Cater Street Hangman by Anne Perry Page B

quickly to disguise.
    “You mean . . . ?”
    “Precisely. Did Maddock admire her, fancy her?”
    She had never before considered the possibility of Maddock having such feelings. Possessiveness over his servants perhaps, but desire, jealousy? Maddock was the butler, in formal clothes, polite, in charge of the house. But he was a man, and now that she thought about it, probably not more than thirty-five or so, not much older than Dominic. What a preposterous thought! To think of him in the same breath as Dominic.
    Pitt was waiting, watching her face.
    “I see the thought is a new one to you, but not unlikely, when you weigh it.”
    There was no point in lying to him.
    “No. I remember someone saying something. Mrs. Dunphy—the night Lily—disappeared. She said Maddock—liked Lily, that he would be bound to disapprove of Jack Brody because he took Lily out, whatever he was like. But that could mean no more than that he was afraid of losing a good girl. It takes a long time to train a new one, you know.” She did not want to get Maddock into trouble. She could not really imagine he had followed Lily out and done that to her. Could she?
    “But Maddock went out that evening, into the streets?” Pitt went on.
    “Yes, of course! You already knew that. He went to look for her, because she was late. Any good butler would do that!”
    “What time?”
    “I’m not sure. Why don’t you ask him?” She was aware as soon as she said it that it was foolish. If Maddock were guilty of anything, not that he was of course, but if he were he would hardly be likely to tell Pitt the truth about it. “I’m sorry.” Why should she apologize to this policeman? “Ask Mrs. Dunphy,” she went on stiffly. “I believe it was a little after ten, but naturally I was not in the kitchen to know for myself.”
    “I have already asked Mrs. Dunphy,” he replied, “but I like to get corroboration from as many sources as possible. And her memory, on her own admission, is not very reliable. She was very upset by the whole business.”
    “And you think I’m not? Just because I don’t weep all over the place?” The intimation that she had not cared as much as she should have.
    “I would hardly expect you to be as fond of a servant girl as the cook might be,” Pitt said with his mouth twitching slightly, as if there were a smile inside him. “And I would think your nature excites to anger rather more readily than to tears.”
    “You think I am ill-tempered?” she said, then immediately wished she had not. It implied she cared what he thought of her, which was absurd.
    “I think you are quick-tempered and take little trouble to hide your feelings,” he smiled. “A not unattractive quality and uncommon in women, especially of gentle birth.”
    She found herself blushing hotly.
    “You are impertinent!” she snapped.
    His smile broadened; he was looking straight at her.
    “If you didn’t wish to know what I thought of you, why did you ask?”
    She could think of no answer to that. Instead she summoned all the dignity she could and faced him squarely.
    “I believe it is quite possible Maddock was fond of Lily, but you surely cannot imagine he held the same regard for the Hiltons’ maid, and still less for Chloe Abernathy. Therefore, to suppose that he might have killed them all is faulty reasoning in the extreme, if you attribute his motive to fondness. If not, then you have no motive at all. I think perhaps you had better begin again, on a more promising line of enquiry.” She intended it as a dismissal.
    He did not move.
    “You were the only one here at the time?” he asked.
    “Apart from Mrs. Dunphy, and Dora, of course. Why?”
    “Your mother and sisters were at some church function. Where were your father and Mr. Corde?”
    “Ask them.”
    “You don’t know?”
    “No, I don’t.”
    “But they came home passing close to Cater Street, if not actually through it?”
    “If they had seen anything, I’m sure they would