by Anne Perry
“But in Paragon Walk there had been a murder!” Charlotte protested. “Here there has been no crime-unless you think Lord Augustus was murdered?” It was a horrible thought and she had not accepted it, nor did she now. She meant it as a criticism, a shock rather than a question.
Vespasia was not shaken. “Most probably he died quite naturally,” she replied, as if she had been discussing something that happened every day. “But one must face the possibility that he did not. We know a great deal less about people than we like to imagine. Maybe Alicia is as simple as she seems, a pleasant girl of good family and more than usual good looks, whose father married her advantageously; and she was, if not pleased by it, at least not imaginative or rebellious enough to object, even in her own mind.
“But, my dear, it is also possible that, as her marriage became more and more tedious, and she began to realize it would never be otherwise and could well last another twenty years, the thought became unbearable. And then when Dominic Corde came along and at precisely the same time an opportunity presented itself quite easily to be rid of her husband, in an instant she took it. It would be very easily done, you know, merely a small movement of the hand, a drop, two drops too much, nothing more: no evidence, no lies as to where she had been or with whom. She could almost forget it, wipe it from memory, convince herself it had not happened.”
“Do you believe that?” Charlotte was afraid. Even in front of the fire she became conscious of coldness again, of her feet being wet. Outside, the sleet clattered against the glass of the windows.
“No,” Vespasia said quietly. “But I do not deny its possibility.”
Charlotte stood still.
“Go and change out of those wet boots,” Vespasia ordered. “We will take luncheon in here, and you may tell me about your child. What is it you have called her?”
“Jemima,” Charlotte answered obediently, standing up.
“I thought your mother’s name was Caroline?” Vespasia raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“It is,” Charlotte agreed. She turned at the door and gave her a dazzling smile. “And Grandmama’s name is Amelia. I don’t care for that either!”
The soiree was informal, and there was a great deal more conversation than listening to the music, which Charlotte rather regretted, since it was good and she was fond of the piano. She had never played it well herself, but both Sarah and Emily had, and this young man’s gentle touch brought back memories of childhood and Mama singing.
Dominic was surprised to see her, but either he did not notice the excellence of Vespasia’s gown on her, or he was too sensitive to comment on it, knowing that in her circumstances it would have to be borrowed.
Charlotte had not seen Alicia before, and her curiosity had been mounting from the time the first guest, who was Virgil Smith, arrived. As Vespasia had said, he was remarkably plain. His nose was anything but aristocratic; it appeared less like marble than warm wax, put on with a careless hand. His haircut might have been executed with a pair of shears round the edge of a basin, but his tailor was exemplary. He smiled at Charlotte with a warmth that lit up his eyes and spoke to her in an accent she would have loved to mimic, as Emily could have, to retail it to Pitt. But she had no skill in the art.
Sir Desmond and Lady Cantlay did not remember her or, if they did, chose not to acknowledge it. She could hardly blame them; when a corpse lands in the street in front of one, one does not recall the faces of the passersby, even those who offer assistance. They greeted her with the well-bred, mild interest of acquaintances who have nothing in common, so far as they know, except the place in which they meet. Charlotte watched them go and wondered nothing about them, except if they suspected Dominic or Alicia of having entertained murder.
Major Rodney and his sisters held no involvement for her either, and she murmured polite nonsenses to them that reminded her of standing beside her mother and Emily at endless parties when she was single, trying to sound as if she were totally absorbed by Mrs. So-and-so’s most recent illness or the prospects of Miss Somebody’s engagement.
She had already built in her mind very clearly how she expected Alicia to look: fair skin and hair that curled quite naturally-unlike her own-medium height and with soft shoulders, a little inclined to plumpness. Afterward she realized she was creating a vague picture of Sarah again.
When Alicia came she was utterly different. It was not so much a matter of description; she did have fair skin, and her hair waved so softly and asymmetrically it must surely be natural. But she was as tall as Charlotte, and her body was quite slim, her shoulders almost delicate. Far more than that, there was a completely different look in her eyes. She was nothing like Sarah at all.
“How do you do?” Charlotte said after only a second’s hesitation. She did not know whether she had expected to like her or not, but she was startled by the reality. In her own mind, because Dominic was in love with her, she had created a shadow of Sarah. She was unprepared for a different and independent person. And she had forgotten that to Alicia she would be a stranger and, unless Dominic had told her of Sarah and their relationship, one of no importance.
“How do you do, Mrs. Pitt?” Alicia replied, and Charlotte knew instantly that Dominic had not told her; there was no curiosity in her face. Alicia took a step away, saw Dominic, and stood perfectly still for a moment. Then she turned to Gwendoline Cantlay and complimented her on her gown.
Charlotte was still considering her own instinctive understanding of the moment when she realized she was being spoken to.
“I understand you are an ally of Lady Cumming-Gould?”
She looked round at the speaker. He was lean, with winged eyebrows and teeth that were a little crooked when he smiled.
Charlotte scrambled to think what he could mean. “Ally?” It must have something to do with the bill Aunt Vespasia was concerned with, to get children out of workhouses and into some sort of school. He would be the man who had driven Dominic to the street in Seven Dials and shown him the workhouse that had upset him so profoundly. She looked at him with more interest. She could understand Thomas’s care for such things; his daily life brought him the results of its tragedies, every sort of victim. But why did this man care?
“Only in spirit,” she said with a smile. Now she knew who he was, she felt assured; perhaps in all the room he was the one who discomfited her least. “A supporter; nothing so useful as an ally.”
“I think you underrate yourself, Mrs. Pitt,” he replied.
It stung her to be patronized. The cause was too real for trivia and meaningless flattery. She found herself resenting it, as if he did not consider her worthy of the truth.
“You do me no favor by pretending,” she said rather sharply. “I am not an ally. I have not the means.”
His smile widened. “I stand rebuked, Mrs. Pitt, and I apologize. Perhaps I was precipitate, making the wish the fact.”
It would be churlish of her not to accept his apology. “If you can make it a fact, I shall be delighted,” she said more gently. “It is a cause worthy of anyone’s effort.”
Before he could reply, they were introduced to more people. Lord and Lady St. Jermyn came in, and Charlotte found herself presented. Her first impressions of people were frequently wrong: most often the people she afterwards came to like, she felt nothing toward at first; but she could not imagine ever being anything but uncomfortable in the presence of Lord St. Jermyn. There was something about his mouth that repelled her. He was in no way ugly, rather the opposite, but there was a way his lips met that stirred half a memory, half imagination in her that was unpleasant. She heard her voice replying some inanity and felt Carlisle’s eyes on her. He had every right to reproach her with the very dishonesty for which she had just criticized him.
A little later Alicia joined them, with Dominic at her elbow. Charlotte watched them and thought how well they looked together, a perfect complement. Odd how that thought would have hurt and bewildered her a few years ago, and now it gave her no feeling at all except an
xiety, in case the picture broke and there was nothing behind its perfection strong enough to stand an injury to the balance, an assault.
The conversation turned back to the bill. St. Jermyn was talking to Dominic.
“I hear from Somerset that you are a friend of young Fleetwood? With him on our side we would have an excellent chance. He has considerable influence, you know.”
“I don’t know him very well.” Dominic was nervous, beginning to disclaim. Charlotte had seen him twist a glass stem like that in Cater Street; she realized now how many times. She had never been conscious of it before.
“Well enough,” St. Jermyn said with a smile. “You are a good horseman, and an even better judge of an animal. That’s all it takes.”
“I believe you have a fine stable yourself, sir.” Dominic was still trying not to be pushed.
“Racing.” St. Jermyn waved his hand. “Fleetwood prefers a good carriage pair; likes to drive himself, and that’s where you excel. Heard you even beat him once.” He smiled, curling his long mouth down at the corners. “Don’t make a habit of it! He won’t like it more than the occasional time.”
“I was driving to win, not to please Lord Fleetwood,” Dominic said a little tartly. His eyes flickered over to Charlotte, almost as if he were aware of her thoughts and of what she herself would have said.
“That is a luxury we cannot afford.” St. Jermyn was not pleased, but he ironed it out of his face the moment after Charlotte had seen it, and a second later there was no trace at all. She judged that Dominic had not even noticed. “If we want Fleetwood’s help, it would not be clever to beat him too often,” St. Jermyn finished.
Dominic drew breath to retort, but Charlotte spoke before he did. He was not quick to anger, in fact, most agreeable; he seldom took a hard position on any issue, but on the rare occasions that he did, she could not recall his ever having changed it. It would be easy for him to commit himself now and then be unable to move when he regretted it.
“I don’t believe Mr. Corde will do that,” she said, forcing herself to smile across at St. Jermyn. “But surely Lord Fleetwood will take more notice of a man who has beaten him at least once? To come second to him hardly marks one from the crowd, or earns his interest.”
Dominic flashed her one of his beautiful smiles, and for an instant she remembered how she used to feel about him; then the present returned, and she was staring at St. Jermyn.
“Quite,” Dominic agreed. “I would like him to see the workhouse in Seven Dials, as I did. It would not be a sight he would forget in a hurry.”
Alicia was looking puzzled, a slight frown on her face. “What is so dreadful about the workhouse?” she asked. “You said there was poverty, but no legislation is going to get rid of that. Workhouses at least provide people with food and shelter. There have always been rich and poor, and even if you were to alter it with some miracle, in a few years, or less, it would all be the same again-wouldn’t it? If you give a poor man money, it does not make him a rich man for long-”
“You are more perceptive than perhaps you intend,” Carlisle said with a lifting of his brows. “But if you feed the children and keep them clean from disease and despair, so they survive into adulthood without stealing to live, and give them some sort of education, then the next generation is not quite so poor.”
Alicia looked at him, absorbing the idea, realizing that he was very serious.
“God! If you’d seen it!” Dominic said sharply. “You wouldn’t be standing here discussing academic niceties; you would want to get out there and do something!” He looked across at Charlotte. “Wouldn’t they?”
A look of pain shot cross Alicia’s face, and she moved almost imperceptibly away from him. Charlotte saw it and knew exactly what she felt, the sudden sense of alienation, of being shut out of something important to him.
Charlotte looked at him hard, making her voice clear and light. “I should imagine they would. It has certainly affected you that way. You are totally changed. But I hardly think it is a suitable place to take Lady Fitzroy-Hammond, from what I have heard. My husband would not permit me to go there.”
But Dominic would not be told, nor read her hint.
“He doesn’t need to take you,” he said heatedly. “You already know about such places and the people in them, and you care. I can remember you telling me about it years ago; but I didn’t really understand what you meant then.”
“I don’t think you were listening to me!” she said quite honestly. “It has taken you a long time to believe. You must permit others a little time as well.”
“There isn’t time!”
“Indeed, there isn’t, Mrs. Pitt,” St. Jermyn said, raising his glass. “My bill comes up in a few days. If we are to get it through, we will have to have our support then. There isn’t any time to waste. Corde, I’d be most obliged if you’d tackle Fleetwood tomorrow, or the day after at the latest?”
“Of course,” Dominic said firmly. “Tomorrow.”
“Good.” St. Jermyn patted him on the shoulder, then drained his glass. “Come on, Carlisle, we’d better go and talk to our hostess; she knows simply everyone, and we need that.”
A flicker of distaste crossed Carlisle’s face for an instant and was gone almost before Charlotte was sure of it, and he moved to keep up with St. Jermyn. They walked together past the Misses Rodney and Major Rodney, holding a glass in his hand and looking anxiously over their heads as if searching for someone, or possibly fearing someone.
There was an uncomfortable silence; then Virgil Smith appeared. He looked a little doubtfully at Charlotte; then his face softened and he spoke to Alicia. It was only some common remark, quite trivial, but there was a gentleness in his voice that jarred Charlotte away from thoughts of poverty or parliamentary bills, and even suspicions of murder. It was sad, and perhaps unnoticed by anyone else, but she was quite sharply aware that Virgil Smith was in love with Alicia. Probably she had eyes only for Dominic and was not in the least conscious of it, and perhaps he would know its futility and never tell her. In those few seconds Charlotte became one person with Alicia in her mind and memory, reliving her own infatuation with Dominic, finding again the miseries and wild hopes, the silly self-deceptions, all the virtues she read into him, and how little she really knew him. She had done them both a disservice with her dreams, saddling him with virtues he had never claimed to possess.
She would not have seen Virgil Smith either, with his unsculpted face and his impossible manners, and certainly never known or wanted to know that he loved her. It would have embarrassed her. But perhaps she would have been the loser for it.
She excused herself and went to talk to Vespasia and Gwendoline Cantlay and saw more than once a look of unease pass over Gwendoline’s face as she recognized Charlotte vaguely, struggling to place her and failing. She was not sure if she knew her socially, and whether she ought to acknowledge it. With a faint malice, Charlotte allowed her to search; the satisfaction of telling her would not be as great and might possibly embarrass Aunt Vespasia. She might not care in the least if they all knew she kept company with policemen’s wives-but, on the other hand, she might prefer to select whom she told, and how!
It was late, with one or two guests departed and the gray afternoon already beginning to close in, when Charlotte found herself comparatively alone, near the entrance to the conservatory, and saw Alicia coming toward her. She had been expecting this moment; in fact, if Alicia had not chosen it, she would have contrived it herself.
Alicia had obviously been rehearsing in her mind just how she could begin; Charlotte knew it, because it was what she would have done.
“It has been a most pleasant afternoon, hasn’t it?” Alicia said quite casually as she drew level with Charlotte. “So considerate of Lady Cumming-Gould to arrange it in such a way that it is not inappropriate for me to come. Mourning seems to go on for so long, it only makes the bereavement worse. It allows no one diversion in order to relieve one’s mind from thoughts of death, or f
rom loneliness.”
“Quite,” Charlotte agreed. “I think people do not realize the added burden it is, on top of the loss one has already sustained.”
“I did not know before today that Lady Cumming-Gold was an aunt of yours,” Alicia continued.
“I think that is rather more than the truth,” Charlotte smiled. “She is the great-aunt of my brother-in-law, Lord Ashworth.” Then she said what she intended to tell Alicia ever since the conversation with Lord St. Jermyn. “My sister Emily married Lord Ashworth a little while ago. My older sister, Sarah, was married to Dominic before she died; but then I’m sure you knew that-” She was, in fact, quite sure that she did not, but she wanted to allow Alicia room to pretend that she had.
Alicia disguised her confusion with a masterly effort. Charlotte affected not to have noticed.
“Yes, of course,” Alicia pretended. “Although he has been so taken up with this business of Mr. Carlisle’s lately that I have not talked with him much. I should be obliged if you could tell me a little more about it. You seem to be in their confidence, and I confess myself most dreadfully ignorant.”
Charlotte surprised herself by lying. “Actually, I think it is rather more Aunt Vespasia’s confidence I am in.” She kept her voice quite light. “She is very concerned with it, you know. Mr. Carlisle seems to speak to her on the subject, perhaps to gain her assistance in persuading others with seats in the House to go and support them-” She glanced at Alicia and saw the memory of St. Jermyn’s remark flicker across her face. “She does know a great many people. I have never seen a workhouse myself, naturally, but from what they have said, it is a most appalling distress which should be alleviated. And if this bill will provide maintenance and education for pauper children in the metropolis and remove them from the effects of living in the constant company of the vagrant of all sorts, I for one would hope and pray it will be passed.”
Alicia’s face softened with relief. “Oh, so do I,” she agreed intensely. “I must think if I know anyone who could help; there must be some of Augustus’s family or friends.”
