Death On Blackheath tp-29

by Anne Perry

  Emily gave a slight shrug. ‘Not a great deal. In fact, not enough. He says he wants the promotion, but it isn’t the exact truth.’ She glanced at Charlotte, then away again, and kept on walking. Their surroundings were like some other-worldly forest, hard winter sunlight reflecting back off the glass-domed ceiling while groups of strangers walked under extraordinarily shaped trees and trailing vines, pretending they had not seen each other so they did not break the spell of being in another world.

  ‘The trouble is,’ Emily went on, ‘I don’t know which part of it is the lie, or what it’s for. Is it self-protecting, so if he doesn’t get the promotion he can tell me he really doesn’t mind? Or does he want the position for some reason he doesn’t want me to know?’

  Or possibly he just did not consult Emily any more, not as he used to, but that was not a thought that Charlotte wanted to speak aloud. On the other hand, maybe he wanted the job very much, and he was afraid Emily’s advice would be negative.

  ‘Do you know much about it?’ Charlotte asked.

  ‘The position? Not a lot. After the last disaster, none of which was Jack’s fault, I don’t know whether to encourage him or not, and he isn’t telling me enough for me to make an intelligent comment anyway. I … I don’t know whether he doesn’t trust me, or if he doesn’t care what I think …’ Now the misery was so heavy in her voice she seemed on the brink of tears.

  Charlotte said the only thing she could.

  ‘Then we must find out. It is better to find out the worst and deal with it than to spoil something that wasn’t actually the worst at all, by fearing and being filled with an unjust suspicion.’ She looked at Emily’s face. ‘I know that’s very easy to say, and you think I’ve never experienced it.’

  ‘You haven’t!’ Emily said sharply. ‘Thomas would no more look at another woman than grow wings and fly in the air! If you dare patronise me, so help me, I’ll push you and your best dress into that pile of wet soil over there — and you’ll never get the smell out as long as you live!’

  ‘An excellent solution to all problems,’ Charlotte said disgustedly. ‘Push it into the manure. It’ll make us all feel so much better — for about five minutes …’

  ‘Ten!’ Emily snapped. Then in spite of herself she began to laugh, even though the tears running down her face were not really those of amusement.

  Charlotte put her arms around her and hugged her briefly, then stepped back. ‘We had better get started,’ she said in a businesslike way. ‘We must get to know Dudley and Rosalind Kynaston, and the possibility of Jack being offered a position with Kynaston is the perfect excuse.’

  Emily put her shoulders back and lifted her chin a little. ‘I shall begin immediately. I’m freezing standing here. I thought tropical jungles were supposed to be warm! Let’s go home and have some tea by the fire, and hot crumpets soaked with butter.’

  ‘An excellent idea,’ Charlotte agreed. ‘Then I shall have to have a whole wardrobe of new dresses, a size larger.’

  ‘You could give me that one,’ Emily regarded it with pleasure. ‘I could have it taken in to fit me!’

  Charlotte pretended to slap her, and tripped over a piece of fallen branch, only just righting herself before she overbalanced. This time Emily really laughed, a swift, bubbling sound full of delight.

  ‘How kind!’ Charlotte said under her breath, then couldn’t help laughing as well.

  The arrangement was fulfilled three days later when Charlotte and Pitt met Emily and Jack at the theatre. There had been no further progress either in finding Kitty Ryder alive, or in identifying the body on Shooters Hill. Other news had overtaken the issues raised in Parliament by Somerset Carlisle’s questions. However, it was only a matter of time before they would need to be addressed more urgently. Pitt had not deluded himself that the case was over, and Charlotte was quite aware of the tension in him above that of the usual concerns of his position.

  It was the opening night of a new play, and therefore something of an occasion. Emily had been both fortunate and clever to obtain four tickets. Formal dress was required, which Pitt hated. On the other hand, he enjoyed seeing Charlotte wear a really beautiful gown of warm coral and russet tones with even a touch of hot scarlet in the brocade. It was brand new; the skirt was perfectly flat at the front and around the hips, not a line possible for everyone. It widened like a bell at the bottom, so cleverly was it cut. It was unadorned; the beauty of the fabric said everything.

  Glancing at herself in the looking-glass for a final time, Charlotte had to admit that even without expensive jewellery she looked striking. She could not afford such things and did not wish Pitt to be extravagant in giving them to her. She wore no necklace at all. This was rather a daring decision, but it only drew attention to her still smooth jawline, her slender throat and the warmth of her natural colouring. Her thick, dark chestnut hair was coiled upon her head and there was a slight flush in her cheeks. Her pearl and coral earrings were perfect.

  Pitt did not say anything, but the admiration in his eyes was more than sufficient. Even Jemima was impressed, although she was reluctant to say so.

  ‘That’s a nice gown, Mama,’ she muttered as Charlotte reached the top of the stairs. ‘Better than the green one.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Charlotte accepted the compliment. ‘I prefer it myself.’

  Pitt bit his lip to hide a smile.

  ‘You look very handsome, Papa,’ Jemima added, this time more wholeheartedly.

  Pitt did not imagine for a moment that he was handsome — distinguished at best — but in his daughter’s eyes he was, and that was of far more importance. He gave her a quick hug, and then followed Charlotte down to the waiting carriage, which had been hired for the occasion.

  It was a gusty evening with an edge to the wind, but at least it was dry.

  They arrived in good time, but the theatre foyer was already quite crowded. From the moment they came up the steps into the arc of the glittering lights, Pitt saw people he knew, albeit professionally rather than socially. He was absorbed into nods of acknowledgement, brief words of greeting, a smile here or there. They were his acquaintances, not Charlotte’s, which was a radical change from the early years of their marriage when she had known everyone and he had been there only because of her. She found herself smiling, walking with her head a little higher. She was proud of him … actually, very proud.

  She was the first of them to see Jack. She was struck again by how handsome he was. The few extra years had given him maturity, a sense of something more than simple good looks. The sharp light was unkind in showing more than one might see in the gas or candlelight of a withdrawing room, but the few lines around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes gave him character, and knowledge of emotion rather than a blank page on which little was yet written.

  Emily was a step or two away, speaking to someone else. Her fair hair gleamed, almost like an ornament in itself, making her diamond earrings unnecessary. She was wearing a gown of pink lilac threaded with silver and stitched with tiny pearls. It was gorgeous in itself, and of course had the perfect new skirt, but it did not flatter her as a cooler shade would have done. Also it was going to clash with Charlotte’s gown about as much as it was possible for two colours to detract from each other. Perhaps they should have consulted together first? But Charlotte had little choice, and Emily had a room full of gowns. The fashion rage at the moment was turquoise, and it would have been perfect for her!

  Too late now. The only option was to carry it off with bravado. She walked over towards Emily, smiling as if delighted to see her.

  Emily turned from her conversation to see Charlotte almost beside her, and a moment later they kissed cheeks lightly.

  Jack turned also and the appreciation in his eyes as he saw Charlotte was unmistakable. The evening was already off to a shaky start.

  General polite greetings and trivial conversation continued for another few minutes until Jack seemed effortlessly to have guided them towards a couple who were str
iking-looking — at least the man was. He was tall with a mane of thick fair hair and strong features. The woman was more ordinary, but beautifully dressed. Her face was gentle, but there was no fire in it, no passion. Her gown, on the other hand, was stitched — one might say encrusted — with turquoises and tiny beads of crystal, and of course the new, five-piece cut of skirt, totally flat around the hips and yet sweeping towards the full, bell-like bottom, and more beads just above the hem.

  The man’s eyes mirrored Jack’s appreciation of Charlotte, then as he turned to Pitt, the light faded from them and he paled visibly.

  ‘May I present my brother and sister-in-law, Mr and Mrs Thomas Pitt,’ Jack said courteously. ‘Mr and Mrs Dudley Kynaston …’

  Kynaston swallowed. ‘Commander Pitt I have met. How do you do, Mrs Pitt?’ He bowed very slightly to Charlotte.

  ‘How do you do, Mr Kynaston?’ she responded, trying to keep the sudden flame of interest out of her expression. ‘Mrs Kynaston.’ She was fascinated. Neither of them was what she had expected. Her mind raced for something harmless to say. She must engage them in conversation of some sort. ‘I believe the play is quite controversial,’ she began. ‘I hope that is true, and not just a fiction to spark our interest.’

  Rosalind looked surprised. ‘You like controversy?’

  ‘I like to be asked a question to which I don’t have the answer,’ Charlotte replied. ‘One that makes me think, look at things I think I am familiar with, and then see them from another view.’

  ‘I think you will find some of these views might make you quite angry, and confused,’ Kynaston said gently, glancing at his wife before turning to Charlotte.

  ‘Angry, I can well believe,’ Pitt said with a discerning smile. ‘Confused, I think less likely.’

  Kynaston was startled, but he did his best to hide it.

  Jack stepped in to bridge a rather embarrassed silence. He looked at Kynaston. ‘Have you seen reviews of the play, sir?’ he asked with interest.

  ‘Hotly varying opinions,’ Kynaston answered. ‘Which I suppose is why they are sold out this evening. Everyone wishes to make up their own minds.’

  ‘Or accept such an excellent excuse for a glamorous evening,’ Emily suggested. ‘I can see all sorts of interesting people here.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Rosalind smiled back at her. For a moment her face had a surprising vitality, as if a different person had looked out through her rather ordinary eyes. ‘I think that is the main reason for most of them coming.’

  Emily laughed and looked across an open space at a woman in a gown of outrageous green. ‘And an excuse to wear something one could not possibly wear except in a theatre! It will probably still glow when the lights go down.’

  Rosalind stifled a laugh, but already she was looking at Emily as an ally.

  A few moments later they were joined by a grim-faced man and a tall woman with flaxen fair hair that gleamed like polished silk, a porcelain fair skin, and amazing blue eyes. She led the way and joined the group as if she were quite naturally a part of it. The man stopped a yard or so away, and Charlotte felt Pitt stiffen beside her.

  The woman smiled. She had perfect teeth.

  ‘Commander Pitt. What a pleasant surprise to see you here.’ Her eyes slid to Charlotte, obliging Pitt to introduce her.

  ‘Mrs Ailsa Kynaston,’ Pitt said a little awkwardly.

  For an instant Charlotte wondered if Pitt had made a mistake, using her Christian name; then she remembered that Bennett Kynaston was dead. She was Dudley’s widowed sister-in-law. She acknowledged her with interest, and turned to the man now moving forward. He also seemed to know Pitt, but inclined his head to Charlotte politely. ‘Edom Talbot, ma’am,’ he said, introducing himself.

  ‘How do you do, Mr Talbot?’ she replied, meeting his hard, steady eyes. She wondered how Pitt knew him, and whether it was as an ally or an antagonist. Something in his manner suggested the latter.

  The conversation continued, mostly consisting of meaningless polite observations, the sort of thing one says to new acquaintances. Charlotte took part as much as was necessary, but mostly she studied Rosalind and Ailsa Kynaston. Ailsa must have been a widow for some time. She was striking to look at and clearly self-composed and intelligent. She could easily have married again, had she wished to. Had she loved Bennett Kynaston too much ever to consider such a thing?

  But then, if anything happened to Pitt … Even the thought of it chilled her and caught the breath in her throat. Charlotte could not imagine marrying anyone else. She felt a sort of sympathy for the woman standing only a couple of yards from her, and with no idea that Charlotte had more than glanced at her when they were introduced. At what price did she exercise such courage? Looking at her now as the rest of them discussed what was rumoured of the play, she could see a tension in the other woman’s body, in the ruler-straight way she held her back and the proud tilt of her head.

  ‘… Mrs Pitt?’

  Suddenly she realised that Talbot had been speaking to her, and she had no idea what he had said. If she replied foolishly it would reflect on Pitt. Honesty was the only course open to her.

  ‘I beg your pardon,’ she smiled at him as charmingly as she could, although she did not feel it in the least. ‘I was daydreaming and I did not hear you. I’m so sorry.’ She made herself meet his eyes warmly, as if she liked him.

  He was flattered; she could see it in the sudden ease in his face. ‘The theatre is the place for dreams,’ he replied. ‘I was asking if you agree with your sister’s opinion of the leading actress’s last performance.’

  ‘As Lady Macbeth,’ Emily put in helpfully.

  Charlotte remembered reading a critic’s response to it and hesitated, wondering if she could get away with quoting them. She would look such a fool, so much too eager to impress, if she were caught. ‘I read it was rather too melodramatic,’ she replied. ‘But I didn’t see it.’

  ‘Because of what the critic said?’ Talbot asked curiously.

  ‘Actually that would have made me more inclined to look for myself,’ she replied without hesitation. Then she remembered what Emily had said of the performance. ‘And Emily did tell me a few other performances were …’ She shrugged slightly, not willing to repeat the negative opinion.

  ‘And of course you believed her?’ Talbot said with a smile.

  ‘I had a sister too,’ Ailsa said quietly, her voice tight with a strain she could not disguise. ‘But she was younger than I. I would still have taken her word for anything …’

  Charlotte saw Emily’s face and the shock of realisation in it. Jack was startled, then embarrassed. Clearly he had no idea what to say.

  It was Pitt who broke the silence. ‘Unfortunately my wife lost her elder sister many years ago. It is a memory we don’t go back to, because it was very painful circumstances.’

  ‘My sister also,’ Ailsa said, looking at him with interest, almost challenge. ‘Forgive me for having raised the subject. It was clumsy of me. Perhaps we should go into the theatre and find our seats.’

  The following day Charlotte put off a dressmaker’s appointment and went instead to visit her great-aunt Vespasia or, to be more accurate, Emily’s late husband’s great-aunt. She could think of no one in the world she liked better, or trusted more. February was still winter, in spite of the slightly lengthening afternoons, and they sat in front of the fire while rain beat against the windows out on to the garden. Charlotte put her feet as close to the fender as she could in the hope of drying out her boots and the hem of her skirt.

  Vespasia poured the tea and offered the plate of wafer-thin egg and cress sandwiches. ‘So you did not enjoy your visit to the theatre,’ she observed, after Charlotte had mentioned it.

  Charlotte had long since abandoned prevarication with Vespasia. In fact, she was more honest with her than with anyone else. She felt none of the emotional restrictions that she had with her mother, or with Emily. Even with Pitt she was sometimes a little more careful.

  ‘No,’ she
said, accepting the tea and trying to judge how soon she could sip it and let its warmth slide down inside her. Certainly she would burn herself with it now. ‘The conversation lurched from the edge of one precipice to the edge of another, and finally, for Emily, toppled over into the abyss.’

  ‘It sounds disastrous,’ Vespasia responded. ‘Perhaps you had better tell me the nature of this abyss?’

  ‘That she isn’t funny or wise or beautiful any more. And, more specifically, that Jack is no longer in love with her. I suppose it is the sort of thing we all have nightmares about some time or other.’

  Vespasia looked very serious. She did not even pick up her cup. ‘Possibly,’ she replied. ‘But usually we do not tell other people, because it comes more like a realisation that it is dusk, not a sudden nightfall. Has something happened to Emily?’

  ‘I don’t think so. But she is restless — bored, I think. We used to be involved in so much, not always as exciting or pleasant as it seemed, looking back on it now. I know that, and I think Emily does too. But being a good Society wife, and an attentive mother to children who need you less and less, hardly exercises the imagination. And it is certainly not exciting …’ She saw the understanding in Vespasia’s expression and stopped. ‘I think at the heart of it she is very aware that she will soon be forty, and a part of life is slipping out of her grasp,’ she added.

  ‘And Jack?’ Vespasia enquired.

  ‘Jack is as handsome as ever, in fact I think more so. A few added years suit him. He is not so … shallow.’

  ‘Ooh!’ Vespasia gave a tiny wince, so small as to be almost invisible.

  Charlotte blushed. ‘I’m sorry …’

  ‘Don’t be.’ Vespasia picked up her cup at last and took a sip, then offered Charlotte the sandwiches again before taking one herself. ‘Which particular precipice did you fall over yesterday evening?’

  ‘Someone assumed that Emily was my older sister.’