Belgrave Square

by Anne Perry

  Carswell glanced sideways at their table, as one does when not occupied in speaking. His eyes passed over Jack and Emily with a cursory smile and nod, and acknowledged Vespasia, without knowing who she was, simply that her bearing commanded it. Then his eye fell on Pitt and a tightness came over his features, a stiffness to his body so that quite suddenly his clothes looked uncomfortable and he seemed far more tired than he had the moment before, as if all the evening’s events had caught up with him and exhausted him in that instant. The recognition was quite plain, but he made not the slightest movement to speak or acknowledge Pitt.

  Charlotte realized with a shiver of amazement that whatever the circumstances in which he knew Pitt, it must be professional, and that he was distressed by it. And also, from the fact he gave no overt sign now, that his wife was unaware of it.

  However Regina Carswell had recognized Charlotte and out of good manners she stopped to speak.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Pitt, how very pleasant to see you again. I hope you are well?”

  “Very well, thank you, Mrs. Carswell,” Charlotte replied. “How kind of you to stop.” She turned to Vespasia. “Aunt Vespasia, may I present Mrs. Addison Carswell? I am not sure if you are already acquainted.” And she introduced them all around the circle, introducing Pitt to Mr. Carswell. They spoke to each other stiffly and without a flicker of anything to signify they had ever met before.

  The group was still exchanging stilted pleasantries, words fumbling on their tongues, minds too tired to think easily of the necessary trivialities to cover the discomfort underneath, when they were made aware by the arrival of Herbert Fitzherbert with Odelia on his arm that they were blocking the aisle. She looked perfectly composed again, her face glowing with a calm radiance, every hair in place in spite of the lateness of the hour.

  “I’m so sorry!” Carswell collected himself and grasped the opportunity to escape. “We are in your way, sir,” he said with alacrity. “I do apologize. If you will excuse us?” He bowed perfunctorily to Vespasia, and made as if to leave.

  “Not at all,” Fitzherbert said quickly, oblivious of the panic in Carswell’s face. “My dear sir, we have no desire to spoil your party. It would be unforgivable.” He smiled devastatingly at Vespasia, then glanced at Jack and Emily. “Good to see you, Radley, Mrs. Radley. What a splendid evening, is it not? Ah, Mrs. Pitt. You look extremely well, if I am not impertinent to say so.” He knew perfectly well he was not.

  Charlotte would like to have rebuffed him, or at least taken some of the satisfaction from his face, but his charm was so spontaneous she did not know how without being churlish, which would entirely defeat her purpose. And perhaps she was being unfair to Jack. He was perfectly capable of measuring up to Herbert Fitzherbert. And if he were not, perhaps he should not win the selection anyway.

  “Thank you,” she said with a sweet smile. “I have enjoyed myself so much it would be hard not to feel well. Good evening, Miss Morden. How pleasant to see you again.”

  Odelia smiled a trifle fixedly, and formal introductions were made. Carswell had missed his opportunity to leave without making his departure abrupt to the point of discourtesy. He mumbled something polite, and conversation about the evening was resumed.

  He thought a second chance had offered itself when they became aware yet again that they were occupying all the space between the tables and others wished to pass. But when he turned to apologize and offer to leave, his whole body stiffened and the blood rose in a pink tide up his face, then fled, leaving him ashen. Beside him stood young Theophania Hilliard and her brother. Her eager face also looked pale, but it might have been tiredness. It was, after all, well past two in the morning.

  “I—er—” Carswell stammered. He seemed to shrink within himself. “I—I’m so sorry, Miss—er—”

  “Not at all,” Fanny said huskily. “We have no wish to intrude.” She swallowed hard. “It was uncivil of us. We shall leave by another route—please—”

  “I—er—most—” Carswell breathed deeply.

  “Wouldn’t think of it,” Fitz said cheerfully. “Miss Fanny Hilliard, are you acquainted with Mr. Addison Carswell, and Mrs. Carswell? And the Misses Carswell?” And completely unaware of any discomfort, Fitz proceeded to introduce them all. Carswell cast one look at Pitt for only the smallest part of a second, then away again. Had Charlotte not been watching him she would have missed the anguish and the mute appeal, so instantly did it vanish again.

  Pitt looked at him blankly, and silently. Whatever he felt, he gave no sign.

  Gradually Carswell regained some control of himself. The color came back faintly to his cheeks.

  “I am delighted to meet you, Miss—er, Hilliard,” he said hoarsely. “Forgive me for leaving so hastily, but we were about to depart, and it is very late. Good night to you.”

  “Good night, sir,” Fanny said with downcast eyes. “Good night, Mrs. Carswell.” Her eyes flicked up and she looked at Regina with interest.

  Regina was too tired to notice.

  “Good night, Miss Hilliard. Come Mabel.” She raised her voice fractionally to her daughter, who was falling into conversation with Odelia. “Come, my dear. It is past time we were at home.”

  “Yes Mama,” Mabel said obediently, and with a little shrug of her shoulders, excused herself and trooped off behind her sisters.

  “It is certainly time we too were leaving,” Charlotte said quickly, looking at Emily. “Perhaps we might find a hansom, since it would be foolish to take you so far out of your way when we are going to Bloomsbury and you to Mayfair. I am sure it is time you were in bed.”

  Indeed Emily had begun to flag a little, and Jack was concerned for her, by the look upon his face, and his arm around her shoulder.

  “I shall take you home in my carriage,” Vespasia announced, rising to her feet. “It is not so very far, and I sleep longer than I need to anyway.”

  “I would not hear of it,” Pitt said firmly. “It has been a marvelous night, and I will not spoil my enjoyment of it by taking you out of your way and keeping you up an extra half hour at the very least. We shall find a hansom.”

  Vespasia drew herself up with great dignity and stared at Pitt with a mixture of affection and outrage.

  “I am not some little old lady whom you need to assist across the street, Thomas! I am perfectly capable of organizing my carriage to do as I please.” There was a tiny smile at the corner of his lips and both Charlotte and Pitt knew precisely why she was taking them home. “And I may lie in bed in the morning for as long as I desire—until luncheon, if it takes my fancy—which is a deal more than you may say. I shall take you home to Bloomsbury, and then go to my own house thereafter.” She fixed Charlotte with a fine, silvery-gray eye, and with a small smile Pitt did as he was told.

  They bade good-night to Emily and Jack, thanking them yet again for their generosity, and had the doorman call Vespasia’s carriage. When they were inside, the doors closed, and had begun the journey, Vespasia looked across at Pitt, who as the gentleman was naturally sitting with his back to the driver.

  “Well Thomas,” she said quietly. “Is this case something you are not free to discuss?”

  “It is … confidential,” he answered carefully. There was no smile on his face, but his eyes were very bright in the light from the coach lamps. He and Vespasia understood each other perfectly, neither the humor nor the knowledge of pity needed to be expressed.

  “It may be simply a matter of debt and despair,” he went on. “Or it may be blackmail. I don’t know yet—but it is certainly murder.”

  “Of course,” she agreed with a sigh. “They would hardly use you for anything less.”

  His answer was lost in the sound of carriage wheels, but apparently Vespasia did not require to hear it.

  “Who has been murdered?” Her voice brooked no evasion.

  “A particularly disagreeable usurer,” he replied.

  Charlotte settled further down into the seat, putting her cloak around her, and lis
tened, hoping to learn some new scraps.

  “Who do usurers blackmail, for heaven’s sake?” Vespasia said with disgust. “I cannot imagine their even having the acquaintance of anyone to interest you. It is hardly a political matter—or is it?”

  He smiled, his teeth white in a sudden flash of light from the lamps of a passing brougham.

  “It may well be.”

  “Indeed? Well if I may be of assistance to you, I trust you will let me know.” It was said as a polite offer, but there was something of the imperiousness of an order in it also.

  “Of course I will,” he agreed sincerely. “I would be both ungrateful and unwise not to.”

  Vespasia snorted delicately, and said nothing.

  The following day Pitt left early and Charlotte was busy trying to catch up with some of the domestic chores she should have done the day before, had she not been trying to dress at Emily’s and preparing for the opera. She had done a large laundry of different items which all required special care, instructing Gracie in the finer arts of preserving colors, textures and shape, all the while retelling the events of the evening before, the opera, the clothes, the people, and something of Pitt’s present case.

  She washed a lilac dress which needed a pinch of soda in the rinse, exactly the right amount was necessary or it faded the color, and a green cloth gown for which she used two tablespoons of vinegar in a quart of rinse. She had been keeping her best floral dress and two of Jemima’s to wash until she had time to make the recommended mixture she had recently heard of: new ivy leaves added to a quart of bran and a quarter of a pound of yellow household soap.

  Gracie observed her as carefully as the continuing story of the evening would allow.

  And then there was the starching to do, or more correctly the stiffening, Fine muslin was treated with isinglass, of which she had three half sheets. She broke them up carefully and dissolved the pieces in water, and dipped the lawns and muslins and hung them up to dry, before ironing them. The chintzes would have to wait for another day. She was certainly not boiling rice water as well.

  When all the laundry was finished, in the middle of the afternoon, she set about cleaning the smoothing irons by melting fresh mutton suet and spreading it over the still-warm irons, then dusting them with unslaked lime tied in muslin. For some time now they had had a woman come in to take the household linen, and return it two days later clean and ironed.

  By evening she was exhausted, and thoroughly complacent with virtue.

  The following day she was sitting at the kitchen table trying to decide whether to have a little fish roe on toast for luncheon, or a boiled egg, when Gracie came tripping down the hall to say that Mrs. Radley was here. Emily herself followed hard on her heels in a swirl of floral muslin and lace, with an exquisite parasol decorated with blush-pink roses.

  “I’m going to the Royal Academy exhibition,” she announced, sitting down on one of the other chairs and leaning her elbows on the scrubbed wooden table. “I really don’t want to go alone, and Jack is off to see someone about factories and new housing. Please come with me? It will be entertaining if we go together, and a terrible bore alone. Do come.”

  Charlotte wrestled with temptation for a moment or two, then with additional encouragement from Gracie, gave in to it. She ran upstairs and changed as quickly as she could into a spotted muslin gown trimmed with green, took up the best hat she had, decorated with silk roses Emily had brought back with her from her honeymoon, and came downstairs again. She was not quite as immaculate as if dressed by a ladies’ maid, but nonetheless very handsome.

  The Royal Academy exhibition was every bit as formal and hidebound as Emily had said. Elegant ladies with sweeping hats and flowered parasols moved from one painting to another, looking at them through lorgnettes, standing back and looking again and then passing their instant opinions. Gowns were gorgeous, etiquette absolutely precise and the social hierarchy unyielding.

  “Oh, I don’t care for that. Much too modern. I don’t know what the world is coming to.”

  “Quite vulgar, my dear. And talking of vulgarity, did you see Martha Wolcott at the theater last evening? What an extraordinary shade to wear. So unflattering!”

  “Of course she’s fifty if she’s a day.”

  “Really? I would have sworn she said she was thirty-nine.”

  “I don’t doubt she did. She’s been saying that for as long as I’ve known her. Presumably in the beginning it was quite true, but that was a dozen years ago. Well I declare, did you ever see anything like that? Whatever do you suppose it means?”

  “I’m sure I have not the faintest notion!”

  Charlotte and Emily overheard many such snatches of conversations as they passed between the crowds, speaking to someone here, passing a compliment there, exchanging small politenesses, but above all being seen.

  They were at least halfway around the exhibition, and they felt compelled to see all of it, when they ran into Fitz and Odelia looking charming, courteous, and most of the time interested.

  Emily made a little growling noise in the back of her throat.

  “There are times when I loathe that man,” she whispered, forcing a brilliant smile to her face as Odelia caught her eye. “And her,” she added, inclining her head graciously. “She is so terribly certain of everything.”

  “Complacent is the word,” Charlotte elaborated, smiling and nodding also. “The way she condescended to Miss Hilliard the evening at the opera, I was longing to be thoroughly rude.”

  Emily’s eyebrows shot up. “And you weren’t? My dear, I am sensible of your sisterly loyalty. I shall tell Jack; he will be overcome.”

  “You will spoil it if you tell him I only overheard the conversation, so I was not in a position to say anything at all.”

  “You always ruin a good story by being overheard, Charlotte. Is that Miss Hilliard over there? I was so tired by suppertime I don’t remember what she looked like.”

  “Yes it is. I liked her spirit. She gave as good as she got, I thought, and she was at a definite disadvantage.”

  “Good. They are about to encounter Fitz and Odelia again. This time I shall be there—and you hold your tongue.” And so saying she hastened towards Fitz and Odelia as if their simple smile of acknowledgment had been an urgent invitation.

  They arrived precisely as James and Fanny Hilliard stepped back from a picture the better to consider it, and were so close Emily could very easily bump into James and apologize with devastating sweetness. A moment later they were all exchanging greetings.

  “How charming you look, Miss Hilliard.” Odelia smiled. “Such a lovely hat. I meant to compliment you on it last time, and somehow it slipped my mind.”

  Fanny colored faintly, quite aware that the meaning of the remark was not that it was especially handsome, but that she had worn the same hat on the previous occasion also.

  “Thank you,” she said simply. “How kind of you to say so.”

  “Such an attractive quality, don’t you agree?” Emily said quickly, turning to Odelia. “I admire it above all others!”

  “Remembering hats?” Odelia’s eyebrows shot up incredulously. “Really, Mrs. Radley. I cannot think why?”

  “Kindness,” Emily corrected. “I admire kindness, Miss Morden. The ability not to take advantage, to find generous pleasure in someone else’s success, even when you are not finding particular success yourself. That takes a truly fine spirit, don’t you think?”

  “I was not aware that I was being particularly kind.” Odelia frowned, a spark of suspicion in her eyes.

  Emily’s hand flew to her mouth in a delicate gesture of embarrassment.

  “Oh—your own hat is charming. I simply meant your generosity in admiring Miss Hilliard’s hat with such candor.”

  Charlotte stifled a giggle with difficulty, and avoided meeting anyone’s eyes.

  Both James Hilliard and Fitz looked a trifle puzzled.

  “Are you enjoying the exhibition?” Fitz asked quickly. “Ha
ve you seen anything you would buy?”

  “I like the roses over there,” Charlotte answered instantly, struggling for anything that would fill the silence. “And I thought some of the portraits were very fine, although I am not sure who they are.”

  “The woman in the white gown with the lace is Lillie Langtry,” Fitz said with a broad smile.

  “Oh is it?” Charlotte was interested in spite of herself, and the pucker of disapproval between Odelia’s brows did nothing to discourage her. “If it is a good likeness, then she is very lovely. Have you met her?”

  “One meets everyone sooner or later. Society is very small, you know.”

  “Do you not find that, Mrs. Pitt?” Odelia asked with a spark of interest.

  There was no purpose in lying; she would only be caught in it and look even more foolish. And she did not hunger for social rank enough to pretend to it.

  “I did before I was married,” she said with a candid stare. “But since then I have spent far more time at home with my family. I only departed from it this season to be what help I can to Emily, in the circumstances.”

  “Very generous of you,” Odelia said politely, having established a certain superiority. She linked her arm in Fitz’s and leaned a fraction closer to him. “I am sure she will feel greatly eased in her mind for your company. It is something of a disadvantage that the selection of a candidate should occur just now, however I am sure it will not influence a decision.” She lifted one slender shoulder slightly. “You have met many of the most important people. I saw you with Lord Anstiss at the opera. Such a fine man. Most of us will never know how much he gives away to all manner of deserving causes. Some of the artists here are only able to exhibit at all because of his patronage, you know.”