    The vicar gave his usual sermon today; in fact, if anything, it was even worse. His text was “Blessed are the pure in heart” but his message was more “blessed are the clean of action.” He went to great lengths to condemn unclean actions. And the more he spoke about harlots and prostitutes, the more Charlotte found her mind seeing the poor that that wretched Pitt had described; children left to starve at the age when she and her sisters were just learning to read and write, being taught by Miss Sims in the schoolroom. She thought of young women left alone with babies. How else could they live?
    She very seldom swore, but this morning she would have consigned Mr. Pitt to hell for haying forced her to know of such things. She sat on the hard pew and stared at the vicar. Everything he said made her feel worse. She had always disliked him, and by the end of this morning she hated him with a vehemence that depressed and frightened her. She was sure it was