Cater Street Hangman

Chapter Two

Emily was excited. This was the kind of day she loved, even more than the day after. Today was the day of dreams, of preparations, of last-minute stitching, of laying out every detail of clean underwear, of washing hair and brushing, of curling irons, and then at the very last minute of all, the delicate, infinitely discreet touches to the face.

Tonight they were going to a formal ball at the house of one Colonel Decker and his wife, and far more to the point, his son and his daughter. Emily had seen them only twice, but had heard delicious stories from Lucy Sandelson as to their dashing style, their elegance, the flair with which they wore the latest fashions; and yet more intoxicating, the abundance and intimacy of their acquaintances among the wealthy and the aristocratic. Truly this ball gave promise of endless doors which, with a little luck and a little skill, might open onto worlds heretofore only dreamed of.

Sarah was going to wear blue, a soft baby blue which was extremely becoming to her. It flattered her skin, highlighting its delicacy, and caught the colour of her eyes. It was a colour that suited Emily’s warmer tone very well also, complementing her cheeks, darker eyes, and brownish hair with its hazel and gold lights. Still, it would flatter neither of them to wear the same; indeed it would make them look ridiculous and Sarah naturally had first choice.

Charlotte had decided upon a rich, wine pink, another shade which would have suited Emily. But to be honest, it suited Charlotte, with the redwood colour of her hair and her honey-toned skin even better. No one could call her eyes blue; they were gray in any light.

Which left only yellow or green for Emily. Yellow always made her look sallow. It looked dreadful on Sarah too; only Charlotte was flattered by it. So, with a touch of ill humour, Emily had settled for green, a soft, lighter than apple green. Now, holding it up in front of her, she had to admit that chance had favoured her. It really was most excellently becoming. She looked all delicacy and spring, like some flower in its self-chosen setting, as if she owed nothing to artifice. Indeed, if dressed in this she could not attract the admiration, and thus of course the attention, of one of the Decker family’s friends, she did not deserve to succeed. Sarah was not in the field, being married; the Madison sisters were unattractively dark, and let us be honest, much thicker round the waist than was desirable, both of them! Perhaps they overate?

Lucy was handsome enough, but so clumsy! And Charlotte, she knew, would be no rival, because Charlotte always spoilt any visual effect she might have made as soon as she opened her mouth! Why did Charlotte always have to say what she thought, instead of what she certainly had enough wit to know people wished?

This green really was excellent. She must get another gown in the same shade for daytime. And where was Lily? She was supposed to be coming with the curling irons!

She went to the door.

“Lily?”

“Coming, Miss Emily. One moment, and I’m coming right now!”

“What are you doing?”

“Just the last touches to Miss Charlotte’s dress, Miss Emily.”

“The irons will get cold!” Really Lily was stupid at times! Didn’t the girl ever think?

“They’re still too hot, Miss Emily. I’m coming right now!”

This time she fulfilled her promise, and half an hour later Emily was totally satisfied. She turned slowly in front of the mirror. The reflection was dazzling; she could think of nothing to add or alter. This was the best image she was able to present; young yet not totally unsophisticated, ethereal without being quite out of reach.

Caroline came into the room behind her.

“You’ve been standing in front of that mirror too long, Emily. You must know every fold of your dress by now.” Her reflection was smiling, meeting Emily’s eyes. “Vanity in a woman is not an attractive quality, my dear. However beautiful you are-and you are pretty enough, but not beautiful-it becomes you to pretend indifference to it.”

Emily stifled a laugh. She was far too excited to be offended.

“I don’t intend anyone else to be indifferent to it. Are you ready, Mama?”

“Do you feel there is something I have yet to do?” Caroline’s mouth twisted a little.

Emily swung round, flouncing her skirt. She regarded her mother in mock consideration. On anyone else the brown-gold dress would have been sombre, but against Caroline’s rich skin and mahogany hair it was very handsome indeed. Emily had too much honesty to do anything but approve.

“Thank you,” Caroline said with some acerbity. “Are you ready to come down? Everyone else is prepared to leave.”

Emily came down the stairs carefully, holding her dress, and was the first into the carriage. All the way there she was silent, her mind whirling faster and faster through dreams, picturing handsome men, faces as yet indistinct, all turned towards her as she danced, music in her ears, in her body and in her feet, barely touching the ground. One vision melted into another. She progressed to the next day, to admirers calling, to letters, then to rivalry for her attention. A pity gentlemen did not duel any more. Of course, it would all be very proper. Perhaps one of them would be titled. Would she marry him? Become Lady something? There would be a long, passionate courtship first-his family would have chosen someone else for him. Someone of his own social standing, an heiress. But he would be prepared to risk everything! The dream was delicious. It was almost an anticlimax when they arrived. But she knew the difference between dream and reality.

They had judged it perfectly-probably Mama’s doing. The ball was already in progress; they heard the music even as they mounted the steps to the great doors. Emily caught her breath and swallowed hard in the excitement. There were more than fifty people, swirling gently like flowers in a breeze, colours blending and drifting one into another, interspersed with the dark, stiffer forms of the men. The music was like summer and wine and laughter.

They were announced. Mama and Papa went down the steps slowly, then Dominic and Sarah, then Charlotte. Emily hesitated as long as she dared. Were all those faces looking at her? Oh, yes, please let it be that they were? She picked up her skirt just an inch or two in her hand, delicately, and began to descend the stair. It was a moment to be savoured, like the exquisite first strawberry of the year, at once sweet and tart, drawing the mouth.

They were formally introduced, but most of it passed over her head. She was aware only of the son of the family. He was a bitter disappointment. Reality shattered the remnant of the dream. He was ruddy-faced, short-nosed, and definitely too stout for a man of his youth.

Emily curtsied, as habit dictated, and when he asked her for the honour of the dance she accepted. There was no other civil way to behave, and she was duly led away. He danced badly.

Afterwards Emily found herself deposited among a group of other young women, most of whom she knew, at least by sight. Conversation was minimal and extremely silly, as everyone’s mind was on the men now congregating at the far side or dancing with others. Such remarks as were made were not listened to, either by those who made them or by those to whom they were addressed.

Emily saw Dominic and Sarah together, and Mama dancing with Colonel Decker. Charlotte was talking, with an attempt at interest, to a young man with an elegant and weary air.

It was half an hour, and several dances later, before young Decker returned-much to Emily’s dismay, until she saw that he brought with him quite the handsomest man she had seen in a year. He was of no more than average height, but his brown hair curled richly to his head, his colour was excellent, his features regular, his eyes large, and above all he carried with him an air of assurance that was beauty in itself.

“Miss Emily Ellison,” young Decker bowed very slightly, “may I present to you Lord George Ashworth.”

Emily held out her hand and curtsied, eyes down to hide the colour of excitement she felt climbing up her cheeks. Really, she must behave as if she met lords every day, and cared not a whit.

He spoke to her; she hardly heard the words. She replied gracefully.

The conversation was formal, a little stilted, but it hardly mattered. Decker was an ass-she needed only half her attention to maintain a subject with him-but Ashworth was entirely different. She could feel his eyes on her, and it was both dangerous and exciting. He was a man who would reach boldly for what he wanted. There might be finesse, but there would be no fumbling, no diffidence. It brought her a tingle of fear to know that she was, at this moment, the object of his interest.

She danced with him twice within the next hour. He was not indiscreet. Twice was enough; more would have drawn attention, perhaps Papa’s, which could spoil everything.

She saw Papa across the room, dancing with Sarah, and Mama trying to avoid the very open admiration of Colonel Decker, without at the same time offending him, or allowing the situation to arouse the jealousy of others. At a different time, Emily would have watched for the education it would have given her. Now she had business of her own that required all her wits.

She was standing talking to one of the Misses Madison, but she was conscious of Lord Ashworth’s eyes on her from across the room. She must stand straight. A bent back was most unbecoming, made an ugly bustline, and did little for the chin. She must smile, but not seem to be vacuous, and move her hands prettily. She never forgot how ugly hands could spoil an otherwise graceful woman, having seen it all too disastrously demonstrated by the other of the Misses Madison, to the total loss of a promising admirer. That was something Sarah had never quite mastered and Charlotte had, which was odder still. Charlotte was so awkward with her tongue, but she had such beautiful hands. She was dancing now with Dominic, her face lifted, her eyes glowing. Really, sometimes Emily doubted she had the sense she was born with! There was nothing to be gained from Dominic. He had no friends of value, and certainly no relations. True, he was comfortably enough placed himself, but that was of no consequence to Charlotte. Only a fool travelled a road that led nowhere. Still, you could not tell some people!

By midnight Emily had danced with George Ashworth another two times, but nothing had been said about a further meeting, or about his calling on her. She was beginning to fear she had not been as successful as she had at first presumed. Papa would soon decide it was time to go home. She must do something within the next few minutes, or perhaps lose her chance, and that would be appalling. She could not lose so soon the first lord she had spoken to familiarly, quite the handsomest man; and, even more to her liking, a man of wit and boldness.

She excused herself from Lucy Sandelson on the pretext of being rather warm, and made her way towards the conservatory. It would doubtless be far too cold in there, but what was a little discomfort in the pursuit of such advance?

She had waited five minutes, which seemed like fifty, when at last she heard footsteps. She did not turn, pretending to be absorbed in the contemplation of an azalea.

“I hoped you would not have grown cold and returned to the ballroom before I had the chance to disengage myself.”

She felt the blood surge through her. It was Ashworth.

“Indeed,” she said as calmly as she could. “I had no idea you had observed my leaving. I did not intend to be obvious.” What a lie. If she had not thought he observed her she would have had to return, and leave again. “I was finding the heat growing a trifle oppressive. So many people.”

“Do you dislike crowds? I am most disappointed.” He sounded it. “I was hoping I might invite you, and perhaps Miss Decker, to accompany me and one or two friends to the races in a week’s time. There is a big meeting, and all fashionable London will be there. You would have graced the scene, especially if you were to have worn the same delightful shade as you are wearing now. It brings all springtime and youth to mind.”

She was too choked with excitement to speak. The races! With Lord Ashworth! All fashionable London. Dreams flickered past her eyes in such profusion she could hardly distinguish one from another. Maybe the Prince of Wales would be there; he loved racing. And who knew who else? She would buy another dress in green, a dress for the races, fit to turn every head on the course!

“You are very silent, Miss Ellison,” he said from behind her. “I should be dreadfully disappointed if you did not come. You are quite the most enchanting creature here. And I promise you, the crowds at the races will be nothing like as stifling as here in the ballroom. It will all be open air, and if we are lucky, sunshine as well. Please say that you will come?”

“Thank you, Lord Ashworth.” She must keep her voice steady, as if she frequently were invited to the races by lords and it were no cause for ecstasy. “I should be most charmed to come. I have no doubt it will be a delightful occasion, and Miss Decker quite a proper companion. I understand she has accepted?”

“Naturally, or I should not have been so inconsiderate as to approach you.” That was a lie, but she was not to know it.

When Papa came to inform her it was time to return home, she followed obediently, smiling, in a haze of delight.

Race day was fine, one of those cool, dazzlingly sunny days of late spring when the very air seems to sparkle. Emily had prevailed upon Papa to purchase yet another new dress, and in the very green she wished. She had hinted at the eloquent argument that if really successful she might attract a future husband-a thought which could not fail to impress Papa. Three daughters were a severe test of any man’s connections and good fortune if he wished to see them satisfactorily married. Sarah had been matched, if not brilliantly, at least acceptably. Dominic had sufficient means, and was certainly more than personable. He was uncommonly handsome, and seemed of easy temper and good habits.

Charlotte, of course, was entirely another matter. Emily could not see Charlotte being nearly so easily settled. She was both far too unaccommodating in her nature-no man liked an argumentative woman-and far too impractical in her own desires. She wished for the most awkward and, in the long run, unrewarding attributes in a man. Emily had tried to speak to her regarding her ambitions, to point out that financial means and social standing, coupled with acceptable appearance and behaviour that was at any rate well-mannered, were all one could reasonably expect-indeed, were a very great deal more than most girls ever achieved. But Charlotte refused to be persuaded, or seriously to acknowledge that she even understood.

But today none of that mattered. Emily was at the race meeting with Lord George Ashworth and Miss Decker and some young man she barely noticed. He was of infinitely less promise than Ashworth, and therefore not to be considered at the moment.

The first race was already over, and George had won very nicely on it. He claimed to know the owner of the animal, which made the whole venture even more exciting. Emily paraded along the close grass, parasol in hand, luxuriating in an air of great superiority. She was on the arm of a member of the aristocracy, and an uncommonly handsome one. She looked both fashionable and lovely, and she knew it. And she had inside information on the winner of the previous race. What more could anyone ask? She was of the elite.

The second race was a smaller affair, but the third was the big event of the meeting. The crowd began to buzz in excitement, like a swarm of bees disturbed. The swirls of movement grew more violent as people elbowed their way towards bookmakers, calling odds, trying to induce higher and higher wagers. Men in elegant and rakish clothes laughed loudly, as fistfuls of money changed hands.

Once, while Ashworth was talking about horses’ legs, good heart, jockeys’ skill, and other things she did not understand, Emily observed an incident she could merely stare at, transfixed. A portly gentleman, somewhat red in the face, was chuckling to himself over his good fortune, clutching a note in his hand. He took one or two steps forward, moving towards a sallow man in dark clothes, lugubrious as an undertaker.

“Lose, old fellow?” the stout man asked cheerfully. “Never mind, better luck with this one! Can’t lose ’em all. Keep at it, I say,” and he gave a broad chuckle.

The thin man looked at him with polite dismay.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but were you addressing me?” His voice was quite soft. Had Emily been less close she would not have caught the words.

“You look as if misfortune has visited you,” the stout man went on heartily. “Happens to the best of us. Keep trying, I say.”

“Indeed, sir. I assure you I have had no misfortune.”

“Ah,” the stout man grinned and winked. “Not wanting to admit it, eh?”

“I assure you, sir-”

The stout man laughed and clapped the other on the arm. At that moment a stranger missed his footing and staggered sideways, cannoning into the stout man. He in turn fell forward almost into the arms of the sallow man in the mourning clothes. The man put out both hands to steady the sudden weight, or to fend it off. There were profuse apologies all round, and an attempt at straightening clothes. The ill-footed stranger muttered something, then apparently saw an acquaintance in the distance, and still talking, took himself off. A smart young woman materialized next to the dark man and begged him to come immediately and witness some good fortune of hers, while two other fellows having a heated discussion on the merits or demerits of a certain horse, took over almost the same spot of ground.

The stout man brushed himself down, drawing a deep breath. Then his hand stopped convulsively, halfway down his body, dived into his vest pocket, and came out empty.

“My watch!” he howled in anguish. “My money! My seals! I had three gold seals on my watch chain! I’ve been robbed!”

Emily swivelled round and tugged on Ashworth’s sleeve.

“George!” she said urgently. “George, I just saw a man robbed! He was robbed of his watch and seals!”

Ashworth turned round, a slightly indulgent smile on his mouth.

“My dear Emily, it happens all the time at the races.”

“But I saw it! It was most cleverly done. This man bumped him from behind and forced him almost on top of another, who ran his hands over him, and like a conjuror must have removed his possessions! Aren’t you going to do something?”

“What do you suggest?” His eyebrows rose. “The man who took them will be innocently engaged in something quite different by now, and the goods themselves will have been passed on to someone else neither you nor the victim has ever seen.”

“But it only happened this moment!” she protested.

“And where is the thief?”

She stared round. There was no one she recognized, except the victim and the two arguers. She turned back to George helplessly.

“I can’t see him.”

He grinned.

“Of course not, and even if you tried to pursue him, there would be people specially detailed to block your way. That’s how they work. It’s quite an art, indeed nearly as great as the art of avoiding them. Don’t think about it. There’s really nothing you can do. Just don’t carry money in your skirt pockets. They are excellently clever at robbing women, too.”

She stared at him.

“Now,” he said firmly. “Would you care to place a small wager on Charles’s horse? I can promise a place at least.”

She accepted. To wager money was exciting, part of the thrill, and since it was not her own money, she could lose nothing, and might even gain. But far more important than any small financial advantage was the knowledge she was actually part of this new, brilliant world that since adolescence she had dreamed about. Ladies of high fashion laughed and swirled their skirts as they flounced along on the arms of elegant gentlemen, gentlemen with money and titles, who gambled on horses, on the turn of a card or the fall of dice, gentlemen who took life by the throat and won or lost fortunes in a day. She overheard their talk and it conjured visions for her; a little blurred, of course, because she had never been to a gambling den or a dogfight or cockfighting pit; she had never seen a gentlemen’s gambling club, or, come to that, anyone more than very slightly the worse for drink. But there was danger in it, and danger, risk, was the essence of fortune. Emily had youth and looks, and some ready wit, and above all she believed she had style, that indefinable quality that marked the winners from the losers. If she were to win something permanent, the chance must be taken now.

She succeeded as well as she could have hoped. Ten days later she was invited, again with Miss Decker, to a lawn tennis party, which she enjoyed enormously. Of course she did not play, but the purpose was purely social, and in this she accomplished much, including an invitation to ride in the park in a few days’ time. She would, of course, have to be lent both horse and habit, but this presented no problem. Ashworth had arranged for the horse, and she could perfectly easily borrow Aunt Susannah’s habit. They were much the same size, and the fact that Susannah was approximately two inches taller could be dealt with by tucking the skirt over at the waist. No one but herself would know.

The day was the first of June, cool and brisk with dazzling sky and rain-clean streets. Emily joined Miss Decker, whom she had grown to dislike, although she hid it excellently, Lord Ashworth, and a Mr. Lambling, who was a friend of Ashworth’s, and who had taken a distinct fancy to Miss Decker. Heaven only knew why!

They rode together under the trees on the firm gravel of Rotten Row. Emily sat a trifle precariously on the side saddle. She was not used to horses, but determined to keep her balance and even manage a certain panache as she guided her horse cautiously between a group of solemn children on fat ponies. She looked good, and she heard it reflected in the approving murmurs of a bunch of gentlemen eight or ten yards away. The habit was half an inch tight, flatteringly so. Her high-crowned riding hat, very like a gentleman’s top hat, sat rakishly to one side on her shining hair. Her fair skin was complemented perfectly by the hat’s dark colour and her shirt’s white lace ruffles.

The others caught up with her and rode more or less abreast. Conversation was sporadic until they passed quite the most elegant woman Emily had ever seen. She had the palest silver fair hair and broad, handsome face. Her habit was forest green and most exquisitely cut, with velvet on the collar. Her horse was an animal of obvious mettle. Emily was lost in admiration. One day she would dearly like to ride down Ladies’ Mile with that air of assurance, of superiority so deep as to be casually assumed.

The woman smiled broadly as they drew level, and adjusted her hat fractionally with one finger, setting it at a still more dashing angle. She was looking at Ashworth.

“Good morning, my lord,” she said with a faintly mocking air.

Ashworth looked through her for a long, chill moment, then turned slightly in the saddle to face Emily.

“You were telling me, Miss Ellison, about your aunt’s visit to Yorkshire. It must be most pleasant country, from your account. Do you go frequently yourself?”

It was an astounding piece of rudeness. It had been at least a quarter of an hour since Emily had mentioned Yorkshire, and the woman quite plainly knew him. Emily was too astonished to speak.

“. . although I’m surprised she found early spring a comfortable time of the year to visit so far north,” he went on, still keeping his back to the Row.

Emily stared at him. The woman’s face twisted in a small grimace, a touch of bitter amusement in it. Then she touched her horse with her crop and moved on.

“She was speaking to you!” Emily said boldly.

“My dear Emily,” Ashworth’s mouth curved downward slightly, “a gentleman does not reply to every harlot who importunes him,” he said with a hint of condescension. “Most especially in such a public place as this. And certainly not if he happens to be in the company of ladies at the time.”

“Harlot?” Emily stammered. “But she was-she was dressed-I mean-”

“There is every degree of harlot, just as there is every degree of just about everything else! The more expensive they are, the more elite their custom, the less they look like it, that’s all. You must learn to be a little less simple!”

The thought flashed through her mind, but she forbore from asking him how he knew the woman’s occupation. Obviously there was an entire world about which she had much yet to learn, if she were to thread her way through it successfully, and reach the prize she intended.

“Perhaps you will be good enough to teach me?” she said, with a smile that she hoped hid more than it revealed. Let him read into it what he wished. “It is an area in which I am totally unacquainted.”

He gave her a hard look for a moment or two, then broke into a broad smile. He had extraordinarily fine teeth. Emily made up her mind right then that she would exert her utmost effort to end up as Lady Ashworth-regardless of-certain disadvantages. They would have to be dealt with in due course, but she had no doubt she would be equal to them.

“I’m not sure, Emily, if you are quite as mellow as you seem.” He was still looking at her.

She affected total innocence and met his eyes with a charming smile. She considered inviting him to know her better and decided against it. It was too forward, and anyway, she was quite sure he intended to anyway.

It was the second week in June when George Ashworth actually came to the Ellison house to call. Naturally it had been planned, planned most meticulously. Even Caroline tried unsuccessfully to hide a certain bubble of excitement.

At quarter to four they were all sitting in the withdrawing room, the sun shining in across the floor, the first roses blooming outside. Lord Ashworth and Mr. and Miss Decker were expected at any moment. Sarah sat rather primly on the piano stool, playing something nondescript; Emily was sufficiently practiced herself to know she was playing it badly. Emily was singing inside with anticipation. Caroline sat in the best hardbacked chair, as if already preparing to pour the tea which was not yet served. Charlotte alone seemed unaffected. But then, of course, Charlotte never had had the sense to know what was important.

Emily herself was very composed. She had already done everything she could to prepare; all that remained now was to play each phrase, each glance, as it came.

They arrived precisely on time, and were shown in with a flurry of introductions. They all sat down and began the usual ritual of small talk. Only George Ashworth looked totally comfortable.

A giggling and rather flushed Dora brought in their tea: all Mrs. Dunphy’s most elegant sandwiches, little butterfly cakes, and others that defied category. Everything was served with even more than usual ceremony.

“Emily told us about the race meeting,” Caroline said conversationally, proffering the sandwiches to Ashworth. “It sounds quite fascinating. I have been on only two occasions myself, and they were both some time ago, and in Yorkshire. London races are most fashionable, I hear. Do tell us more about them? Do you go often?”

Emily hoped he would be discreet, partly because she had told her mother very little about the races, and even that little had been definitely slanted, a strong accent on fashion, and nothing whatsoever about the gambling touts, the pickpockets, those who had taken more refreshment than was good for them, and those who she now realized were of the same basic occupation as the lady of the elegant riding habit in Rotten Row. Please heaven, George would have the sense to pick and choose his recollections also.

George smiled.

“I’m afraid there are not so very many race meetings that it would be possible to go more than two or three times a month, Mrs. Ellison. And not all of them are worth bothering with-not the sort of thing I enjoy, and certainly not for ladies.”

“Do ladies not attend all of them?” Sarah asked curiously. “You mean they are for men only?”

“Not at all, Mrs. Corde. I used the term ‘ladies’ to distinguish from the various other females who do attend, for their own reasons.”

Sarah opened her mouth, interest lighting her face, then remembered her propriety and closed it again. Emily caught Charlotte’s eye with amusement. They all knew Sarah’s love of the socially correct. Charlotte said it for her.

“You mean women of no virtue?” she said frankly. “The demimonde, I think they call it?”

George’s smile broadened.

“They do indeed, among other things,” he agreed. “There are the race-goers, and those who follow the race-goers, and those who follow the followers. Horse traders, gamblers, and I’m afraid thieves.”

Caroline frowned.

“Oh dear. It does not sound as pleasant a place as I had imagined.”

“Race meetings vary as much as people, Mrs. Ellison,” George said easily, reaching for another sandwich. “I was explaining why I do not attend certain of them.”

Caroline relaxed.

“Of course. I was concerned about Emily; unnecessarily, it seems. I hope you understand?”

“It would hardly become you to do less. But I assure you, I would not dream of taking Emily anywhere I would not be happy to see my own sister.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister?” Caroline was suddenly interested again; and so, from the looks on their faces, were the Deckers.

“Lady Carson,” George said easily.

“We should be most delighted to meet her. You must bring her to visit us,” Mr. Decker said quickly.

“I’m afraid she lives in Cumberland.” George dismissed his sister with equal ease. “She very seldom comes to London.”

“Carson?” Decker would not let it go. “I don’t think I know him?”

“Do you know Cumberland, Mr. Decker?” Emily asked. She did not like Decker, and resented his curiosity.

Decker looked a little taken aback.

“No, Miss Ellison. Is it-pleasant?”

Emily turned to George, raising her eyebrows.

“Very beautiful, if a little rustic,” he replied. “It lacks a good many of the amenities of civilized living.”

“No gaslights?” Charlotte asked. “Surely they must have hot water, and fires?”

“Certainly, Miss Ellison. I was thinking of gentlemen’s clubs, imported wines, tailors fit to patronize, theatres of anything but the most bucolic-in short, society.”

“It must be most distressing for your sister,” Miss Decker said drily. “I must be sure not to marry a man with the misfortune or the perversity to live in Cumberland.”

“Then if such a gentleman should ask you, you will have to refuse him,” Charlotte said tartly. Emily hid a smile. Apparently Charlotte did not like Miss Decker any more than she did. But, please heaven, she was not going to be rude! “Let us hope you have an offer more to your liking,” Charlotte finished.

Miss Decker flushed in annoyance.

“I don’t doubt I shall, Miss Ellison,” she snapped.

George sat forward, his handsome face darkened, his lip tight.

“I doubt you will get an offer more favourable than Lord Carson’s, Miss Decker. Not for marriage, at least!”

There was a moment’s hot silence. It was inexcusable for him to have embarrassed a woman in such a fashion, whatever the provocation. Caroline was at a loss for words.

Emily had to do something.

“It is as well we do not all have the same tastes,” she said quickly. “But I dare say Lord Carson’s estates are very comfortable. Living in a place is quite different from visiting it. One always finds plenty to do when one is at home. There are responsibilities.”

“How perceptive you are,” George agreed. “Lord Carson’s estates are extremely wide. He breeds bloodstock, and runs a prize herd of cattle; and, of course there is extensive shooting and fishing. There are mills of some sort also-”

He stopped suddenly, realizing he was speaking of possessions, of money, in a manner that was vulgar. “Eugenie has more than enough to do, especially with three children.”

“She must indeed be busy,” Caroline said noncommittally.

And so the afternoon continued. The conversation recovered. Emily worked hard to see that it did so, and Sarah was sufficiently impressed to exercise her very best manners, which were excellent.

Afterwards Emily and Charlotte were alone in the withdrawing room. Charlotte opened the doors to let in the late afternoon sun.

“You were not a great deal of help,” Emily said a little crossly. “You might have perceived what manner of creature Miss Decker is!”

“I also perceived what manner of creature he is,” Charlotte replied, staring at the roses.

“Mr. Decker?” Emily said in surprise. “He is nothing.”

“Not Decker. Your Lord Ashworth. That yellow rose is going to be out tomorrow.”

“What on earth does that matter? Charlotte, I mean to have George Ashworth offer for me, so just control your tongue while he calls upon us!”

“You what?” Charlotte turned round in amazement.

“You heard me! I mean to marry him, so just play at being courteous at least for the present.”

“Emily! You hardly know him!”

“I will, by the time it matters.”

“You can’t marry him! You’re talking nonsense!”

“I’m speaking perfectly good sense. You may be happy to spend your life dreaming, but I am not. I have no illusions that George is perfect-”

“Perfect!” Charlotte said incredulously. “He’s appalling! He’s shallow, a gambler, and probably a rake! He’s not-not a part of our world, Emily. Even if he married you, he would make you wretched.”

“You’re a dreamer, Charlotte. There is no man who won’t make you wretched some time or other. I think George will have more to compensate for it than most, and I mean to marry him. I won’t allow you to prevent me.” She meant it. Standing in the withdrawing room in the gold evening sunlight, looking at Charlotte’s face, the light on her heavy hair, she realized just how profoundly she did mean it. That which at the beginning of the afternoon had been an idea, had now become a quite irrevocable intention.