Maisie read on. The police also wanted to question Miranda about the deaths of Peter Middleton, at Windfield School in 1866; Seth Pilaster, the Senior Partner of Pilasters Bank, in 1873; and Solomon Greenbourne, who was pushed under a speeding carriage in a side street off Piccadilly in July of 1879.
"And Seth Pilaster--Hugh's uncle Seth?" Maisie said agitatedly. "Why did he kill all these people?"
April said: "The newspapers never tell you what you really want to know."
The third paragraph jolted Maisie yet again. The shooting had taken place in northeast London, near Walthamstow, at a village called Chingford. Her heart missed a beat. "Chingford!" she gasped.
"I've never heard of it--"
"It's where Hugh lives!"
"Hugh Pilaster? Are you still carrying a torch for him?"
"He must have been involved, don't you see? It can't be a coincidence! Oh, dear God, I hope he's all right."
"I expect the paper would say if he had been hurt."
"It only happened a few hours ago. They may not know." Maisie could not bear this uncertainty. She stood up. "I must find out if he's all right," she said.
"How?"
She put on her hat and stuck a pin in it. "I'll go to his house."
"His wife won't like it."
"His wife's a paskudniak."
April laughed. "What's that?"
"A shitbag." Maisie put on her coat.
April stood up. "My carriage is outside. I'll take you to the railway station."
When they got into April's carriage they realized that neither of them knew which London terminus they should go to for a train to Chingford. Fortunately the coachman, who was also the doorman at Nellie's brothel, was able to tell them it was Liverpool Street.
When they got there Maisie thanked April perfunctorily and dashed into the station. It was packed with Christmas travelers and shoppers returning to their suburban homes. The air was full of smoke and dirt. People shouted greetings and farewells over the screech of steel brakes and the explosive exhalations of the steam engines. She fought her way to the booking office through a throng of women with armfuls of parcels, bowler-hatted clerks going home early, black-faced engineers and firemen, children and horses and dogs.
She had to wait fifteen minutes for a train. On the platform she watched a tearful farewell between two young lovers, and envied them.
