by Anne Perry
“We are to be married at the end of the month,” Christina said, facing Emily in the morning room where they sat by the fire.
“My congratulations,” Emily replied, her mind considering the possibility that Christina might know by now whether she was actually with child or not. She was careful not to glance downward to a betraying waistline, but she had admired her gown earlier, to give herself an opportunity to look carefully then. There was certainly no sign of it. But it was early yet. In fact Charlotte was over four months, and still looked quite normal. Of course Charlotte was a bigger person than Christina, and all these things had to be taken into account.
“Thank you,” Christina accepted without enthusiasm. “I should like you to be there, if you are able?”
“Of course. It will be charming. Which church do you choose?”
“St. Clement’s. It is all arranged.”
“I hope you have a good dressmaker? It is so nerve-racking to be let down at the last moment. I can give you names, if you are not already suited?”
“Oh, I am, thank you. Miss Harrison is most reliable.”
“I’m so glad.” Emily sensed a certain restraint, something beneath the surface that Christina wished to say to someone, and yet could not decide. “You will make a beautiful bride,” Emily went on. “Mr. Ross is most fortunate.”
“I hope so.”
Emily affected to be mildly surprised.
“Have you some doubt? I think you will make him an excellent wife, if you wish to.”
Christina’s little face hardened.
“I’m not sure that I do wish to. I’m not sure that I wish to give up my freedom.”
“Good gracious, girl, there is no need to give up your freedom, or anything else-except money, of course-but even that can be managed properly, with a little forethought.”
Christina looked up, staring at her.
“What do you mean? I am marrying a man I am not in love with. What greater sacrifice of freedom can there be than that?”
It was time she was taught a little common sense.
“My dear, very few women marry men they are in love with,” Emily said firmly. “And even those who do, frequently find that it was a mistake. The kind of man one falls in love with is usually entertaining, witty, and handsome; but equally often he has no means to support one, is highly unreliable, and as like as not, will in due course fall out of love with you, and in again with someone else. To marry, one requires a man with good character, common sense in business, or else a private income of great proportions; he must be moderately sober and not gamble to excess, and be of gentle manners and acceptable appearance.”
“That sounds desperately dull,” Christina said sourly. “I don’t remember George Ashworth being like that!”
“Possibly not, but then I worked a great deal harder than you were prepared to do. I had not your advantages, so I had to create my own. But Mr. Ross seems pleasantly spoken and courteous; he has means, so I hear; and he is certainly well enough to look at. That is all you can reasonably expect.”
“Perhaps, but it is not all that I want!”
“Well, providing you are discreet, you can always fall in love afterward. But in the meantime you would be well advised to make the best of this. You are hardly the sort of person to be happy running off with some penniless romantic, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner you can begin to work on what you have. And make no mistake, my dear, you will have to work on it.”
“Work on it? I don’t know what you mean. I have done the work; we are to be married before the end of the month. He could not possibly let me down now. It would make his position impossible.”
Emily sighed. She had not realized any girl could grow up so ignorant. Whatever had Lady Augusta been thinking of? Or perhaps the Balantynes had enough money and social influence, and Christina sufficient looks, that they had considered it unnecessary. Or it was even possible that Lady Augusta had given all this advice, and Christina was merely too arrogant to have believed it.
“Christina,” she said slowly, “if you wish to be happy, you must realize that it depends upon your husband being happy, and upon his being agreeable to your conducting your life in the manner that best pleases you. You must teach him to want what you want, and if possible even to think that it is his idea. If he believes he has suggested a thing, he will never refuse you, even if he changes his mind. You must learn to be courteous to him at all times, or nearly all; never to argue with him, or disobey him, in public, and if you must do it in private, then do it either with a smile, or with tears. Don’t waste your time trying to be reasonable, men do not expect it, and it disconcerts them. Always pay attention to your looks; do not be extravagant beyond your means; and see that your servants keep your home properly. Never let there be domestic upsets, men do not like to have the order of things disturbed, above all by quarrels in the household.
“And if you have an admirer, for heaven’s sake be discreet; always, whatever it costs you, be discreet. No love affair is worth sacrificing your marriage for. And to be honest, my dear, I cannot see you loving anyone enough to lose your head over; your heart, for a little; or your desires, if you cannot contain yourself, although you would be better if you could; but never forget what scandal does to a woman. Your husband will tolerate all sorts of things, if you treat him well, but not scandal.”
She looked at Christina’s pretty, rather sulky face.
“And one last thing,” she finished. “If he should show undue interest in another woman, affect not to notice it. Whatever you do, never make a scene. Men hate scenes. Jealousy is the most unbecoming of all behavior. Never lose your temper, and be careful how often you weep. It can become most boring, and then when you need it, it no longer works.
“I am surprised your mother has not given you the same advice.”
Christina stared at her. “She has, she has done for years. I pay no attention. One’s mother is always giving one good advice.”
Emily waited, staring back, eyes unflinching. It was a time for reality.
At last Christina’s eyes dropped.
“I don’t think I really want to be married,” she spoke quietly. “It sounds like very hard work.”
“Do you have any choice?” Emily was brutal.
Christina’s eyes narrowed and her face tightened.
“What do you mean?” she demanded harshly.
Emily assumed innocence.
“That you must make up your mind,” she replied blandly, “and whatever you do, you must do it well. We can none of us afford to do anything else. In society everyone knows what everyone else does; it is talked about and never totally forgotten. You will have to live with it all your life, so think before you act. That is all I mean.”
Christina took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
“What a revoltingly practical creature you are. I don’t believe you have an ounce of romance in your soul.”
“Perhaps not,” Emily agreed. “But do not confuse romance with love. I know how to love.” She stood up. “I fear your romance is largely an indulgence, and indulgence is selfishness and has to be paid for.”
“I do not intend to pay if I do not have to. But I shall remember what you say, whether I follow it or not. You may still attend the wedding, if you wish.”
“Thank you,” Emily said dryly. “I should be delighted.”
Emily decided that with regard to the bodies in the square, Christina was no longer of interest; for one thing, she had not the nerve, the decision, to perform such an act. Lady Augusta most certainly would have had, but then she had also, unless Emily had wildly misjudged her, enough sense never to have permitted such a thing to happen.
Therefore it was time to turn her attention to the other houses. Charlotte had told her that Euphemia Carlton was highly unlikely, although she would not say why, but apparently she had satisfied Pitt. And although Pitt was a peculiar creature, Emily had a great respect for him; purely as a policeman, of course, soc
ially he was impossible. But if he was satisfied regarding Euphemia, then so was she.
So she must look further into the other households, as opportunity could be made. From what Charlotte had learned, Reggie Southeron seemed the most promising, but it might also prove productive to cultivate Sophie Bolsover, and to learn a little more about Helena Doran. She had gone about the time of the death of the first child, just over two years ago. It was possible there was some connection, was it not? Why had she never written? Who was the lover no one had even seen? Had he perhaps loved others also-with different results? The time that the first body had been in the ground, some six months, could it have been longer? Long enough to have been conceived before Helena and her unknown lover disappeared? Could that even be why the child had been killed-a legacy from a love affair that had ended in desertion, and hate? It was certainly a mystery very much worth the solving!
With this in mind she planned to visit Charlotte two days afterward, being obliged to attend to her household on the following morning, a small matter of servants, and be at home to callers in the afternoon. One had certain social obligations to maintain.
However, on the second morning she was free to pursue those things that were really of interest to her.
“Who on earth are you calling on at this hour?” George inquired, still sitting at a late breakfast and flicking through the society pages of the newspaper. He looked very elegant in his silk dressing coat. She thought again how fortunate she was that she had been able to marry a man who could offer her all the social and financial advantages she wished, and whom she could genuinely love. Of course he had many characteristics that, when this fascinating business in Callander Square was over, she would hope to work on. But then if there were nothing to work on, a marriage would quickly become intolerably boring; for a woman, at any rate.
“Charlotte,” she replied. “It doesn’t matter what time I call on her.”
“You’ve become uncommonly fond of Charlotte lately,” he said with a slight frown. “What are you doing, Emily?”
“Doing?” she opened her eyes wide.
“Yes, ‘doing,’ my dear. You are far too pleased with yourself not to be doing something. I want to know what it is.”
She had already foreseen this occasion and had her answer prepared.
“I am introducing Charlotte to a few of my acquaintances, in a range of society that she may enjoy,” she said easily; which was true enough, although not for the reason she implied. Charlotte had no interest in Callander Square, except for the purpose of detection. Neither, for that matter, if she were honest, had Emily.
George squinted at her round the paper.
“You surprise me. I didn’t think Charlotte gave a fig for any part of society. I would say don’t push her into anything she does not wish, just because you enjoy it; only I doubt you would be able to. As I remember Charlotte, she is very unlikely to do anything unless she wishes to herself.” He put the paper down. “But in the event she does wish to look at society, why don’t you ask her here? We’ll give a party and introduce her properly. She’s a handsome enough creature, not traditional perhaps, but very handsome.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Emily said quickly. “It has nothing to do with her looks, it is her tongue. You can’t take Charlotte anywhere, she says whatever comes to her mind. Ask her her opinion of anything, and instead of judging what is appropriate to say, she will tell you what she really thinks. She would not mean to, but she would ruin herself in a month, not to mention us. And of course Pitt is not a gentleman. He is far too intelligent, for a start.”
“There is no reason why a gentleman should not be intelligent, Emily,” he said somewhat tartly.
“Oh, of course not, my dear,” she replied with a smile. “But he should have the good taste not to show it. You know that. It makes other people feel uncomfortable, and it implies effort. One should never appear to make an effort. It is like enthusiasm; have you noticed how ladies are never enthusiastic in public? It makes one look so naive. Still, I suppose there is nothing public to be enthusiastic about. Shall you be in for dinner?”
“We are engaged to dine with Hetty Appleby,” he said, fixing her with a penetrating eye. “I presume you had forgotten that?”
“Completely,” she admitted. “I must go now, I have a lot to say to Charlotte.”
“You could always ask her to dinner here anyway,” he called after her. “I rather like Charlotte. She may not be good for society, but I think she might be rather good for me!”
Emily quite naturally found Charlotte at home at that hour of the day and pleased at the excuse to leave her housework, although her home, she would be the first to admit, had fallen into a rather haphazard state since her assistance to General Balantyne began.
“We can discount Christina,” Emily said immediately, walking in and pulling off her gloves. “I have looked at her carefully, and I don’t believe she would have the nerve.”
Charlotte made an effort to conceal a smile, and failed.
“I’m so glad.”
“Why? You cannot possibly tell me you like her?”
“Oh no, I don’t! But I like the general; and I think I like Brandy too.”
“Indeed?” Emily was surprised. “Why do you like Brandy? I told you about Euphemia Carlton!”
“I know you did. Where do you wish to look next? I think Reggie Southeron. He definitely pays considerable attention to his parlormaids. I don’t imagine it is a newly acquired habit-”
“Certainly not. But as well as that, we should consider the mystery of Helena Doran.”
“Why, for goodness’ sake? She’s been gone for two years.”
“I know that,” Emily said impatiently. “But what about her lover? Who was he? Was she the only one? Why not court her openly, if he were a man of honor? Why does no one know who he was?”
Charlotte understood immediately.
“You mean he may have courted others, and the babies could have been theirs? Thomas said the times of death were only very approximate.” She wrinkled her nose a little. “It depends on the nature of the soil, the wetness, and so forth. It seems horrible to think of human beings like that: but I suppose we must all be buried some time. We are only clay anyway, after the soul has gone. It’s foolish how much we love our bodies. I can ask Jemima a little about it.”
Emily knew her sister well enough to realize without effort that this last sentence referred back again to Helena Doran’s disappearance.
“What is she like, this Jemima?” she inquired.
“Very reliable.” Charlotte viewed her as a witness, rightly guessing that Emily was not interested in her qualities of warmth or humor.
“She wouldn’t be the one, I suppose.” Emily looked at her a little sideways.
“No,” Charlotte said firmly. “At least I would say not, if character is anything at all to judge by.”
Emily considered for a moment.
“It isn’t,” she decided. “Still, we’ll concentrate on Helena first. There is a mystery there, beyond question. You ask Jemima, and for goodness’ sake be a bit more discreet than you usually are. I shall speak to Sophie Bolsover again. She is always only too willing to gossip a little. I must think up what I know to tell her in return.”
Having stayed for a little further discussion, and the quite real pleasure of visiting with her sister, Emily took herself home again and prepared to launch her new offensive. First she would call upon Sophie when she might reasonably find her alone; then she would pursue the acquaintance of the last woman in the square whose establishment she believed a possible refuge for secrets, Mariah Campbell.
She was very put out to discover Sophie not at home, and in a considerable pique left her card and gathered her wits to think of something to say to Mariah Campbell, a fit excuse for calling unasked upon someone she had barely met. Any message could perfectly easily be left with servants, therefore she must inquire after something. What?
She was already at the
door. It would appear most odd to remain in a stationary carriage, therefore she must alight, and trust to her wits to think of something, should Mariah Campbell be in and able to receive her.
She inquired of the parlormaid, and was courteously received. Yes, Mrs. Campbell was in, and yes, Mrs. Campbell would be happy to receive her. She was shown into the small family parlor where Mariah was sitting with her daughters. Apparently they had not yet resumed lessons after the celebration of Christmas. They both stood and curtseyed as Emily was announced, then retired obediently.
Mariah Campbell was a pleasant-looking woman, not beautiful, but with a distinction about her that was perhaps longer lasting than mere prettiness. She was becomingly dressed, but with no concession to the trimmings of fashion.
“How very civil of you to call,” she said, also rising to meet Emily, since Emily was a lady of title, and she was not. She did not pretend any false warmth; they were strangers and both knew it. “I hope I may offer you some refreshment; tea, perhaps?”
“I should be delighted,” Emily accepted. She could not possibly give her true reason for having called-curiosity; she must rapidly produce another. “I heard from Lady Anstruther,” she sincerely hoped there was no such person, “that you had stayed in Scotland, with the Taits,” another invention. “My husband is quite set upon our going too-we have been invited, you know. I have heard that the house is quite impossible! As cold as a tomb, and with servants who can never be found when one wants them, and don’t speak English even then. I was hoping you could tell me if that is true. Dear Marjorie does tend to exaggerate, to color a story to make it the more lively!”
Mariah looked totally foxed. Quite naturally, she had even less idea what Emily was talking about than Emily herself.
“I’m afraid I have no knowledge,” she admitted. “Lady Anstruther-did you say? — must have confused me with someone else. Campbell is a Scots name, it is true, but quite a common one. And I have never been to Scotland myself. I’m so sorry, I cannot be of any guidance to you.”
