Buckingham Palace Gardens

CHAPTER

SIX

ELSA SAT IN front of her bedroom mirror, stiff and unhappy. Everyone was afraid. On the day the body was discovered they had been so shocked they had taken a little while to absorb the horror of what had happened, but with the second day the reality of it was far more powerful. The gangling policeman with his overstuffed pockets was asking questions. They were always courteous; questions that only afterward did you realize how intrusive they had been.

It seemed absurd, like something senseless out of a nightmare where none of the pieces fit, but at last they were realizing that it had to have been one of them who had killed the woman. No one dared say it. They had talked about all kinds of things, making remarks no one listened to, and gossip in which, for once, no one was interested.

She stared at her reflection in the glass. It was pale and familiar, horribly ordinary.

It was impossible to sleep properly, but even the little rest they had had meant they had woken with a far more painful clarity. They were trapped here until the policeman found a solution, and one of them was destroyed forever. Or perhaps they would all be. How did you survive the fact that someone you knew, perhaps loved, could kill like that? Was that who they had always been underneath? You had just been too stupid, too insensitive to have seen it?

She was in love with Julius. Or she was in love with the idea of love, the hunger for it that was a gnawing ache inside her, as if she were being eaten from within. She didn’t know Julius, not really.

She shuddered as Bartle laid out her gown for the evening. It was exquisite: the sort of smoky blue that most flattered her cool coloring, and was trimmed with black lace. Minnie could get away with the hot scarlets and appear wild and brave. Elsa would only look like a failed imitation. Cahoon had told her as much. He had often compared her to Minnie—never to her advantage. This was in the shades of dusk, or the twilight sea that she had once felt to be romantic. Now she simply found it drab.

She obeyed patiently as Bartle assisted her into first the chemise, then the petticoats, and finally the gown itself, then she stood still while it was laced up as tightly as she could accommodate without actual discomfort. It was wide at the shoulder with the usual exaggerations of fashion, and low at the bosom. It had a sweeping fall of silk down the front, and pale ruches at the hem. The bustle behind was very slight but extraordinarily flattering. The color made her skin look flawless, like alabaster, and her eyes a darker blue than they really were.

Then she sat again, motionless while Bartle dressed her hair. It was long and thick, dark brown with warmer lights in it. The jewels that Cahoon was so proud of would come last.

It was preposterous to be preparing for dinner when that woman had been hacked to death, and they could not escape the fact that one of the men at the table with them had done it. But neither could they put off the occasion without arousing a suspicion they could not afford. The Prince was dining with them, and of course the Princess. Lord Taunton was the guest. He was a financier Simnel had been courting, who had specific interests in Africa. His support would be of great importance, possibly even necessity. He had never married, so he would bring as his companion his younger sister, Lady Parr, who was recently widowed. Her husband had left her with a fortune of her own, and she was handsome in a rather obvious way. She certainly had admirers—Cahoon among them. Elsa had seen the flash of hunger in his eyes, the way he had once looked at her.

The evening would require great fortitude and the sort of self-mastery that even the strongest woman would find taxing. They would all have to hide their fears. There must be no frayed tempers, no hint of anxiety. Taunton must believe that all was well, that they were full of optimism and faith in the success of the new and marvelous venture.

“There you are, Miss Elsa,” Bartle said, clasping the sapphire necklace around her throat. “You look lovely.”

Elsa regarded her reflection. She was tired and too pale, but there was nothing she could do about it. Pinching her cheeks would bring a little color, but only for a very short time. It seemed a pretense not worth making.

She thanked Bartle and sent her to inform Cahoon that she was ready.

A moment later she heard the door close and saw his reflection in the glass. He examined her critically, but seemed satisfied. He said nothing, and they went down the stairs together in silence.

Olga and Simnel were already waiting, standing in the yellow sitting room with its illusion of sunlight, two or three yards apart from each other. She wore a gown of dark green, darker than the emeralds at her ears and throat. It was hard and too cold for her. It leached from her skin what little color there was, and its lightless depth made her look even more angular. Her lady’s maid should have told her so. Perhaps she had, and been ignored. There was not the warmth or the softness about her that one would wish to see in a woman.

She turned as Elsa and Cahoon came in and acknowledged them with nervous politeness. “Do you know Lady Parr?” she asked Elsa.

“I have met her on several occasions,” Elsa replied, realizing as she spoke how much she did not like Amelia Parr. She had no idea why. It was unfair and unreasonable. “She is very pleasant,” she lied. She felt Cahoon glance at her and knew that her face betrayed her.

“She is said to be very interesting,” Olga continued. “I hope, I must admit. I would find it hard to think of anything to say this evening.”

No one needed to ask her to clarify what she meant.

Hamilton and Liliane came in. He appeared to have already drunk a considerable amount of whisky. There was too much color in his face and a mild, slightly glazed look in his eyes. Liliane kept glancing at him as if to reassure herself that he was all right. She herself looked superb. Her shining amber hair and gold-brown eyes were richly complemented by the bronze of her gown, trimmed with elaborate black velvet ribbons. She made Elsa feel as dowdy as a moment before she had considered Olga to be. To judge from the appreciation in Cahoon’s face, he was of the same opinion.

More words of apprehension and encouragement were exchanged, then the door opened again and Minnie swept in. She was vivid as a flame in hot scarlet, her dark hair piled gorgeously on her head, adding to her height. Her skin was flushed, and her bosom a good deal more accentuated than Elsa would have dared to copy, although she was easily as well endowed by nature. But curves had little to do with Minnie’s allure; it lay in her vitality, the challenge given by the boldness of her stare, the grace with which she moved. There was a constant air of risk and bravado about her as if she were always on the edge of something exciting.

“Good evening,” Olga said quietly. No one answered her.

Minnie smiled, ignoring Julius, two steps behind her. “Ready to sail into the attack?” she said brightly. “Are you ready to be charming to Lady Parr?” she asked Cahoon, then, before he could answer, she turned to Elsa. “Or perhaps you had better do that. It will confound her completely, especially after your last encounter.” She gave a small, meaningful smile.

Elsa knew exactly what she was referring to, and felt the heat burn up her cheeks, but she had no defense. She ached to be able to belittle Minnie, just once to tear that glowing confidence to pieces. She might despise herself afterward, but it would be wonderful to know she could do it.

“And Papa can bewilder the Princess of Wales, while Simnel and the Prince talk to Lord Taunton,” Minnie went on. “It really doesn’t matter what you say to the Princess. She will pretend to be interested, and not hear a word of it.” She shot a withering glance at her husband. “Perhaps we should let Julius talk to her?”

The innuendo was so sharp for a moment no one responded.

Elsa felt fury rise up inside her. Cahoon had often told her she should remain silent at such moments, but the words rose to her lips. “A good idea,” she agreed sharply. “He knows how to conduct himself and exercise loyalty and good manners. He will not embarrass her by showing off.”

“Of course not!” Minnie retorted instantly. “He will be utterly predictable.”

“To whom?” Elsa snapped back. “You couldn’t predict rain with a thunderstorm.”

Minnie looked her up and down, a faint curl on her lip. “If it is a cold, gray day and has rained all morning, I can predict that it will rain all afternoon!” she said with arched eyebrows and a cool, pitying look at Elsa’s gown.

Elsa longed for something crushing to say, something that would hurt Minnie just as much, but nothing came. There were times when what she felt for Minnie was close to hatred.

Julius was smiling. Was it to hide pain, or had he simply not understood her implication? Or was that what he did to conceal embarrassment? “Have you ever seen a dry lightning storm?” he inquired of nobody in particular. “You get them sometimes in summer. Spectacular, and rather dangerous. In Africa they can set the grassland alight and the fires consume thousands of acres.”

“How destructive,” Olga murmured uncomfortably.

“Yes,” he agreed. “But the new growth afterward is marvelous. There are some plants whose seeds only germinate in the extreme heat.” He looked very quickly at Elsa, his eyes soft for an instant, then away again. Or did she imagine it?

Minnie was temporarily confused, aware she had been bettered, but not certain how it had happened. She smiled dazzlingly at Simnel. “I think storms can be rather fun, don’t you?”

He was uncomfortable, as if somehow guilty, but he could not drag his gaze from her.

Olga moved even farther away from him, her face almost colorless. Her body was all angles, as if she might be clumsy enough to knock over ornaments balanced on the side tables. Had she any idea how naked her feelings were?

Elsa looked at Julius and saw the pity in his face. For an instant it was the most beautiful thing she knew. He was utterly different from Cahoon. Cahoon had no patience with the weak. Mercy was an impediment to the march of progress. She had heard him say so many times, and inside herself she had longed to protest. What about the beautiful, the funny, the kind, which might also be vulnerable?

She was afraid of Cahoon. She knew it with a sort of sickness that made the thought of eating repulsive. How could she get through the evening without fumbling, dropping knives and spoons, making stupid remarks because her mind was on the woman in the cupboard, and the knowledge that one of these men had killed her? Was it Simnel, because he lusted after Minnie and loathed himself because he could not control it? Did he imagine that killing some poor woman who awoke the same in him would make anything better? Or Hamilton Quase, for God knew what reason? Because he was drunk and frightened and suddenly lost all sense? Perhaps the woman had laughed at him. Elsa tried to imagine it. It was pathetic and disgusting. She hoped profoundly that that was not true. She refused to think it could be Julius. That was unbearable. What a pity it could not have been Cahoon.

What a terrible thought! How could she have allowed it into her mind? She had lain in his arms. Once she had even thought she loved him, imagined awakening in him a tenderness toward her he had felt for no other person in his life.

How naïve! The only person he had ever loved was Minnie, and even that was equivocal. She was too like him, too strong to be controlled, and he resented that.

The footman announced that dinner was about to be served. They all trooped after him from the guest wing to the magnificent state dining room hung with portraits of past members of the royal family, framed in ornate gold. It was far too big for such a gathering and Elsa wondered why the Prince of Wales had chosen it. The red curtains and carpet warmed the almost cathedral-like vault of the pale golden walls and domed and fretted ceiling. Still it dwarfed them, and the table seemed lost in its enormity. The chandeliers glittered; the light on the silver and crystal was blinding. The white mantel and white tablecloth were as virgin as snow. The scent of lilies on the table reminded her of a hothouse. Everywhere there were more footmen in livery, gold buttons gleaming, white gloves immaculate.

The Prince and Princess of Wales welcomed them. She looked magnificent in cream and gold and blue, blazing with diamonds. She was a beautiful woman, with classic features; calm, remote, and slightly bemused.

Elsa curtsied and smiled, and wondered how much the Princess was aware of anything going on around her. It must be a purgatory to be deaf, never knowing quite what was happening, like seeing everything through thick glass. See but never hear, know but don’t touch, never quite understand. How often do people get frustrated and simply not bother trying to communicate anymore?

Did she even know that there had been a murder? Probably not. Perhaps she always lived on the edge of everything.

Lord Taunton and Lady Parr were shown in and presented, then introduced to everyone else. She was dressed in plum-colored silk. It was very rich and complimented her skin, though it clashed hideously with Minnie’s scarlet. It amused Cahoon. Elsa could see it in his face.

Dinner was announced and they went to the table in exact order of precedence, the Princess of Wales on Lord Taunton’s arm, followed by Elsa and Cahoon. She saw the flash of discontent in his eyes. He would like to have been in Taunton’s place, but he had no title, no status except that of money, and all the money in the world counted for nothing here.

Next came Hamilton and Liliane, Simnel as elder brother, with Olga, then Julius with Minnie, and lastly the Prince of Wales with Lady Parr.

The first course of julienne soup was served, or alternatively fillet of turbot and Dutch sauce, or red mullet. Elsa ate very sparingly. She knew there would be entrées of meat or fowl, then a third course of heavier meat, possibly including game, maybe venison at this time of year. Then there would be a fourth course, probably some kind of pastry dish—fruit pies, tarts, custards—and lastly a dessert of grapes or other fresh fruit, and after the meal, cheese.

It would drag on for hours before the ladies would withdraw and the gentlemen pass the port and cigars. The gentlemen would talk of Africa and the railway; the ladies, if they spoke at all, would simply gossip.

If the gentlemen rejoined them, Lady Parr would flirt with Cahoon, and the Prince. Minnie would flirt with Simnel, and with the Prince, of course. Liliane would be clumsy; Olga would grow more and more wretched. Elsa would try to think of something to say, and end up being boring, and utterly predictable, as Minnie had said so damningly of Julius.

And yet one of them had murdered the woman in the cupboard.

The footman poured white wine for her.

Was it possible that whoever it was, his wife really had no idea? How could you live with a man, take his name, lie in his bed, and know so little of him? Nothing that really mattered, such as what he believed, what frightened him or what he longed for. But then no one else knew what she really cared about either, only the trivial things she said.

She must be careful not to drink the wine and eat too little. She would become tipsy. There was nothing uglier than a drunken woman: loud, indiscreet, desperately embarrassing.

Did one refuse to know what one’s husband was really like because it would be unbearable? One lived on dreams. Of what? Not wealth, certainly not fame or extraordinary beauty. Not power. What power did a woman have except to influence others because of her example? Dreams of being loved, by someone you could both love and trust in return. Someone you admired, who could make you laugh, make you feel as if the world were better, brighter, and wiser because you were in it. Someone you liked?

Lord Taunton was speaking to her. She replied politely, meaninglessly. The fish was served, and curried lobster or fricandeau brought in, and of course more wine.

If you could not have love, then perhaps the other great need was to do something of value. Many people looking at this glittering table with its burden of food, its women dressed in silks and jewels, its beauty, comfort, and wealth would envy everyone here. The men Elsa could understand—they were all excited, faces eager, planning and dreaming of a railway that would stretch the length of a continent, seven thousand miles of it. It would change the Empire, and the world. Probably in centuries to come it would be regarded as one of the wonders of human achievement.

But what did she do? She had no children. She had married too late for that. She wanted for nothing material. She was fed, clothed, and housed. She had health and the respect of others, because she was Cahoon’s wife. She had contributed nothing whatever.

She stared around the table and considered if there was anyone here whose life she really affected. Was anyone wiser, braver, or kinder because of her? She did not need to ask the question; the answer was already there. It would never have risen to her mind if there were anything at all to affirm it.

Minnie was laughing. She was as vivid as the flame-colored silk of her dress. The air around her seemed warm. Was Julius really in love with her, and his indifference was only a pretense, a shield to hide the hunger inside him for her to love him as much?

Elsa felt so sick she could hardly swallow, and the thought of another mouthful nearly made her gag. Perhaps Minnie was only flirting with Simnel in order to make Julius jealous. Was it a game between them?

How much would Elsa care if Cahoon flirted with someone? Not at all, except for the wound to her self-esteem because he so openly preferred someone else. He was talking now about timber for railway ties and steel for the rails themselves. He was speaking to Lord Taunton, but his eyes kept straying to Lady Parr. Was that a courtesy to give her the illusion of being included? No. He was smiling at her, his eyes warm. Elsa knew that look. So, apparently, did Amelia Parr, from the satisfaction in her face.

Why did one love one man and not another? Was there really anything noble or beautiful in Julius that was not in Cahoon, or did she imagine it was because she wanted there to be? She tried to think back to every time they had spoken, his visits to her home in company with Minnie. What had he said or done that had captivated her, made her see in him a sensitivity, an impression of tenderness, of strength to do something better than seek his own profit?

He was talking to Lord Taunton now. Simnel was watching him, waiting for the moment to interrupt. Under the assumed courtesy there was an anger inside him. His hand was clenched on his knife and he ignored the lobster on his plate.

“The biggest difficulty may be the Congo,” Julius was saying. “King Leopold has dreams of extending Belgian dominion in Africa. The price he will ask for passage could be enormous.”

“For heaven’s sake, Julius!” Simnel said impatiently. “The railway will benefit all Africa. And if Leopold doesn’t grant access to it, then go through German East Africa. They’re far more reasonable. You talk as if Leopold were the only one we could deal with. Do you expect everything to drop in your lap for nothing?” There was a light of bitterness in his eyes and his shoulders were stiff under the black fabric of his jacket.

“I don’t expect it for nothing, Simnel,” Julius replied, emotion hard in his voice also, as if this were not a new argument, merely the resumption of an old one in a different form. “But there are prices that are fair to pay, and some that are too high for the value you receive.”

“You deal with the diplomacy,” Simnel told him. “Leave the finance to me, or to Lord Taunton. You were never any good with money.” He seemed about to add something more, but bit it back.

“I was referring to diplomatic price,” Julius replied. He sounded tired, as if the whole project were too heavy, too much trouble, and something in him was disillusioned by it.

Simnel was obviously controlling his temper with difficulty. Elsa thought that if they had been alone there would have been a blazing quarrel, Simnel attacking and Julius defending himself, perhaps inadequately. Was that a lack of courage? Cahoon, for all his faults, had never been a coward. She pushed the plate away from her, only an inch or two—there was nowhere else to place it.

The footmen cleared away the course and brought the next: roast saddle of mutton, haunch of venison, or boiled capon and oysters, all accompanied by vegetables.

Cahoon was talking to Lady Parr. Elsa thought how charming he could be, how intense his power and intelligence. She remembered falling in love with him and being so excited, so flattered when he asked her to marry him. Would her marriage have become just as hollow if it had been to Julius instead? Did he talk to Minnie, trust her, share his ideas or his dreams with her, make her laugh, allow her into his disappointments or his pain?

She picked at the boiled capon on the plate and looked across at Minnie. Simnel was staring at her, but she was looking at her father, frowning, as if something puzzled her and she were trying in vain to identify it.

At the other end of the table Liliane was laughing. It looked so easy. She was very beautiful with those amazing gold-brown eyes. Only because Elsa knew her did she hear the edge to her voice, and see how often her glance strayed to Hamilton, who was allowing the footman to refill his glass too often and beginning to look even more glazed. If he must drink so much, he should eat more. Maybe someone was going to have to help him later in order to prevent an embarrassment when he tried to stand up. It would be humiliating, impossible to pretend one had not seen.

There was another burst of laughter. Under cover of its sound Cahoon glared across the table at her. “Do your duty!” he mouthed angrily. “Don’t be so weak!”

She felt the color burn in her cheeks. The charge was true. She waited until she had heard enough of Lady Parr’s conversation to join in, then did so with concentrated good manners. She did not like the woman at all. Her face was handsome, but coarse; her lower lip was too full. The very effort of addressing her with enthusiasm took her entire concentration. They spoke of art, of the recent regatta at Henley, of mutual acquaintances, safe things of no importance to either of them.

Yet another course was served, this time roast grouse and bread sauce, vol-au-vent of greengages, fruit jelly, raspberry cream, custards, and fig pudding, and naturally more wine.

After it came dessert. The gentlemen did not care for it and the ladies had already eaten more than was comfortable. Elsa was watching to see the Princess of Wales nod very slightly to Lady Parr to indicate that it was time for the ladies to withdraw.

Elsa was tired with the effort of pretense, and she saw the same moment of surrender, and the lift of the head and forced smile again in Olga.

Minnie swept by, her skirt swirling, her pale shoulders smooth, skin gleaming against the scarlet silk. She was twice as alive as any of them, watching, listening to everything as if not a gesture would pass by her unnoticed. She seemed to be filled with an insatiable curiosity that excited not only her mind but her emotions. In a hideous instant Elsa wondered if Minnie actually knew what had happened to the woman in the cupboard, and who had done it. Then she dismissed the idea as absurd. It was just Minnie showing off, being the center of attention as usual.

Olga straightened her shoulders and followed after her, but there was no swagger to her walk and she did not look to either side of her, as if just for the moment she could not bear to meet anyone’s eyes.

Liliane glanced back before the drawing room door closed. Elsa thought she was taking one more glance at Hamilton to reassure herself that he was still upright, or even catch his eye and warn him. Then Elsa realized it was at Julius that Liliane was looking, and there was anger in her face, just for a moment, and an unanswered pain, as if he had denied her something.

Elsa’s head was spinning. Lady Parr was saying something and she had no idea what it was. Liliane and Julius had been in Africa at the same time, before either of them were married. It had been at the same time as Eden Forbes had died.

They took their seats, all watching the Princess of Wales. Elsa was invited to sit next to her. It was going to be hard work, but for some reason the Princess seemed to wish her to.

“Your husband is a very commanding man,” the Princess observed conversationally, but she was watching Elsa’s face as she spoke. Perhaps that was how she guessed at people’s replies: She read the emotion when she could not distinguish the words.

Elsa smiled. “Yes, he is, ma’am.” She inclined her head in agreement. “And he cares passionately about this project.” She kept her sentences short.

“Of course,” Alexandra said with humor in her voice. “It has much to offer.”

Did she mean to Africa, to the Empire, or to Cahoon personally? Had she read in his face how hungry he was for recognition, a seat in the House of Lords, and all the social honor that that would bring him? She must be used to being courted for her position, not for herself. For that matter, had she any idea how many women the Prince flirted with, touched intimately, even slept with? Or did she refuse to look because it was unbearable?

How much would Elsa be wounded in mind and heart if she knew Cahoon had made love to Lady Parr? Not much; only revolted if he came back to her afterward. And if she were honest, she thought perhaps he would not. That was a strange kind of rejection too, a sort of loneliness half wanted, half painful.

Alexandra was asking something again. Elsa thought how difficult it must be always having to be the one to initiate every conversation, but one did not speak to royalty until they spoke first. She could not help, much as she wished to.

“You will miss your husband when they begin to build,” Alexandra went on. “Or will you go to Africa yourself?”

“I don’t yet know, ma’am,” Elsa replied.

“I hear Africa is very beautiful,” Alexandra continued.

Elsa must make an effort. She could see the look of open contempt on Minnie’s face.

“You should go,” Minnie said suddenly. “It would give you something to talk about. It is such a bore to have nothing whatever to say.” She knew that with her face turned toward Elsa, Alexandra would not hear her.

“Frightful,” Elsa said tartly. “Especially to those who insist upon saying it just the same.”

Alexandra turned to look at Minnie in time to see her face flame red. She seemed to understand as well as if she had heard. “It seems a shame to miss an adventure,” she said quietly.

“She has nothing to keep her at home,” Minnie added. She did not say that Elsa was childless, but it was implied. Minnie herself was childless, but still young enough to change that.

“I imagine you will be going,” Olga said suddenly to Minnie. “You will certainly want to follow the men!”

Minnie arched her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?” she replied icily, but there was a hot flush in her cheeks still.

Lady Parr’s face flickered with amusement.

“Do you wish me to repeat it more loudly?” Olga inquired.

At home Minnie would have stormed out, as she had an impulsive temper like her father’s. Here, she was forced to remain.

“I imagine it will be necessary to begin in both Cairo and Cape Town,” Alexandra murmured, as if she had heard none of the last exchange. “You know Cape Town, do you not, Mrs. Quase?”

“I have a slight acquaintance, ma’am,” Liliane answered. “I’m afraid I don’t know Cairo at all.”

“I thought you knew Cape Town quite well.” Minnie looked puzzled. “Papa said you had lived there. Was he mistaken?”

Liliane faced her squarely. “He probably told you that my brother died there,” she replied, her voice trembling so slightly it was barely discernible. “Or perhaps it was your husband who told you. He was in the area at the time.”

“Julius never tells me anything,” Minnie replied. “But then I dare say you know that. You knew him before I did.” She frowned. “Although it does seem odd that he should not have mentioned it at all.”

“Perhaps you were simply not listening?” Elsa suggested.

“I suppose he told you?” Minnie retorted. “You are always listening. I don’t know what you expect to hear. Or perhaps it doesn’t matter, just so long as it is something.”

Elsa looked at her gravely. “I am sure you would like to reconsider that remark,” she observed. “You cannot have meant it.” She allowed her gaze to wander to Alexandra, then away again quickly.

Suddenly Minnie understood and the blush spread from her cheeks down her neck to her bosom, but there was of course no elegant way for her to explain that she had meant Elsa’s vanity, not the Princess’s deafness.

For the first time in the evening, Olga laughed. It was a rich, extraordinarily pleasant sound, more attractive than Minnie’s higher, louder voice.

There was another half hour of chatter, gossip, polite nothingness, before the gentlemen rejoined them. Cahoon was in charge, talking so earnestly with the Prince it seemed an effort for them to even acknowledge the ladies. They returned almost immediately to their conversation.

Simnel and Lord Taunton were obviously discussing finance, the language of which was sufficiently esoteric, and therefore they had no need to be particularly discreet. Hamilton came in last, walking so close to Julius it was not difficult to guess that Julius was both steering him and preventing him from falling over.

Liliane saw them and started to rise, then sank back again, biting her lip. To have gone to him would have made the situation even more apparent. She sat silently, her face tense, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

“I feel we are a great step closer,” Cahoon said with a smile. He looked at Taunton. “We have certainly received both support and excellent advice. I look forward to being in Africa again. I can almost feel the sun on my skin, the heat, the dust, the smell of animals.” He looked at Lady Parr and then at Alexandra. “Africa is unlike any other place on earth, ma’am. It is almost as if one were carried back to the dawn of creation, when everything was new and barely finished. There is an energy to it that stirs the blood and fires the brain.” This last was to Lady Parr only. “You would love it!”

She smiled at him, the vision of it lighting her eyes. “I will.” It sounded more like a promise than a mere remark.

Elsa caught Alexandra’s eye, but neither of them spoke. Perhaps such understanding was better without words.

“It’s not all…glamour.” Hamilton spoke with a slight slur. “It’s also dirty and as hot as the stones of hell. Except, of course, when it’s wet. Then it’s more like being boiled alive.”

“I dare say we wouldn’t go into the jungle,” Olga filled the silence that followed. She turned to Liliane. “Isn’t Cape Town very pleasant?”

“The climate is most agreeable,” Liliane replied, looking from Olga to Hamilton and back again. “I should rather like to see Cairo. Wouldn’t you, Julius?”

“Julius doesn’t care about any of them,” Simnel put in before Julius could reply. “He’ll probably be riding around the capitals of Europe being charming, eating the best food, drinking the best wine, and in no danger of getting dirt on his boots, never mind fever or snakebite or charged by a bull elephant. But he won’t see a million stars across the sky, or hear lions roar in the night.” He said it with a smile, but there was anger behind the smoothness of his voice.

“Most of the banks are in London, Zurich, and Berlin,” Julius pointed out. “Your boots shouldn’t suffer too much there. Or your appetite. Perhaps there are some good banks in Rome, or Milan? Lombardy has always been good for money also. And Italian food is marvelous. Their boots are pretty good as well.”

“I’ll accept your advice; you always have only the best,” Simnel replied. There was something in his face that suggested his remark covered far more than the subject at hand.

Julius turned away.

Cahoon looked at Lady Parr. “Of course, Africa is dangerous. Some fearful things happen there. But then they happen in London also. Every place that man ventures has its darkness.”

Liliane was staring at him, her eyes unmoving. Elsa had stared at spiders in the washbasin with just that feeling inside her. What you fear may be hideous, but at least if you watch it, you will know when it jumps.

“I never imagined Africa being steeped in misery and exploitation, degraded, as parts of London are,” Lady Parr said to Cahoon. “Surely it is, as you say, more primal, less tired and corrupted?”

Cahoon looked across at Hamilton, who was slumped a little crookedly in his chair. “What do you think, Quase? You have spent more time in Africa than any of us.”

Hamilton opened his eyes wider, and with something of an effort he focused on him. “I think there are barbarians everywhere,” he answered, enunciating his words with exaggerated care. “It’s just that the veneer is thicker in some places than others.”

“Of course it’s different from Europe,” Liliane said quickly. “That doesn’t really mean anything.”

Lady Parr looked at her with surprise, waiting for an explanation. When she realized she was not going to receive one, her gaze returned to Cahoon.

“What makes you say that, Hamilton?” Cahoon asked curiously, his expression innocent in a way Elsa knew was false. What was he looking for? Hamilton was drunk, his face crumpled with pain, and Liliane was obviously frightened for him. Why? What had happened in Africa? Something that was still an open wound, a danger even now? No. It must simply be that Liliane’s brother had died in Africa. Elsa wished she could stop Cahoon’s cruel probing into the matter. But Cahoon had never shrunk from cruelty if he thought it served his purpose. He had often told her that you could not build anything worthwhile if you were afraid to destroy what was taking up its place.

Everyone must have been aware of the emotion in the room, but Taunton and his sister, and probably the Princess of Wales, were unaware of the woman who had been murdered in the cupboard, and that one of the men who were guests here had to be responsible: the husband of one of these women. And did that woman know, or even guess?

“What makes you think that, Hamilton?” Cahoon repeated.

Hamilton blinked as if he had forgotten the question, but there was fear in his eyes, and disgust.

“Oh, of course,” Cahoon said, seeming to remember something at last. “You’re thinking of that awful murder. The poor woman who was slashed to death in Cape Town. Throat cut, and…and other things. I heard about it. That was appalling. You were there then too, weren’t you, Julius?”

They all turned to look at Julius.

“Yes,” he said simply. He seemed about to add something, then changed his mind, as if it were true, but pointless to express.

“It can happen anywhere,” Liliane said a trifle too loudly. “Even in Africa they never had anything worse than the Whitechapel murderer, right here in London.”

Hamilton shuddered violently.

“Another brandy?” the Prince of Wales offered. He looked embarrassed and unhappy, but was trying to mask it.

“No,” Liliane answered too rapidly. “Thank you, sir.”

The Prince looked at Hamilton, then sighed and turned to Cahoon. “Perhaps it is a man’s country, at least to begin with. I envy you the chance to be in at the very foundation of such a world-changing enterprise. It seems comparatively tame to remain here at home. One cannot build real happiness in life totally upon safety.”

“We can do without one adventurer more or less, sir,” Cahoon replied. “We have only one future king.”

Julius smiled. Hamilton shivered again, his hands clenched. Simnel looked at Julius, the emotion in his face unreadable. Lady Parr regarded Cahoon with open admiration.

Elsa wished the evening were over, but knew they had at least two more hours, more probably three, before anyone could retire. No one could leave before the Prince and Princess of Wales.

IT WAS NEARLY midnight when Alexandra invited Elsa to accompany her to one of the galleries that held some of her favorite pictures. Elsa had no interest in pictures at the moment, but apart from the fact that one did not refuse a princess, she was grateful for the escape. They excused themselves and rose.

Elsa walked beside the Princess through magnificent rooms, walls covered with the great masterpieces of Europe throughout the centuries. It was a visual history of the dreams, the life, and the characters of half a millennium of Western civilization. In spite of herself, Elsa was drawn into it.

“A somewhat unusual evening,” Alexandra observed with a smile, catching Elsa’s eye for a moment as they stood before a dark, moody Rembrandt, all gold light and flesh tones against an umber background. Next to it was a cool Vermeer, morning light on blues and grays, and clarity so sharp one could see the grain in the stones of the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Elsa apologized. “We are all at odds with one another.” She could not give the real reason. “They care so much about the project.”

“Of course they do,” Alexandra agreed. “There is very much to win, or lose. But I imagine it is the other unfortunate event that is really disturbing them and, I think, awakening old fears connected to the new ones.”

Elsa stared at her, her mind racing, trying to deduce whether the implication was accidental or not. Could she possibly know?

Alexandra smiled bleakly. “Did you imagine I was unaware of it? My dear, that man Pitt would not be here and allowed to ask such questions were there not something very badly wrong. I’m so sorry. It must be wretched for you.”

Elsa struggled for something appropriate to say, and found nothing. They walked in silence from that gallery to the next one, and the one after.

“If you would care to look at these a little longer, I am sure there is no reason why you should not,” Alexandra said at last. “I fear I should return and speak to Lady Parr again. Not that she would mind in the slightest if I didn’t, but duty requires it.”

“Thank you,” Elsa accepted gratefully. Her mind was whirling, and the further respite was intensely welcome. She needed time to be alone. Her thoughts were chaotic, kept in turmoil by emotion. She was frightened because it had to be Simnel, Hamilton, or Julius who had killed the woman in such an appalling way. Someone she had stood next to, exchanging polite chatter, had torn a woman apart, a woman whose name she did not know, whose whole life she knew nothing about, except the sordid manner in which she earned money. How much choice had she had in that?

They were all imprisoned here until the police found the answer. What if they didn’t find it? They couldn’t stay here indefinitely. Would they let them all go? With that hanging over their heads forever? It would be unbearable to live with. Had the police the power to keep it secret? That was a cold, terrifying thought. A woman could come in here, be butchered like an animal, and nothing would ever be said! That kind of power should not exist.

And yet how could they make it public, and allow three men to live with that type of scandal for the rest of their lives.

She was looking at the dark, passionate Spanish face in a Velázquez portrait when the sound of footsteps jerked her back to where she was. Please heaven it was a servant of some sort, someone she would not have to speak to. Resolutely she kept her face turned toward the picture. Whoever he was was close to her.

“You can feel his emotions, can’t you?” he observed.

It was Julius. It was the first time she had been alone with him in a year. She could remember the last time exactly. It had been after dinner at the new home Cahoon had bought in Chelsea. They had been in the conservatory. The smell of leaves and damp earth had hung in the air, warm and motionless, like a tropical jungle.

She cleared her throat. She was shivering. “Yes.” Should she go back to the party now? It would be cowardly. She loathed the coward in herself even more than in others. She wanted to stay, even if they did not speak to each other. “There is a Rembrandt in the next gallery. Different sort of face altogether.”

“Self-portrait?” he asked.

“Yes, yes, I think so. It would be hard to see yourself honestly enough for a painting to be worth doing, wouldn’t it.” It was not really a question, simply a remark to fill in the silence, and prevent anything personal from being said.

“Yes,” he agreed. “To catch the weakness, the indecision, the thing that’s pleasant but shallow. Willfulness would be easier. Or appetite.”

“More attractive?” she asked, thinking of Minnie. What about herself? Did she find Cahoon’s passion and will more exciting than Julius’s less forceful nature? Was she afraid that behind the strong bones of his face there was essentially a man without the hunger or the courage to fight for his dreams? Or without dreams at all? But why should she expect of him what she seemed to lack herself?

He had not answered.

“Is it?” she pressed him. “Is that what we like to see?” Then as soon as the words were out she did not want him to answer. But if she spoke again, stopping him from doing so, she would always wonder what he would have said.

“Not on my own walls,” he answered. “I would rather have something with truer beauty, someone you feel would smile at you, if they could move.” He hesitated. “And I would rather have mystery, the feeling that there is something I have yet to learn, perhaps would never entirely know, because it might change in time, grow, as living things do.”

She was burning and cold at once, her heart pounding, her hands chilled. “I would like something with a warmth I could trust,” she said. Was that too obvious? Was she being as clumsy and predictable as Minnie had said she was?

Julius was so close she could smell the faint odor of soap and clean cotton, and the heat of his skin.

“Perhaps we all would.” His voice was not much more than a murmur. “How much of what we see in a face is really there?”

“Not always very much,” she admitted. “If we could read them with any skill we wouldn’t make so many mistakes. We see what we want to.”

“And we change,” he added. “We find what we were looking for, and discover that we don’t like it after all.” He touched her shoulder a moment with his hand, then dropped it away again.

She wanted to turn round, face him, look into his eyes. That was a lie. She wanted infinitely more than that, and it would be a disaster, something too wonderful to forget, or too empty, too revealing of disillusion ever to heal. She must change the subject, however violently.

“What was Cahoon talking about before? Was it like this poor woman here?” Her voice sounded too harsh.

“Yes, pretty much.” He did not step away.

“Is he…suggesting it was the same person who did it?”

“Yes, I think so. Particularly since he was in Europe at the time, so it couldn’t have been him. And Eden Forbes is dead.”

“Liliane’s brother? Why did you mention him? What happened to him anyway? She’s never spoken of it.” Elsa had not meant to, but she sounded frightened and accusing.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “I believe it was crocodiles. He was in a boat that capsized. Stories were a bit garbled, and everyone was very shocked. From what I heard, Hamilton did a lot to help. Watson Forbes was there, and Liliane, but they were devastated by it. I was actually a couple of hundred miles away up-country when it happened.”

She tried to imagine it, and deliberately stopped. “I’m not sure if I would like Africa. Not that I have to go. I don’t think Cahoon will care whether I do or not, and I’m certainly not necessary.”

“We don’t have the contract yet,” he pointed out.

She was surprised. “Don’t you think we will?” Failure was not something she had seriously considered. Cahoon never failed, and he wanted this more passionately than anything else in his life. But that had been before the murder.

Julius answered slowly, concentrating on each word. “I suppose that depends on what the policeman finds.” There was irony in his voice, and pity, and fear. He would have been a fool to possess less. She was glad to hear it; at least he felt something.

“And I’m not as certain that the railway will be an unqualified asset as I used to be. There are other factors. I thought I knew as much as I needed to, now I’m not sure. What about a generation from now—or two? The internal boundaries in Africa are all very fluid. What if they change? If only one country opposes the British Empire, we become desperately vulnerable. And even if we can safeguard the project, militarily or through treaty, what will it do to Africa itself?”

“Give it a unity,” she replied immediately. She did not understand why he was concerned. “Isn’t that good? We did the same in India.”

“India already had a degree of unity,” he pointed out. “Africa doesn’t. It has far more changes in climate and terrain, in race, culture, and religion. Maybe it’s all better tied together by a British railway, but I’m far from certain of that. I’ve been wondering if east to west, inland to the sea, might be far more practical, not only physically but morally.”

Elsa was amazed, and in spite of her resolution not to, she turned to face him. “Have you said so?”

“No. I’m not certain, and Cahoon isn’t listening anyway. He considers anyone who questions him to be committing an act of betrayal.” A half-smile touched his lips. “But you know that.”

She did know it. She realized that it must be so plain that he had seen it even from outside. There was no answer to give.

“I think I should return,” she said. “I have been gone rather a long time. I would rather do it before I need to give explanations.”

“Of course. I’ll follow in a few minutes. I’d like to look at this portrait a little longer.”

She moved away without looking at him again. He had not touched her again, and she felt alone, somehow incomplete because of it.

CAHOON FOLLOWED HER to her bedroom and closed the door hard behind him. He dismissed Bartle, who was waiting. “Your mistress will pull the bell if you’re wanted,” he said brusquely.

Bartle went out, head high, shoulders stiff.

Elsa stood facing him.

“You didn’t know about that, did you?” he demanded, a slight curl of amusement on his lip. “You thought this was the first time he’d done it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She played for time. She was afraid of his temper. He had struck her before, although never where anyone would see the marks. Always it had been because of her coldness, as he saw it, her lack of fire or passion, the ways in which she fell short of his wishes and her duty as his wife. Was it Minnie he was comparing her with, or Amelia Parr?

“Whoever killed the damn woman in the cupboard, Elsa!” he shouted. “For God’s sake, stop pretending! Haven’t you the courage to face the truth about anything at all?” His disgust was palpable. “You live in a world of insipid dreams, all the edges of passion or pain blunted. Well, you’re going to have to face reality now.” He moved closer to her, six inches taller than she, and massively more powerful. She could smell the cigar smoke and the brandy on his breath.

“I don’t know the truth,” she said with as much composure as she could muster, refusing to step backwards. “If you do, then you should tell the police.”

“I will, when I can prove it. Although I don’t know what that local clod of a policeman will do about it, unless the Prince tells him. Incompetent ass!”

“The Prince or the policeman?” she asked with an edge of sarcasm. She was tired of being complacent, whatever the cost. She despised herself for it, although she would have to pay later.

His eyes widened. “You think perhaps the Prince of Wales is an incompetent ass?” he said quietly.

“How on earth would I know?” she retorted. “He drinks too much and he seems to do whatever you advise him to. Do you admire that?” It was a challenge.

“He’s probably bored sick with his tedious wife,” he snapped back. “Only the poor devil can’t escape—ever. Unless she dies.”

She felt cold, as if suddenly she had walked into icy rain and been wet to the skin by it. He was staring at her, amused, enjoying it.

“So he has parties, and hires women from the street to come and entertain him,” she said without the force she had wanted because she was shivering. “Poor man. No wonder you are sorry for him. I am sorry for her. She must be so ashamed for him.”

He knew exactly what she meant, and the rage flared in his eyes. He swung his arm back, and then changed his mind. “I suppose you’d just run to Julius, and tell him I beat you! I wasn’t in Africa when that other woman was killed, Elsa. He was! Have you considered what he might do to women when he can get away with it? Not quite the dream you had, is it?”

“You have no idea what my dreams are, Cahoon. That’s one place you can’t reach. You never will.”

“Do you really imagine I want to?” His black eyebrows rose incredulously. “Insipid is a word that hardly does them justice. Like a blancmange, pale and tasteless. You bore me to death, Elsa.” He turned away, then, when he reached the door, swung around to face her again. “Julius may never win anything but toleration from Minnie, because the law doesn’t allow a woman to leave a man for adultery, if he ever raises the courage or the manhood to commit it—a fact you would do well to remember. You owe me everything you have: the food in your mouth, the clothes you stand up in, and your loyalty—at least in public. If you forget that, I will destroy you. Julius can’t save you, and he won’t try. If he wanted you, he’d have done something about it before now, which if you had either courage or honesty you would have realized. He has plenty of excuse to put Minnie away, if that were his choice. It isn’t. Face it. All he wants you for is to irritate me.”

“He seems to have succeeded,” she said, her voice like ice. “You have lost control of your temper—again.”

“No I haven’t,” he contradicted her. “If I had, you would be senseless on the floor.” He went out and closed the door hard.

She went to it and turned the key in the lock, then sank onto the bed and wept.