by Anne Perry
Eight
Pitt was called, of course, and he left home immediately in the same cab that had brought the message, but by the time he reached Paragon Walk, Selena was dressed in a discreet gown of Emily’s and sitting on the big sofa in the withdrawing room. She was now much more composed. Her face was flushed, her hands white and knotted in her lap, but she told him quite coolly what had happened.
She had been returning from a brief visit to Grace Dilbridge, hurrying a little to be home before dark, when she had been attacked from behind by a man of above average height and quite phenomenal strength. She had been thrown to the ground on the grass by the rose bed, as near as she could judge. The next part was too appalling, and surely Pitt, as a delicate man, would not expect her to describe it? Sufficient to say she had been violated! By whom she did not know. She had not seen his face, nor could she describe anything else about him, except his enormous strength and the fierceness of his animal behavior.
He questioned her as to anything at all she might have noticed without realizing it: his clothing, was it of good texture or harsh; did he have a shirt beneath his jacket, white or dark? Were his hands rough?
She considered for only a moment.
“Oh,” she said, with a little flutter of surprise. “Yes, you are right! His clothes were good. He must have been a gentleman. I recall white shirt cuffs. And his hands were smooth, but”-she lowered her eyes-“very strong!”
He pressed her further, but she could tell him nothing more. He had not spoken, and presently she grew distressed and became unable to say anything more.
He was obliged to give up and fall back on the ordinary routine chasing of details. In a long and exhausting night, he and Forbes questioned every man on the Walk, obliging them to leave their beds angry and frightened. As previously, everyone could account in a perfectly reasonable way for his whereabouts, but none had complete proof that they could not have been outside for those few, vital moments.
Afton Nash had been in his study, but it opened onto the garden and, there was no reason why he could not have slipped out without being seen. Jessamyn Nash had been playing the piano and could not say whether Diggory was in the room all evening or not. Freddie Dilbridge had been alone in his garden room; he had said that he was considering some decorating changes. Grace was not with him. Hallam Cayley and Paul Alaric lived alone. The only bright aspect was that George had been in town, and it really did seem wildly improbable that he could have returned unseen to the Walk.
All the servants were questioned, and all the answers compared. A few had been occupied in activities they would have preferred to keep secret; there were three separate affairs and a card game where money of quite a high order had changed hands. Possibly there would be dismissals in the morning! But most either could account for themselves or were precisely where one would expect them to be.
At the end of it all, in a still, warm dawn, eyes gritting with sleep, his throat dry, Pitt knew nothing more of any worth.
It was two days after that that Pitt at last received his answer from Paris regarding Paul Alaric. He stood in the middle of the police station with it in his hands, more confused than ever. The Paris police could find no trace of him and apologized for the delay in their reply, explaining that they had sent to every major center in France inquiring, but still they could find no definite news. There were, of course, one or two families of that name, but none of their members fitted the description as to age, appearance, or anything else. And their whereabouts were already accounted for. Most certainly they had no records of such a person accused, much less convicted, of any indecent assaults upon women.
Pitt wondered why Alaric should lie as to his origin?
Then he recalled that Alaric had never said anything about his origin. Everyone else had said he was French, but Alaric himself had said nothing at all, and Pitt had never seen reason to ask. Freddie Dilbridge’s accusation was probably exactly what Grace had said it was-a desire to attract attention away from his own friends. Who easier to accuse than the only foreigner?
Pitt dismissed the Paris reply and went back to the practical investigation.
The investigation proceeded through the long, hot days, tedious question after question, and gradually Pitt was obliged to turn his attention to other crimes. The rest of London did not suddenly cease from robbery, deceit, and violence, and he could not spend all his hours on one mystery, however tragic or dangerous.
Life slowly resumed a more normal pattern in the Walk. Of course, Selena’s ordeal was not forgotten. Reactions to it varied. Oddly enough, Jessamyn was the most sympathetic. It was as if the old enmity between them had been entirely swept away. It fascinated Emily, because not only did they show a new friendship toward each other, there seemed to be a glow of satisfaction about it in both of them, as if each felt in her own way she had won a signal victory.
Jessamyn was all solicitude for Selena’s appalling experience and coddled her on every reasonable occasion, even prompting other people to the same concern. Of course, it did have the byproduct of allowing no one to forget the incident, a fact which Emily noted with some amusement and passed on to Charlotte when visiting her.
And curiously, Selena herself did not seem to mind. She colored deeply and her eyes were bright when it was referred to, always obliquely, of course-no one could wish to be vulgar enough to use unpleasant words-but she seemed to take no offense at its mention.
Naturally there were others who regarded it quite differently. George studiously avoided the subject altogether, and Emily permitted him to do so for some time. She had originally decided to dismiss her knowledge of his involvement with Selena, provided it never happened again. Then one morning an opportunity presented itself which was too good to miss, and almost without being conscious of it, she found herself taking advantage.
George looked up over the breakfast table. Aunt Vespasia was down early this morning and had helped herself delicately to apricot preserve with walnuts in, and a little very thin toast.
“What are you going to do today, Aunt Vespasia?” George inquired politely.
“I shall endeavor to avoid Grace Dilbridge,” she replied, “which will not be easy, since I have certain calls to make, as a matter of duty, and no doubt she will have the same ones. It will require some forethought to see that we do not come across each other at every step and turn.”
George said the automatic thing, partially because he was not really listening.
“Why do you wish to avoid her? She’s harmless enough.”
“She is excessively tedious,” Aunt Vespasia said smartly, finishing her toast. “I used to think that her suffering and the continuous, eyes-upturned expression of it was the nadir of boredom. But that was easy to take compared with her views on the subject of women who are molested, the general bestiality of men, and certain woman who contribute to everyone’s misfortune by encouraging them. That is more than I can bear.”
Emily spoke, for once, a fraction before she thought, her natural feelings for Selena stronger than her usual caution.
“I would have thought you might agree with her, at least in some respects?” she said, turning to Vespasia, a little edge to her voice.
Vespasia’s gray eyes widened.
“To disagree with Grace Dilbridge and yet have to listen to her with civility is part of the normal trials of Society, my dear,” she replied. “To be obliged by honesty, to agree with her, and to say so, is more than should be asked of anyone! It is the first and only time we have agreed about anything of moment, and it is intolerable. Of course Selena is no better than she should be! Even a fool knows that!” She stood up and dusted an imaginary crumb off her skirt.
Emily lowered her eyes for a long moment; then looked up at George. He turned from Aunt Vespasia, going out of the door, and back at Emily.
“Poor Aunt Vespasia,” Emily said carefully. “It is most trying. Grace is so very self-righteous, but one has to admit that on this occasion she is right. I dislik
e speaking ill of my own sex, especially of a friend, but Selena has behaved in the past in a way to-not quite invite.” She hesitated. “Misunderstanding as to her-” She stopped, her eyes holding George’s, staring across at him. His face was pale, stiff with apprehension.
“What?” He asked in the silence.
“Well-” She smiled very brightly, a cool, wise little smile. “Well, she has been a little-free-with herself, hasn’t she, my dear? And that sort of person attracts-” She let it go. She knew from his face that he had understood perfectly. There were no more secrets,
“Emily,” he began, knocking his teacup with his sleeve.
She did not wish to discuss it. Excuses were painful. And she did not want to hear him make them. She affected to suppose he was going to criticize her.
“Oh, I don’t doubt you are going to say I should not speak of her in that way when she has had such a dreadful experience.” She reached for the teapot to have something to do, but her hand was not as steady as he would have wished. “But I promise you what Aunt Vespasia says is quite true, and I know it for myself. Still-I’m sure after this it will not happen again. Everything will be quite changed for her from now on, poor creature!” She composed her face sufficiently to smile across at him and hold the teapot with hardly a quiver. “Would you care for some more tea, George?”
He stared at her, a mixture of incredulity and awe in his eyes.
She viewed it with a warm, delicious tingle of satisfaction.
For a moment they stayed motionless, understanding working through, completing itself.
“Tea?” she repeated at last.
He held out his cup.
“I expect you are right,” he agreed slowly. “In fact I’m sure you are. It will definitely be quite different from now on.”
Her whole body relaxed, she smiled at him dazzlingly and let the tea pour right up the cup, far too full for good taste.
He looked at it with a slight surprise, then smiled as well, a wide, intense smile, like one who has been delightfully amazed.
Miss Laetitia said nothing about the affair of Selena, but Miss Lucinda more than made up for it, spilling opinions out like shopping from a burst basket, every color and shape, but all adding weight to her conviction that there was something incredibly wicked going on in the Walk, and she would devote every ounce of courage she possessed to discovering what it was. Lady Tamworth reinforced her volubly, but took no action.
Afton Nash was also of the opinion that the only women who get molested are those who invite such things and therefore deserve little sympathy. Phoebe wrung her hands and grew even more terrified.
Hallam Cayley continued to drink.
Immediately after the next event, Emily called her carriage in the morning and rushed around unannounced to regale Charlotte with the news. She almost tumbled out of the door onto the pavement, ignoring the footman’s help in her excitement, and forgot to give him any instructions. She thumped on Charlotte’s door.
Charlotte, apron up to her chin, dustpan in hand, answered it, her face blank with surprise.
Emily burst in past her, leaving the door open.
“Are you all right?” Charlotte pushed it shut and followed after her as Emily swept into the kitchen and planted herself on one of the kitchen chairs.
“I’m marvelous!” Emily replied. “You’ll never imagine what has happened! Miss Lucinda has seen an apparition!”
“A what?” Charlotte stared at her in disbelief.
“Sit down,” Emily commanded. “Make me some tea. I’m dying of thirst. Miss Lucinda saw an apparition! Last night. She has taken to the chaise lounge in the withdrawing room in a state of complete collapse, and everyone is rushing around to call on her, simply aching to know what happened. She will be holding court. I would love to be there, but I had to come and tell you. Isn’t it ridiculous?”
Charlotte had put on the kettle; the tea things were already prepared, as she had intended to have a cup herself in an hour or two. She sat down opposite Emily and gazed at her flushed face.
“An apparition? What do you mean? A ghost of Fanny, or something? She’s mad. Does she drink, do you think?”
“Miss Lucinda? Good gracious, no! You should hear what she says about people who drink!”
“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t do it herself.”
“Well, she doesn’t. And no, not a ghost of anybody, but something hideous and evil, staring at her through her window, its face pressed against the glass. She said it was pale green, with red eyes, and had horns out the top of its head!”
“Oh Emily!” Charlotte burst out laughing. “She can’t have! There isn’t any such thing!”
Emily leaned forward.
“But that’s not all,” she said urgently. “One of the maids saw something running away, sort of loping, and it jumped clear over the hedge. And Hallam Cayley’s dog howled half the night!”
“Maybe it was Hallam Cayley’s dog in the first place?” Charlotte suggested. “And it howled because it was shut up again, and maybe beaten for running away.”
“Rubbish! It’s quite a small dog, and it isn’t green!”
“She could have thought its ears were horns,” Charlotte was not going to give up. Then she collapsed in laughter. “But I would love to have seen Miss Lucinda’s face. I’ll wager that was as green as anything at the window!”
Emily burst into giggles, too. The kettle was spouting steam all over the kitchen, but neither of them took any notice.
“It really isn’t funny,” Emily said at last, wiping away her tears.
Charlotte saw the kettle and stood up to make the tea, sniffing and dabbing at her cheeks with the end of her apron.
“I know,” she agreed. “And I am sorry, but it’s so silly I can’t listen to it and keep a straight face. I suppose poor Phoebe will be even more terrified now.”
“I haven’t heard, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she took to her bed as well. She wears a crucifix the size of a teaspoon all the time. I can’t imagine a man who would attack and molest you in the dark being warded off by that!”
“Poor creature.” Charlotte brought the teapot to the table and sat down again. “I wonder if they’ll send for Thomas?”
“For apparitions? More like the vicar.”
“An exorcism?” Charlotte said with delight. “I should love to see that! Do you think they really will?”
Emily raised her eyebrows and began to giggle again. “How else do you get rid of green monsters with horns?”
“A little more water and a little less imagination,” Charlotte said tartly. Then her face softened. “Poor thing. I suppose she has little else to do. The only events of any meaning in her life are those she dreams up. Nobody really needs her. At least after this she’ll be famous for a few days.”
Emily reached over and poured the tea, but she did not reply. It was a pathetic and sobering thought.
At the end of August there was a dinner party at the Dilbridges’ to which Emily and George were invited, along with the rest of the Walk. Surprisingly, the invitation also included Charlotte, if she would care to come.
It was only ten days since Miss Lucinda’s apparition, and Charlotte’s interest was still very much alive. She was not even concerned as to how she would present a suitable appearance. If Emily passed on the invitation she would no doubt also have in mind some gown Charlotte could wear. As usual curiosity won over pride, and without hesitation she accepted yet another of Aunt Vespasia’s gowns, considerably made over by Emily’s lady’s maid. It was a rich oyster shaded satin with a little lace on it, though much had been taken off and replaced with chiffon to make it appear younger. Altogether, turning slowly in front of the cheval glass, Charlotte was very pleased with it. And it was marvelous to have someone else to do her hair. It was extremely difficult to wind hair elegantly at the back of one’s own head. Her hands always seemed to be at the wrong angle.
“That’s fine,” Emily said tartly. “Stop admiring yourself. Yo
u’re becoming vain, and it doesn’t suit you!”
Charlotte smiled broadly.
“It might not, but it feels wonderful!” She picked up her skirts, swishing them a little, and followed Emily down to where George was waiting for them in the hallway. It was an event Aunt Vespasia had chosen not to attend, although as a matter of course the invitation had included her.
It was a long time since Charlotte had been to a party at all, and in the past she had not enjoyed them much. But she felt quite differently about this. It was not a case of accompanying Mama so that she might be paraded before suitable potential husbands. This time she was secure in Pitt’s love, not anxious what Society should think of her, and not especially concerned to impress. She could go and be quite naturally herself, and there was no effort required since she was essentially a spectator. The dramas in Paragon Walk did not affect her, because the main tragedy did not touch Emily, and if Emily wished to become involved in the minor farces, that was her own affair.
It was quite a small dinner by the Dilbridges’ usual standards, not more than two or three faces that Charlotte did not already know. Simeon Isaacs was there, with Albertine Dilbridge, much to Lady Tamworth’s obvious disapproval. The Misses Horbury were dressed in pink, and it looked surprisingly well on Miss Laetitia.
Jessamyn Nash floated in in silver gray, looking quite marvelous. Only she could have contrived at once to warm the color with life, and at the same time leave untarnished its wraithlike essence. For a moment Charlotte envied her.
Then she saw Paul Alaric, standing next to Selena, his head bent a little to listen to her, elegant and faintly humorous.
Charlotte raised her chin a little higher and approached them with a dazzling smile.
“Mrs. Montague,” she said brightly, “I’m so glad to see you looking so well.” She did not want to be obvious, above all not in front of Alaric. Waspishness might amuse him, but he would not admire it.
