Already in the glare of the gas lamps and the illumination of shop windows among the theater crowds and sightseers, they noticed women walking slowly with an arrogant set to their shoulders and swinging their hips in invitation. Skirts swayed, and now and then an ankle was visible.
They were all sorts of women: young and fresh-faced from the country; pale and sophisticated; those who had been milliners or dressmakers, or in domestic service, and lost their positions through seduction; older women, some already riddled with venereal disease.
Young gentlemen sauntered by, well-dressed, taking their pick. Others were older, even silver-haired. Every now and again two would disappear, arm- in-arm, into a doorway to some house of accommodation.
Carriages passed, hooves clattering, occupants laughing. Gaudy theater signs advertised melodrama and titillation. Monk and Drusilla passed a brazier roasting chestnuts and the wave of heat engulfed them for a moment.
“Would you like some?” he asked.
“Oh yes! Yes. I'd love some,” she accepted quickly. “I haven't tasted them for ages.”
He bought threepence worth, and they shared them, nibbling carefully not to burn their lips or tongues, now and then glancing at each other. The chestnuts were delicious, the more so for being a touch charred on the outside and too hot in the bitter evening.
Around them swirled laughter and a spice of danger. Some men hurried by with coat collars drawn up and hats pulled down over their brows, bent on pleasures for which they preferred to be anonymous. Others were quite open and swaggered brazenly, calling out comments.
Drusilla moved closer to Monk, her eyes bright, her face smooth and glowing with an inner excitement which gave her skin a kind of radiance and made her even lovelier. She was full of laughter, as if she were on the edge of some wonderful joke.
They passed a peep show. It rose to his mind to point out that they could not actually accomplish anything, because they had no way of learning if Genevieve had ever been here, or with whom. He had no likeness of her to show. But to say so would have spoiled their fun, and that was what actually mattered. It was conceivable that Genevieve had connived at Angus's death, but he did not believe it. Without a body, she had nothing to gain and everything to lose.
An hour later as they walked up Greek Street towards Soho Square, the subject arose, and he was obliged to answer it.
“But maybe the body will turn up?” she said, stepping up the pavement from the road. She swaggered a couple of steps, mimicking the prostitutes, and burst into laughter again. “I'm sorry!” she said happily. “But it's such fun not to care a fig for an evening, not to worry if everything is correct, who is looking at you or listening to you, if old Lady So-and-So will disapprove, and who she will repeat it to. Such freedom is terribly sweet. Thank you, William, for a unique evening!” And before he could reply, she hurried on. “Perhaps they are keeping it hidden for a reason?”
“What reason?” he asked amusedly. He was enjoying himself too much to care about the illogicality of it all. Tomorrow would be time enough to pursue the real. Tonight was his own, and Drusilla's.
“Ah!” She stopped suddenly and swung around, her eyes wide and dancing with excitement. “I have it! What if Angus turns up again, alive and well, saying he was hurt in a terrible fight with Caleb, in which he was injured, perhaps knocked on the head, and was unable to contact anyone. He was insensible, delirious. He thinks Caleb is dead…”
“But he's alive,” Monk pointed out. “I've seen him, and he admitted having killed Angus. In-”
“No, no,” she interrupted eagerly. “Wait! Don't keep stopping me! Of course he is-and he did! Don't you see? The Angus who turns up is really Caleb. He and Genevieve have done away with Angus, and when it is too late to tell them apart, and the body has”-she wrinkled her nose”decomposed sufficiently, all the doctors can say is that it was one of the brothers!
By that time there will be no firm flesh in the face to recognize, no uncallused hands, clean fingernails, anything like that. If she says the man who returns is Angus, who will argue with her?” Her hand tightened on his arm. “William, it's brilliant. It explains everything!”
He searched for a flaw in it, and could not see one. He did not believe it, but it was perfectly possible. The longer he thought about it, the more possible it grew.
“Doesn't it?” she demanded eagerly. “Tell me I'm a brilliant detective, William! You must take me into partnership-I'll find the theories to fit all your cases. Then you can go and find the evidence to prove them.” “A wonderful idea,” he said with a laugh. “Would you like dinner on it?” “Yes, Yes I would. With champagne.” She looked around at the brightly lit street with its inviting windows. “Where shall we dine? Please let us make it somewhere exciting, disreputable and utterly delicious. I'm sure you must know such a place.”
He probably had, before his accident. Now he could only guess. He must not take her where she could be bored, or where anything would happen which would embarrass or disgust her. And of course he could hardly expect Callandra to pay the bill for this. For a start, she would disapprove. She would consider it a betrayal of Hester, no matter how absurd that was. And it was absurd. His relationship with Hester was not one of choice but of circumstances which had thrown them together. There was no romance in it, only a kind of cooperation in certain areas-almost a business relationship, one might say.
Drusilla was waiting, her face full of expectancy.
“Of course,” he agreed, not daring to expose his ignorance. “A little further along.” With any luck, he would see something within the next two or three hundred yards. It was an excellent area for cafes, taverns and coffeehouses.
“Wonderful,” she said happily, turning to walk forward again. “You know, I am really hungry. How unladylike of me to admit it. That's another thing about this evening I enjoy so much. I can be hungry! I can even drink what I please. Perhaps I shan't have champagne. Perhaps I shall have stout. Or porter.”
They had an excellent meal at a tavern where the landlord told mildly bawdy jokes and laughed uproariously, and one of the regular customers lampooned various politicians and members of the royal family. The atmosphere was homely and warm and a multitude of odors, almost all of them pleasant, wrapped them round in an island from all the day-to-day reality of their separate worlds.
Afterwards they walked nearly to the end of the street back to Soho Square before picking up a hansom to take her home, and from there he could take it on to Fitzroy Street himself.
He realized with surprise he had no idea where she lived, and he was interested when she gave the driver an address on the edge of Mayfair. They sat close together in the alternating darkness and light as they bowled along Oxford Street westwards, then turned left down North Audley Street.
He could not remember having felt more perfectly at ease in anyone's company, and yet never for an instant bored or irritated. He looked forward intensely to the next time he should see her. He must think of other things to do which would entertain her when the business of Angus Stonefield was concluded.
They were passing a large house where some kind of party was coming to an end. The street was full of carriages and they were obliged to slow their pace. There were lights everywhere, torches and carriage lamps, the blaze of chandeliers from the open doors. At least a dozen people stood around on the footpath, and five or six more in the street. Liveried footmen assisted a woman to get her massive skirts into her carriage. Grooms held horses' heads, coachmen steadied the reins.
Suddenly Drusilla lurched forward. Her face had changed utterly. There was a blind hatred in her which made her almost unrecognizable. Her hands went to the bosom of her gown and with a convulsive movement she tore it open, ripping the fabric, exposing her pale flesh and gashing it with her fingernails till it smeared blood. She screamed, again and again, piercingly, as if in mortal terror. She beat her fists against his chest, forcing her way past him, then plunged headlong into the street, landing in a heap in the road. Immediately she clambered to her feet, still screaming, and ran towards the astonished footman, now trying to control a startled horse, which was taking fright at the commotion.