Death in the Devil's Acre tp-7

by Anne Perry

  There was little enough time, and Emily wasted none of it, but began immediately on the subject that had brought her. “It is so pleasant to see you again,” she said to Alan Ross, with a smile. “George was delighted when I gave him your invitation. We spend so much time with those in society who are not of the most attractive. I confess, I am not as clever at judging people as I had imagined I was. I have been somewhat naive, and have found myself in the company of persons I would not have chosen had I been wiser. But one so often learns these things too late. Even now I do not fully understand.” She dropped her voice as if imparting a confidence. “But I have heard whispers that some ladies of what one would have thought to be impeccable family have been behaving in ways too appalling to speak of!”

  “Indeed?” A shadow crossed Alan Ross’s face, so brief Charlotte was not sure if she had imagined it, but it left her with an impression of pain. Had the unintended clumsiness of Emily’s remark disturbed some memory of the past? The murder in Callander Square?

  “Emily,” she said quickly. “Perhaps it is a subject indelicate to discuss!”

  Emily gave her a blue stare of amazement, then turned back quickly to Alan Ross. “I do hope I have not offended you by speaking my feelings too candidly?” She looked wounded, anxious, but underneath the wide swirls of her skirt she gave Charlotte a sharp kick. Charlotte winced, but was obliged to keep her face expressionless.

  “Of course not!” Ross said with a slight movement of his hand, the smallest gesture of dismissal-it was too trivial to require more. “I quite agree with you. There is only one thing more boring and more unpleasant than debauchery, and that is to hear of it interminably and at second hand.” He smiled very slightly, and Charlotte could only guess at the thoughts that had prompted the remark.

  “How I agree with you!” Emily’s foot gave Charlotte a warning tap-painful, since it caught exactly the spot where she had landed the first kick. “I find it most embarrassing when women speak of such things. I hardly know what to say.”

  Charlotte moved her feet discreetly out of Emily’s reach. “And that is a mark of how deeply she is affected,” she put in. “It quite robs her of a response-and what a remarkable instance that is you may judge!”

  Emily’s foot came out sharply and met only piles of skirt. She looked at Charlotte with acute suspicion out of the corner of her eye. Charlotte smiled ravishingly at Alan Ross.

  At that moment the door opened and the footman ushered in General Balantyne and Lady Augusta. George and Alan Ross both rose to their feet, and the rest of the party remained perfectly still. Balantyne stared at Charlotte until she could feel the color burn in her face. She wished desperately that Emily had not lied and introduced her as Miss Ellison.

  Christina broke the pattern. She stood up and sailed forward, arms stretched in a theatrical gesture stopping just short of embracing her father. “Papa, how delightful to see you!” She half turned and held out a cool cheek to Lady Augusta. “Mama! You know Lord Ashworth, of course.”

  Formal acknowledgments were made, George bowing gracefully.

  “And Lady Ashworth.” Her voice dropped to a tone distinctly chillier.

  Emily had risen, as was fitting for a younger woman to an elder when they both possessed titles. Again the acknowledgments were made.

  Christina turned at last to Charlotte, also, of course, now standing. “And perhaps you recall Miss Ellison, who was so kind as to assist Papa with some clerical work a few years ago?”

  “Indeed.” Augusta did not wish to be reminded of that time, or of anything to do with it. “Good evening, Miss Ellison.” Her incomprehension that Charlotte should be included in the company at all clearly showed.

  “Good evening, Lady Augusta.” Suddenly, Charlotte’s guilt vanished, and she stared back as coldly as she imagined Augusta herself might have if confronted with a debutante who did not know her place.

  There was a faint tinge of color on the general’s high cheekbones. “Good evening, Miss Ellison.” He caught something in his throat and coughed. “How pleasant to see you again. I was thinking of you only the other day-” He stopped. “That is-a certain event brought you to mind.”

  “I have remembered you often.” Charlotte wanted to rescue him, and what she said was almost true. She never heard or read of any military event without in one way or other associating it with him.

  Christina’s raised eyebrows showed her amazement. “Oh dear! I had no notion we had become so fixed in your mind, Miss Ellison-or perhaps you are referring only to Papa?”

  Charlotte wanted to hurt her. “The circumstances of our meeting were not common enough in my life for me to forget anything of them,” she said, meeting Christina’s eyes icily. She saw Christina pale at the memory of murder. “But of course I learned to admire the general very much as I became acquainted with his memoirs. I am sure, knowing him so much better, you must share my regard.”

  Christina’s face tightened. “Naturally-but then he is my father! That is an entirely different thing-Miss Ellison.”

  The color deepened in Balantyne’s face, but he seemed to find nothing to say.

  “You never read your father’s military papers, my dear.” It was Alan Ross who rescued them. “A daughter’s affection is quite a different emotion from the respect of someone quite impartial.”

  The pink drained out of Balantyne’s cheeks and he turned away quickly. “Of course it is,” he said with some tartness. “I cannot imagine you meant that as it sounded, Christina. Miss Ellison was merely being courteous.” He did not look at Charlotte, but settled himself talking instead to George.

  Emily engaged herself with Christina, leaving Charlotte to try to balance an awkward conversation with Alan Ross and Lady Augusta. She was immensely relieved when dinner was announced.

  The table was rich, and Charlotte noticed Emily looking it over and probably adding up what she judged it to have cost. Emily knew the quality of crystal, silver, and napery to a nicety, and she was also precisely aware of what a cook was worth. Charlotte caught her eye a few moments after they had sat down, and from the slight incline of one fair brow, she gathered that in Emily’s opinion Christina was being extravagant.

  The first course was served, and the general conversation turned to the kind of polite trivia appropriate to the importance of taking the first edge from appetite, and at the same time maintaining a degree of elegance. Charlotte took no part in it; she was not acquainted with the people referred to, and could not comment upon the likelihood of one person marrying another, or what a disaster it would or would not be.

  She found her gaze straying toward General Balantyne, the only other person uninvolved, either from ignorance or lack of interest. She was a little discomforted to find him watching her, in spite of the fact that Christina was speaking with great animation.

  There was a ripple of laughter around the table, and suddenly Christina became aware that her wit had left two of the company untouched. She looked directly at Charlotte, pulling a little face.

  “Oh, I am so sorry, Miss Ellison. Of course I forgot you cannot know Miss Fairgood, or the Duke’s grandson. How very unkind of me. You must feel so left out. Do please forgive me!”

  Nothing she might have said would be better calculated to make Charlotte’s exclusion more obvious. The conversation was tedious and Charlotte had not cared before, but now she felt her face burning with self-consciousness. She remained silent, because if she spoke she would be rude and thus give Christina yet another victory.

  “I do not know Miss Fairgood either.” Balantyne picked up his glass. “I cannot say that I have been aware of the loss. And I am as indifferent as Miss Ellison as to whom the Duke’s grandson should marry. However,” he turned to Charlotte, “I have recently come upon some letters of a soldier who served in the Peninsular War. I think you might find them interesting, and most encouraging when one realizes how far we have progressed since then. I remember your admiration for Miss Nightingale’s work in organizing care fo
r the wounded in the Crimea.”

  Charlotte did not have to feign interest. “Letters?” she said eagerly. “Oh, that is so much more exciting than a history book.” Without a thought for Emily’s strategy, she leaned forward a little. “I should be so pleased if I might see them. It would be like-like holding a piece of the real past in my hands, not merely somebody else’s judgment of it! What do you know of him-the soldier who wrote the letters, I mean?”

  The stern lines of Balantyne’s face softened and some reserve within him released itself. He put the glass down. He ignored the formality of saying that of course she might see the letters, as if that should be assumed and need not be put into words between them.

  “He was a person of considerable intelligence,” he said intently. “It seemed he served as an enlisted man instead of as an officer by his own choice, and he was obviously well able to read and to write. His observations are most sensitive, and betray a compassion I admit I find very moving.”

  “It is hardly an uplifting conversation for the dinner table.” Augusta looked at them with disfavor. “I cannot imagine that we wish to know of the sufferings of some pathetic common soldier in-wherever it was!”

  “The Spanish peninsular,” Balantyne explained, but she ignored him.

  “I should think they are quite as uplifting as the matrimonial aspirations of Miss Fairgood,” Alan Ross said dryly.

  “To whom, for goodness’ sake?” Christina asked caustically.

  “To me,” Ross replied. “To your father, and-unless she is being more courteous than others have been so far this evening-to Miss Ellison.”

  Charlotte caught his eye, and looked down quickly at her plate. “I am afraid I cannot claim credit for such delicacy, Mr. Ross,” she said, forcing her face to remain modestly composed. “I am most genuinely interested.”

  “How quaint,” Christina murmured. “Lady Ashworth, you were saying that you have lately made the closer acquaintance of Lavinia Hawkesley. Don’t you find her quite the most entertaining creature? Although I am not at all sure how much she has any intention of being!”

  “I fancy the poor soul is bored to weeping,” Emily replied with a furious glance at Charlotte. “And I cannot say that I entirely blame her. Sir James is a man fit to bore anyone. He must be thirty years older than she is, at the very least.”

  “But extremely wealthy,” Christina pointed out. “And with any decency at all, he will the before another ten years are past.”

  “Oh!” Emily rolled her eyes heavenward. “But what can she possibly do for another ten years?”

  A small smile flickered across Christina’s face. “She is not without imagination-”

  “And that is her misfortune!” Augusta interrupted sharply. “She would be much better off if she had none at all. And whatever your fancy begets, Christina, it would be more discreet if you were not to speak of it. We do not wish to be the prognosticators of other people’s misdeeds.”

  Christina took a deep breath. That was obviously precisely what she had wished to be, but curiously she did not argue. In fact, Charlotte thought she saw a momentary pallor, a tightening of her face, but whether it was pity or temper she could not judge.

  “I suppose she might occupy herself in some charitable work,” George suggested hopefully. “Emily frequently tells me how much there is to be done.”

  “And that is it!” Christina was suddenly savage. “When a gentleman is bored, he may gamble at his club at dice or cards, go to the races, or drive his own pair if he wishes! He may go shooting or play billiards, or go to theaters-and worse places-but if a lady is bored she is expected to occupy herself with charitable works-going round and visiting the hungry or the dirty, muttering soothing words at them and encouraging them to be virtuous!”

  There was too much truth in her outburst for Charlotte to argue, and yet she found herself unable even to begin to tell Christina Ross of the sense of purpose and satisfaction she herself found from working to bring about parliamentary reform. There was a reality about it, an urgency to life, that would have made games, or even sports, seem divorced from the world and unbearably trivial.

  She leaned forward, searching for a way to express her feelings. Everyone was staring at her, but nothing adequate came to her mind.

  “If you are about to expound on the delights of Papa’s military histories, Miss Ellison, please do not bother,” Christina said freezingly. “I do not wish to know about cholera in Sebastopol, or how many wretched souls died in the charge of the Light Brigade. The whole thing seems to me to be an idiot game played by men who should be locked away in Bedlam where they can harm no one but themselves … and perhaps each other!”

  For the only time in her life to that moment, Charlotte felt a rush of sympathy for Christina. “Can you think of a way in which we might enforce that in law, Mrs. Ross?” she said enthusiastically. “Think of all the young men who might not the, if we did!”

  Christina looked at her with a curious little frown. She had not expected agreement from anyone, least of all from Charlotte. She had begun by intending only to be rude. “You surprise me, ”she said candidly. “I thought you were a great admirer of the military.”

  “I hate blind vanity,” Charlotte answered. “And I deplore stupidity. The fact that they occur in the army more dangerously than anywhere else, except perhaps in Parliament, does not make my respect for courage of the soldier any less.”

  “In Parliament?” Augusta was incredulous. “Really, my dear Miss Ellison! Whatever can you mean?”

  “A fool in Parliament can oppress millions,” Balantyne offered. “And God knows there are enough of them! And vain ones, too.” He looked at Charlotte with complete frankness, as if he had temporarily forgotten she was a woman. “I have not heard so much sense put so succinctly in years,” he added with a slight drawing together of his brows. “I had a feeling you were about to say something else when Christina brought back the subject of the army. Please tell me what it was?”

  “I-” Charlotte was acutely conscious of his eyes upon her. They were a brighter, clearer blue than she had remembered. And she was increasingly aware of his power, the will that had enabled him to command men in danger and fear of death. She abandoned the effort to phrase her feelings politely.

  “I was going to say that when I have time to spare, I involve myself in an attempt to have some of the laws upon child prostitution reformed, so that they would be a great deal more rigid than at present, and it would be a very grave offense either to use children oneself or to traffic in the use of them, whether they are boys or girls.”

  Alan Ross turned to face her, his eyes keen.

  “Really?” Augusta’s expression was one of complete incomprehension. “I would not have imagined one could have any success in such a venture without considerable knowledge upon the subject, Miss Ellison.”

  “Of course not.” Charlotte accepted the challenge and stared back at her unflinchingly. “It is necessary to acquire it, or one can have no influence at all.”

  “How extremely distasteful,” Augusta said, closing the subject.

  “Of course it is distasteful.” Alan Ross refused to be silenced. “I think that is what Brandy was saying the other evening-you remember Brandy, Miss Ellison? But then if those of us who are able to reach the ears of Parliament do not care about such ills, who will effect any change?”

  “The church,” Augusta said finally. “And I am quite sure they will do a better job of it than we will by indulging in wild and unprofitable speculation over the dinner table. Brandon, will you be so good as to pass me the mustard? Christina, you had better have a word with your cook-this sauce is totally insipid. It is no better than cotton wool! Do you not think so, Miss Ellison?”

  “It is mild,” Charlotte replied with a slight smile. “But I do not find it disagreeable.”

  “How odd.” Augusta turned over her fork. “I would have expected mustard to be much more to your taste!”

  After the meal was finished
, the butler brought in the port. Augusta, Christina, Emily, and Charlotte excused themselves to the withdrawing room to leave the gentlemen to drink, and to smoke if they wished. It was the part of the evening Charlotte had looked forward to least. She was sharply aware of Christina’s dislike, and now also of Augusta’s disapproval. And above either of these unpleasant feelings, she felt acutely nervous about what Emily might do. She had come for the sole purpose of pursuing the names and characteristics of Christina’s less reputable friends, with a view to discovering if any of them might have been seduced by Max. Please heaven she was at least subtle about it-if one could conceivably be subtle about such a thing.

  Emily gave her a warning look before they sat down. “You know, I do so agree with you,” she said to Christina with an air of conspiracy. “I long to do something a little more adventurous than calling upon people one already knows positively everything about-and making polite and tedious conversation. Or else doing ‘good works.’ I am sure they are very worthy, and I admire those who can enjoy them. But I confess I do not.”

  “If you attend church occasionally, and look after the families of your servants, that is all that is required of you,” Augusta pointed out. “Other good works of visiting, and so on, are only necessary for single ladies who have nothing else to do. It keeps them occupied and makes them feel useful. Heaven knows there are enough of them-one must not usurp their function!”

  They all seemed for the moment to have forgotten that, as far as they knew, Charlotte fell into that category.

  “I think perhaps I shall take to riding in the park,” Emily mused. “One might meet all manner of interesting people there-or so I have heard.”

  “Indeed,” Christina said. “I know exactly what you mean. But believe me, there are things which one may do that have far more spirit of adventure, and are a great deal more entertaining, than writing letters or making social calls upon people who are inexpressibly dull. It is not really improper, if one does not go alone, for one to visit-”