Death in the Devil's Acre Read Online Free PDF

a total innocent! “In that case, he must have had rather a lot of enemies,” she continued reasonably. “If he had several establishments, then he was doing very well—and I imagine in that sort of trade people are not very scrupulous about how they dispose of competition.”
    “Not very,” he agreed with an expression that showed such a mixture of feelings she found it quite unreadable.
    “Perhaps Dr. Pinchin kept a brothel as well,” she suggested. “Sometimes very respectable people own property in places like that, you know?”
    “Yes, I do know,” he said dryly.
    She caught his glance. “Of course you know. I’m sorry.”
    “There’s nothing you can do in this case, Charlotte. It isn’t your world.”
    “No, of course not,” she said obediently. At this point it would not be to her advantage to pursue the matter, because she could think of no argument to put forward. “I don’t really know anything about the Devil’s Acre.”
    Nevertheless, the following morning as soon as Pitt was out of the house, Charlotte began making arrangements to be absent for most of the day. Gracie, who far preferred to look after children than blacken the stove, polish the passage floor, or scrub the doorstep, greeted Charlotte’s instructions with enthusiasm—and a tacit promise of silence. She knew a conspiracy when she met it, even if she did not entirely approve. A lady’s curiosity ought to be restricted to other people’s romances, who was wearing what, and how much it cost—and even then she should always keep her dignity. If a gentleman was murdered, that was one thing—but not a doctor who practiced in the Devil’s Acre and was obviously no better than he should be! Grade had heard about places like that—and people!
    Charlotte had said she was going to see her sister Emily, but Gracie had her own ideas of what that was for! She knew perfectly well that Lady Ashworth was not above a good deal of meddling in shocking affairs herself.
    “Yes, ma’am.” She bobbed a neat curtsy. “I ’ope as you’ll ’ave a nice day, ma’am. An’ come ’ome safe.”
    “Of course I’ll come home safely!” Charlotte switched her skirt past a chair and accepted her coat from Gracie’s outstretched hands. “I’m only going to Paragon Walk.”
    “Yes, ma’am, I’m sure.”
    Charlotte gave her a sidewise look, but apparently considered she had already said enough about discretion. Anything more might only make Grade’s suspicions worse.
    “What shall I say to the master, ma’am?” Gracie asked.
    “Nothing. I shall be home long before then. In fact, if Lady Ashworth has an engagement, I may even be home by luncheon.” And with that she swept out the door, down the front step, and went briskly toward the corner where the public omnibus stopped.
    Paragon Walk was classically elegant in the winter sun. Charlotte walked smartly along the footpath and up the smooth carriageway to Emily’s front door. The footman opened it before she had reached up for the bellpull. Naturally, in a well-ordered house the pantry would look out onto the drive and guests would be anticipated.
    “Good morning, Mrs. Pitt,” he said courteously.
    “Good morning, Albert,” she replied with satisfaction, accepting his tacit invitation and stepping inside. It was a very comfortable feeling to be recognized so easily. It gave her the temporary illusion of belonging to this world again.
    “Lady Ashworth is writing letters,” he said almost conversationally as he walked ahead of her across the large hall. On its walls were the Ashworth family portraits stretching back to the days of ruffled collars and Elizabethan pantaloons, with gorgeous slashes of color. “But I am sure she will be pleased to see you.”
    Charlotte, knowing how Emily disliked letter-writing, was also sure. And she would be even more pleased when she heard Charlotte’s extraordinary piece of news.
    The footman opened the morning-room door. “Mrs. Pitt,