The Whitechapel Conspiracy by Anne Perry Page A

one of them. Belongs to a man called Sissons. He has three of them, all around here. Two this side of the Whitechapel Road, one the other.”
    There was something in his expression that caught Pitt’s attention, a hesitation, a watchfulness.
    “Is it a good place to work?” Pitt asked, trying to sound completely casual.
    “Any work is good,” Karansky answered. “He pays fair enough. Hours are long and the work can be hard, but it’s enough to live on, if you are careful. It’s a lot better than starving, and there’s already enough around here that do that. But don’t set your heart on it, unless you know someone who can get you in.”
    “I don’t. Where else should I look?”
    Karansky blinked. “You’re not going to try for it?”
    “I’ll try. But you said not to count on it.”
    There was a movement on the landing beyond the door, and Karansky turned. Pitt saw past him where a handsome woman stood just behind. She must have been almost Karansky’s age, but her hair was still thick and dark although her face was lined with weariness and anxiety and her eyes held a haunted look, as if fear were a constant companion. Nevertheless her features were beautifully proportioned, and there was a dignity in her that experience had refined rather than destroyed.
    “Is the room right for you?” she asked tentatively.
    “It is good, Leah,” Karansky assured her. “Mr. Pitt will stay with us. He will look for a job tomorrow.”
    “Saul needs help,” she said, looking past her husband to Pitt. “Can you lift and carry? It is not hard.”
    “He was asking about the sugar factory,” Karansky told her “Perhaps he would rather be there.”
    She looked surprised, worried, as if Karansky had done something which disappointed her. She frowned. “Wouldn’t Saul’s be better?” Her expression indicated that she meant far more than the simple words, and she expected him to understand.
    Karansky shrugged. “You can try both, if you want.”
    “You said I wouldn’t get anything at the sugar factory unless I knew someone,” Pitt reminded him.
    Karansky gazed back in silence for several seconds, as if trying to decide how much of what he had said was honest, and the truth of it eluded him.
    It was Mrs. Karansky who broke the silence.
    “The sugar factory is not a good place, Mr. Pitt. Saul won’t pay as much, but it’s a better place to work, believe me.”
    Pitt tried to balance in his mind the advantages of safety and the appearance of ordinary common sense against the loss of opportunity to discover what was so dangerous about the sugar factories which supported half the community, either directly or indirectly.
    “What does Saul do?” he asked.
    “Weave silk,” Karansky answered.
    Pitt had a strong feeling that Karansky expected him to beinterested in the sugar factory, to go for that job in spite of any warning. He remembered Narraway’s words about trust.
    “Then I think I’ll go to see him tomorrow, and if I’m lucky, he may give me some work,” he replied. “Anything will be better than nothing, even a few days.”
    Mrs. Karansky smiled. “I’ll tell him. He’s a good friend. He’ll find a place for you. May not be much, but it’s as certain as anything is in this life. Now you must be hungry. We eat in an hour. Come, join us.”
    “Thank you,” Pitt accepted, remembering the smell from the kitchen and recoiling from the thought of going out again into the sour, gray streets with their smell of dirt and misery. “I will.”

4
    I T WAS NOT the first night on which Pitt had been away from home, but Charlotte felt a kind of loneliness that she had not experienced at other times, perhaps because now she had no idea when he would be back, or even if. When he was, it would be only temporary.
    She lay awake a long time, too angry to sleep. She tossed and turned, pulling the bedclothes with her until she had made a complete mess of them. Finally at about two o’clock she got up, stripped the