Anne Perry - [Thomas Pitt 14]

by The Hyde Park Headsman

  “Oh. Yes, you are right,” he agreed. “The man was vicious and arbitrary. It doesn’t sound as if blackmail would be beyond him—”

  They were interrupted by Emily in a swirl of apple-green silk embroidered with seed pearls.

  “Mama still hasn’t come,” she said anxiously. “Do you suppose she is not going to? Really, it is too bad of her. She seems to think of no one but herself these days. I was so sure she would at least come to this, since Jack won.” She waved her hand to decline any more champagne, and the footman moved on.

  “There’s time yet,” Pitt said, but with a twisted smile, and no belief in his voice.

  Emily gave him a long look but said nothing.

  Pitt excused himself and went to talk to Landon Hurlwood, who had been a supporter of Jack’s cause and had come to add his presence to the celebrations. He looked comfortable and relaxed, moving from group to group of people, full of vitality and optimism for the future. Under the chandeliers, the light gleamed on the pewter sheen of his hair.

  “He’s been such a help to us,” Emily said, watching him greet Pitt with obvious pleasure. “A nice man. That is the happiest I have seen him look since his wife died, poor creature. She was ill for a long time, you know. Actually I never believed she was as ill as she must have been. She was one of those who made such a cause of it, it seemed she never spoke of anything else. Now it appears I wronged her, because she died of consumption, and I feel fearfully guilty.”

  “So you should,” Charlotte agreed.

  Emily glanced at her sharply. “You were not supposed to agree with me! Dead or not, she was still a most trying woman.”

  “I expect he was fond of her, and she may not have been so tedious before she was ill,” Charlotte pointed out.

  “You are being contrary,” Emily criticized, then suddenly became serious again. “Are you worried about Thomas? Surely they cannot expect him to solve every crime. There are bound to be some that are beyond anyone.”

  “Of course.” Charlotte became serious also. “But they don’t see it like that. And I haven’t been of any use this time.” Her face tightened. “I don’t even know where to begin to look. I have been trying to think who it could be, if it is not Mr. Carvell.”

  “So have I,” Emily agreed, lowering her voice. “More especially, I have been trying to imagine why. Just to say it is madness is not in the least helpful.”

  Further discussion or conversation was prevented by a disturbance at the entrance to the room as people parted to allow the passage of an elderly person in black, leaning heavily on a stick.

  “Grandmama!” Emily said in amazement. She looked immediately beyond her, expecting to see Caroline, but there was no one except a footman in livery holding someone’s cloak.

  Both of them went forward to greet the old lady, who looked formidable in an old-fashioned dress with a huge bustle and a bodice heavily decorated with jet beading. There were jet earrings at her ears and an expression on her face only relieved from total ill temper by a dominating curiosity.

  “How delightful to see you, Grandmama,” Emily said with as much enthusiasm as she could pretend. “I am so glad you were able to come.”

  “Of course I came,” the old lady said instantly. “I must see what on earth you are doing now! A member of Parliament.” She snorted. “I’m not sure whether to be pleased or not. I’m not entirely certain if government is something respectable people do.” She looked around the room at the assembly, noting jewelry, the light glittering on the champagne glasses, the gleams of the silver trays and the number of footmen in livery. “A bit showy, isn’t it? Putting yourself forward is not really the act of a gentleman.”

  “And whom should we be governed by?” Emily demanded, two spots of pink in her cheeks. “Men who are not gentlemen?”

  “That is entirely different,” the old lady said, brushing logic aside. “Real gentlemen of the class to whom government comes naturally do not have to seek election. They have seats in the House of Lords by birth, as they should. Standing on boxes at street corners asking people to vote for you is another matter altogether, and really rather vulgar, if you ask me.”

  Emily opened her mouth, then closed it again.

  “You are a little old-fashioned, Grandmama,” Charlotte said swiftly. “Mr. Disraeli was elected, and the Queen approved of him.”

  “And Mr. Gladstone was elected, and she didn’t!” the old lady snapped with obvious pleasure.

  “Which goes to show that being elected has nothing to do with it,” Charlotte replied. “Mr. Disraeli was also very clever.”

  “And vulgar,” the old lady said, staring at Charlotte, her eyes glittering. “He wore the most dreadful waistcoats and talked far too much, and too often. No refinement at all. I met him once, you know. No, you didn’t know that, did you?”

  “No.”

  “As I said. Vulgar. Never knew when to hold his tongue. Thought he was amusing.”

  “And wasn’t he?”

  “Well—yes, I suppose so. But what has that to do with anything?”

  Charlotte shot a look at Emily, and they both gave up on the subject.

  “Where is Mama?” Charlotte asked, then immediately wished she had not.

  Grandmama’s eyebrows shot up. “Good heavens, girl, how should I know? Tripping the light fantastic somewhere, no doubt She is quite mad.” She gazed at the whirl of color and chatter around them, the women with their more slender skirts and wide shoulders decorated with flounces, bows, frills or feathers, the heads with coils of hair, ornaments of diamante and pearl, plumes, pins, tiaras and flowers. “Who on earth are all these people?” she demanded of Emily. “I don’t know any of them. You had better introduce me. I shall tell you whom I wish to meet.”

  She frowned. “And where is that husband of yours anyway? Why is he not by your side? I always said no good would come of marrying a man who is only after your money.” She swept Emily up and down with a derisory glance. “It is not as if you were a proper heiress; then it would be quite different. Your father would pick someone for you with a good family background. No one has ever heard of Jack Radley, indeed!”

  “Well they will now, Mrs. Ellison.” Jack appeared from just beyond her field of vision, looking extraordinarily handsome and smiling at her as if he were delighted to see her.

  She had the grace to blush, and grunted something inaudible. Then she glared at Charlotte. “You might have told me he was there, fool!” she hissed.

  “I didn’t know you were going to be so offensive, or I might have,” Charlotte whispered back.

  “What? Don’t mumble, girl. I can’t hear you. For Heaven’s sake, speak clearly. Your mother paid enough to have you taught elocution and deportment when you were young. She should have kept her money.” And with that she smiled at Jack. “Congratulations, young man. I hear you have won something.”

  “Thank you.” He bowed, offering her his arm. “May I take you and introduce you to some interesting people who would no doubt like to meet you?”

  “You may,” she accepted, head high. Without a backward glance, she twitched her skirt around and sailed off, leaving Charlotte and Emily alone.

  “If someone had taken her head off, I would understand it,” Emily said under her breath.

  “I don’t think I should turn him in,” Charlotte added. Then slowly she swiveled to face Emily just as the same thought was reflected in Emily’s eyes.

  “Do you really think …” Emily began. “No,” she said, answering her own question, but without conviction. “Do you suppose there is someone who knows who it is? Would anyone protect …”

  “I don’t know,” Charlotte replied slowly. “I suppose if it were someone you loved—a husband or father?” A haze of ugly and frightening thoughts filled her mind. “But how could you bear to believe that anyone you loved could do such things? It wouldn’t be simply their guilt, you would feel as if it were part of yourself. You can’t be separate, as if their acts or their nature in no way t
ouched you. If they had done it, had lost their minds to madness, it would be as if you were touched with it too.”

  “No it wouldn’t!” Emily contradicted her. “You couldn’t blame—”

  “It may not be fair,” Charlotte went on, cutting across her, “but that is how you would feel. Weren’t you embarrassed when your friends commented on Mama being seen with Joshua?”

  “Yes. But that’s—” Emily stopped, realization flooding her face. “Yes, of course,” she said quickly. “And that’s nothing, beside this. I see what you mean. One would feel as if one had contributed to it, even if by sheer ignorance of something terribly, hideously wrong. One would fight against believing it to the very last, unarguable fact.” Her face crumpled with pity. “How truly appalling.”

  “I suppose it could conceivably be Mina,” Charlotte said slowly. “She might protect her brother, especially if he killed Winthrop to protect her.”

  “I can’t think who else,” Emily was thinking aloud. “Mr. Carvell hasn’t a wife, and no one knows anything about the omnibus conductor.”

  “Do you suppose Mrs. Arledge might know anything?” Charlotte asked dubiously, half hating herself for speaking ill, even by suggestion, of Dulcie. Pitt so obviously admired her, and with excellent cause. It seemed small-minded to raise her name in this connection.

  “Such as what?” Emily asked. “I doubt she has the faintest idea who killed Arledge, or she would have told Thomas, to get the matter cleared up and get the police out of her house. Then she could continue with her life discreetly.”

  Charlotte stared at her. “What do you mean, ‘discreetly’? You sound as if you thought she had something to hide.”

  “Oh Charlotte, at times you are obtuse,” Emily said with a patient smile. “Dulcie has an admirer, or maybe more than that. Haven’t you seen?”

  Charlotte was taken completely by surprise.

  “No! Who is it? Are you sure? How could you know?”

  “I don’t know who it is, but I know he exists. It’s obvious.” Emily shook her head a little. “Haven’t you looked at her, I mean really looked?”

  “At what?”

  “Oh for Heaven’s sake, Charlotte!” Emily said exasperatedly. “At the way she dresses, the little touches, the dainty mourning brooch, the lace, the perfect fit of her gown around the waist and the fashionable sleeves set with the point at the shoulder. And she wears a beautiful perfume. She walks as if she knows people are watching her. And even when she is not speaking to anyone there is a …”—she shrugged—“… a sort of composure about her, as if she knew something special and secret, and very delicious. Really, Charlotte, if you don’t know a woman in love when you see one, you are a useless detective. In fact, even as a woman you are extraordinarily unintelligent.”

  “I thought it was …” Charlotte protested.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know … courage?”

  Emily smiled and nodded at an acquaintance who had campaigned for Jack, then continued urgently. “I don’t doubt she has courage too, but that doesn’t give anyone that inner satisfaction, it doesn’t make you smile for no reason, and glance at yourself in mirrors, and always look your very best, just in case you run into him.”

  Charlotte stared at her. “How did you observe her so much? I only saw her at the Requiem.”

  “You don’t need to see anyone very much to notice that. What were you thinking of that you didn’t see?”

  Charlotte blushed, remembering what her feelings had been. “I wonder if it matters,” she said, changing the subject.

  “Of course it doesn’t matter,” Emily replied, then stopped. “What are you talking about? Does what matter?”

  “Who it is, of course!” She drew in her breath sharply. “Emily, do you think—I mean …”

  “Yes,” Emily said instantly, not even noticing an elderly man who was trying to attract her attention. He gave up and moved away. “We must find out,” she continued. “I don’t know how, but we must discover who it is.”

  “Do you suppose it could be Bart Mitchell? Maybe that is the connection Thomas is looking for.”

  “Tomorrow morning we shall begin,” Emily promised. “I shall think about what to do, and so can you.”

  They were interrupted, before the quite unnecessary ending could be added, by Caroline and Joshua arriving, both dressed very formally and looking excited and happy.

  “Oh thank goodness,” Emily said with immense relief. “I really thought she was not going to come.” She moved forward to welcome her mother, and Charlotte came immediately behind her.

  “Congratulations, my dear,” Caroline said ebulliently, kissing Emily on the cheek. “I am delighted for you. I am sure Jack will be magnificent, and there is certainly much to be done. Where is he?”

  “Over there, talking to Sir Arnold Maybury,” Emily replied. She looked at Joshua’s charming, mobile face with its very slightly crooked nose and wry smile. “I’m glad you came too. Jack will be very pleased.”

  “Of course he came too,” Caroline said with an odd little smile. Then she turned and looked up at Joshua, her face flushed and suddenly self-conscious.

  This time it was Charlotte who noticed, and Emily who was unaware.

  “Mama?” Charlotte said slowly. “What do you mean?”

  Emily looked at her, frowning. It sounded such a foolish question. She was about to make some impatient remark, then she realized she had missed a nuance, something far more important than the words. She waited, turning to Joshua, then Caroline.

  Caroline took a deep breath and looked at neither of her daughters.

  “Joshua and I have just been married,” she replied very quietly, in little more than a whisper.

  Emily was thunderstruck.

  Charlotte opened her mouth to say something generous and congratulatory, and found her throat aching and her eyes ridiculously filling with tears.

  Joshua put his arm around Caroline. He was still smiling, but there was a strength in his eyes, and a warning.

  Jack returned with Grandmama still on his arm, a glass of champagne in her hand. He saw that he had entered a scene of high emotional tension. He turned to Joshua.

  “Congratulations,” Joshua said quietly, holding out his hand and taking Jack’s. “It is a fine victory, and will bode well for all of us. I wish you a long and successful career.” He smiled. “For our sakes as well as yours.”

  “Thank you.” Jack let go his hand and reached for a glass from a passing footman. He held it up. “To the future.”

  Grandmama lifted her glass to her lips also.

  “Everybody’s future,” Emily added, looking at Jack. “Mama and Joshua’s too. We must also congratulate them and wish them every happiness.”

  Jack’s eyes opened wide.

  “They have just been married,” Emily added.

  Grandmama, halfway through a gulp of champagne, choked on it, blowing a mouthful over half the front of her dress. Her black eyes were furious, her face flushed with shock and outrage. However, it was impossible to be dignified while dribbling copiously. Emily reached for Jack’s pocket handkerchief and, mopping her up, only made it considerably worse. Grand-mama then took the only avenue of retreat open to her and sank in a faint to the floor, almost pulling Jack down with her.

  Instantly she was the center of all attention. No one any longer looked at Joshua and Caroline, or even at Jack. People rushed from all surrounding groups.

  “Oh dear! The poor lady,” one man said, aghast at the sight of Grandmama in a heap on the floor. “We must help her. Somebody! Salts!”

  “Has she been taken ill?” someone else asked anxiously. “Should we send for a doctor?”

  “I’m sure that’s not necessary,” Emily reassured her. “I’ll just burn a feather under her nose.” She looked for a footman to fetch such an article.

  “Poor creature.” The woman looked at Grandmama’s recumbent form with pity. “To be taken ill in public, and so far from one’s own ho
me.”

  “She’s not ill,” Emily contradicted her.

  “She’s drunk,” Charlotte added with sudden, quite inexcusable, malice. She was furious with the old woman’s utter selfishness in robbing Caroline of being the center of attention and happiness at this, of all moments. She glared down and saw the old lady click her teeth with rage, and felt acute satisfaction.

  “Oh!” The other lady’s sympathy vanished and she moved a step or two away, revulsion altering her face entirely.

  “You’d better carry her out,” Charlotte added to Jack. “One of the footmen will help you. Put her somewhere so she can recover, and then someone will take her home.”

  “Not I,” Caroline said firmly. “Anyway, I’m not going home. This is my wedding night.”

  “Of course not you,” Charlotte agreed immediately, then turned to Emily.

  “Oh no!” Emily backed away, her face aghast.

  The footman returned with a feather already smoldering, and offered it to Emily. She thanked him and took it with relish, holding it close under Grandmama’s nose. She breathed in, coughed violently, and remained stubbornly on the floor with eyes closed.

  Jack and the footman bent to pick up the still-recumbent form of the old lady. It was extremely awkward. She was short and heavy, and a dead weight. It took all their strength to get her up, with her skirts in order, and begin to move her through the crowd towards the doorway. Even so, as she passed Charlotte, she managed to lash out with her foot and very nearly land a swift kick on Charlotte’s elbow.

  “She won’t stay under the same roof with me when I come home,” Caroline said distinctly. “She has sworn never to abide with me if I disgrace myself and make myself a public laughingstock.” She looked at Emily. “I’m sorry, my dear, but I think it is you who is going to have to offer her a home. Charlotte has no room.”

  “Even if I had,” Charlotte replied. “If she weren’t going to live with an actor, she certainly won’t live with a policeman. Thank God!”

  “I can see that winning the election is a very double-edged victory,” Emily said gloomily. “I suppose Ashworth House is big enough to lose her—most of the time. Oh Mama! I wish you every happiness—but did you have to do this to me?”