Death On Blackheath

Chapter Six

Charlotte had not seen her sister Emily for several weeks, and not spent much time alone with her when they could talk to each other in more than formalities since before Christmas. She decided to write a letter to Emily asking if she would like to take luncheon and, if the weather permitted, to walk in Kew Gardens. Even if it were cold, the massive glasshouses filled with tropical plants would be warm, and a pleasant change from sitting inside.

Emily wrote back immediately, agreeing that it would be an excellent idea. She had married extremely well, just before Charlotte had married Pitt. Emily had gained a title and a very large fortune, if not a commensurate happiness. Tragically, George had been killed in circumstances to which they never referred. Emily found herself first a suspect in his death, then a very wealthy widow with a son, in whose name both the title and the inheritance were vested.

Later she had fallen in love, wildly and quite irresponsibly (so she told herself) with the handsome and charming Jack Radley. He had no profession and no inheritance at all. Everyone else had agreed with her that it would be a disaster, and in their first few years together Jack had done little but enjoy himself, and be excellent company. Then the ambition had seized him to do something of value, and he had fought very hard to win a seat in Parliament. Emily had been enormously proud of him, as indeed had Charlotte. He had more than justified their belief in him.

Young Edward’s inheritance allowed Emily to live extremely well, without using up what would rightfully be his when he reached majority. This was a little while in the future because he was roughly the same age as Jemima, who was now fifteen.

Emily kept a carriage for her personal use, and it was in that that she came to pick up Charlotte for their luncheon.

She came into the house in Keppel Street, barely glancing at its hallway, so much smaller than her own. Nor did she look at the stairs, which went straight up to the first-floor landing, not in the sweeping arc of those at Ashworth House, never mind those at their country seat, which could accommodate twenty guests without inconvenience.

Charlotte was still in the kitchen, giving Minnie Maude last-minute instructions for dinner, and warning her not to let Uffie steal the sausages, which he was presently creeping towards, imagining no one would notice him.

‘See that Daniel and Jemima have no more than hot soup when they come in from school,’ Charlotte added, picking up the little dog and putting him back in his basket. ‘And that they go straight upstairs to do whatever homework is assigned them.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Minnie Maude agreed, giving Uffie a stern look. He thumped his tail happily in reply.

Emily was looking extraordinarily dashing, wearing the very latest fashion in capes. It was double-breasted, with two rows of large fancy buttons down the front. It was very becoming and from the way she walked it was apparent that she knew it. The whole outfit was a mixture of blues and greens, an up-to-the-minute daring combination, frowned upon only a year ago. Her hat was positively rakish. She was younger than Charlotte, only just approaching forty, and had always been slender. Her fair hair had a deep wave to it, the finer tendrils curling delicately. With her porcelain skin and wide blue eyes she had a refinement approaching beauty, and she never failed to make the best of it.

Charlotte felt a little drab beside her, even though her skirt had the latest cut, with five pieces making the fullness fall very gracefully to the back. But it was an ordinary terracotta in colour. She would have added a cape, but she had little spare income to spend on memorable clothes she could not afford to be seen in next year, and the year after, and probably after that too.

She hugged Emily quickly and stood back to admire her. ‘That’s wonderful,’ she said sincerely. ‘You manage to make winter look as if it is fun.’

Emily smiled suddenly, lighting her face, and only then did Charlotte realise that the moment before Emily had looked tired. She made no remark on it. The last thing any woman wanted to hear was that she did not look fresh. It was almost as bad as ill, and approaching the worst of all — old.

Charlotte reached for her hat, a rich brown ordinary felt one. It was nothing like as beautiful as Emily’s, but it did suit her richer colouring, and she knew it.

They had an excellent luncheon. As always, it was Emily’s gift. They had become so used to that over the years that they ceased to argue about it, even though since Pitt’s promotion Charlotte’s means were considerably improved. Still they were not in the same sphere as Emily’s.

They spoke of family matters, how their children were faring. Besides Emily’s son, Edward, she had a younger daughter, Evangeline. Children changed so rapidly there was always something to report.

They also spoke of their mother, Caroline Fielding, who had scandalised everyone by remarrying after their father’s death — and to an actor, of all things! Not only that, but he was very considerably younger than she was. Life had changed radically for her. She had a whole new set of occupations and issues to engage her mind and her emotions, and to worry about. She was happier than she had imagined possible.

‘And Grandmama?’ Charlotte said finally, over dessert. It was a subject she would have preferred to ignore, but it hovered between them unsaid, but with such weight that eventually she surrendered.

Emily smiled in spite of herself. ‘Nearly as appalling, as always,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Complaining about everything, although I think it is merely habit, and her heart is no longer in it. I caught her actually being nice to the scullery maid last week. I swear she’ll live to be a hundred.’

‘Isn’t she there already?’ Charlotte asked waspishly.

Emily’s eyebrows shot up. ‘For goodness’ sake, do you think I asked her? But if you did, then please tell me the answer. I have to have some hope to cling on to!’

‘What if she’s only ninety?’

‘Then say nothing,’ Emily responded instantly. ‘I couldn’t bear it — not another ten years.’

Charlotte looked down at the folded napkin and the empty plate. ‘It could be twenty …’

Emily said a word she would later deny ever having used, and they both laughed.

They rose from the table and had the carriage sent for, and agreed that a walk in Kew Gardens would be just what they would most enjoy.

The air was cold and bright, but with no wind at all it was very pleasant. Scores of other people seemed to have had the same idea.

‘I suppose you don’t get the opportunity to help Thomas with cases any more,’ Emily remarked, as they passed several very handsome trees. Neither of them bothered to read the plaques in front saying what they were, and which were their countries of origin. ‘All too secret,’ she added, referring back to Pitt’s cases.

‘Not much,’ Charlotte agreed. She heard the wistfulness in Emily’s voice. She even felt a little of it herself. Looking back, some of their adventures, which had been dangerous or even tragic at the time, now were softened by memory and only the better parts remained.

‘But you have to know something about them,’ Emily insisted. ‘Don’t you?’

Charlotte glanced sideways at her, just for a moment, and saw a hunger in her, almost a need. Then it vanished, and as they passed a couple of well-dressed women she smiled at them charmingly, full of confidence. The old Emily was there again, beautiful, funny, intensely alive, brave enough for anything.

‘It’s all very … shapeless,’ Charlotte relented and answered the question. ‘Thomas was called in because they found the body of a woman in a gravel pit up on Shooters Hill. For a little while they were afraid it might be Dudley Kynaston’s missing maid …’

Emily stopped abruptly. ‘Dudley Kynaston? Really?’

Charlotte had a sharp stab of misgiving. Perhaps she was breaking a confidence to have told Emily so much?

‘It’s confidential!’ she said urgently. ‘It could cause an awful scandal, quite unjustifiably, if people started to speculate. You mustn’t repeat it! Emily … I’m serious …’

‘Of course!’ Emily agreed smoothly, beginning to walk again. ‘But I know something already. Jack said Somerset Carlisle was asking questions in the House about Kynaston’s safety.’

‘Somerset Carlisle?’ Now Charlotte was intrigued, and touched with a cold finger of fear. She had not forgotten about Carlisle and the resurrectionists either. ‘What else did Jack say?’ she asked, attempting to keep the urgency out of her voice.

Emily’s mouth tightened and she gave an elegant shrug of her slender shoulders, but it was a tiny movement, as if her muscles were tight. ‘Not very much. I asked him because I know Rosalind Kynaston a little, and I suppose it would really be her maid, not his. But Jack didn’t answer me.’

‘Oh.’ It was a meaningless response, except to acknowledge that she had heard. Had she also understood? Was this one answer that closed Emily out, perhaps because Jack did not know anything more, or what he did know was in confidence? Or had he just not been listening closely enough to realise that Emily wanted an answer?

They walked for a few moments without speaking again. They passed exotic trees, palms whose structure was utterly unlike the oaks and elms they were used to, or the soaring, smooth-limbed beeches. On the ground there were ferns, almost like green feathers a Cavalier might wear on his hat, but far larger. Emily buried her hands in her muff, and Charlotte wished that she had one.

‘What is Rosalind Kynaston like?’ Charlotte said to break the silence before it grew too deep to disregard.

Emily gave a tiny smile. ‘Ordinary enough, I suppose. We spoke little about anything in particular. She’s older than I am. Her children are all married. She doesn’t see them very often. Army, or something, I think.’

‘There are hundreds of other things to talk about!’ Charlotte protested.

‘Gossip,’ Emily said tartly. ‘Have you any idea how boring that is? Half of it is complete rubbish. People make it up in order to have something to say. Who on earth cares anyway?’

It was mid-afternoon and the days were lengthening again. The sky was clear and the lowering light shone brightly and a little harshly on their faces. For the first time Charlotte noticed the very fine lines in Emily’s once-perfect skin. Actually they were the marks of laughter, emotion, thought. They were not unkind. They even gave her face more character, but they were lines none the less. She did not for a second doubt that Emily had also seen them. Of course they were there in Charlotte’s face too — more of them, a little deeper — but she did not mind. Did she?

Pitt was a little older than she, and time had touched him with a brush of grey at the temples. She liked it. She was beginning to find youth less interesting, even callow at times. Experience lent depth, compassion, a sharper value to the good things. Time tested one’s courage, softened the heart.

But did Emily see it that way? Jack Radley was remarkably handsome, and her own age. Men matured nicely. To some people, women simply got older.

As if reading her thoughts and taking them further, Emily spoke again.

‘Do you suppose that Kynaston was having an affair with the maid, and got her with child, or something? Then he had to get rid of her?’ she asked.

‘That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?’ Charlotte said with surprise. ‘She far more likely ran off with her young man.’

‘To a gravel pit, in the middle of winter?’ Emily said with an edge of sarcasm. ‘Have you lost your imagination? Or do you think I have? Or is this your way of telling me you can’t discuss it with me?’

Charlotte heard the hurt in her voice beneath the surface irritation. She wanted to turn and study Emily’s face more closely, but she knew that in doing that she would make an issue of something that was too delicate to force.

‘We don’t know that it was her body in the gravel pit,’ she said instead. ‘If it wasn’t, and we accuse a government scientist of what amounts to murder, we are hardly guarding the safety of the state. In fact,’ she added, ‘we are doing the enemy’s work for them.’

Emily stopped, her eyes wide. ‘Now that is a really interesting thought.’

Charlotte’s heart sank. Unquestionably she had said too much now. How could she get out of it? She had never been able to fool Emily; they knew each other far too well. Emily, the youngest of the three sisters, had always been the prettiest, possibly a little spoiled, and forever trying to catch up. Socially and financially, it was many years since she had overtaken Charlotte. The memory of their elder sister, Sarah, murdered in the terrible affair of the Hangman of Cater Street, was one Charlotte seldom touched. There was a pain of grief still left, and also regret over the stupid quarrels, and a nameless guilt that she was dead while Emily and Charlotte were alive, and happy. There was too much darkness in it, the kind of thick, heavy shadow that eats the light.

‘That’s all it is!’ she said, more sharply than she had intended. ‘A thought.’

Emily smiled, a sparkle in her eyes.

‘Anyway, the person who’s drawing attention to it is Somerset Carlisle, and he’s hardly an enemy of the country. Nor is he stupid enough not to understand what he’s doing.’

‘Maybe we could find out?’ Emily suggested.

Charlotte had no quick answer. She was trying to extricate herself from the difficulty she had created by raising the subject at all. She shivered very visibly. ‘Could we do it walking again? I’m freezing standing here.’

‘You don’t want to,’ Emily started to move, actually quite quickly, making conversation difficult. ‘Stop tiptoeing around me, Charlotte. You’re as bad as Jack.’

Charlotte stopped again, colder than she had been even the moment before. What was this about? No more involvement in detection? Being bored and losing interest in gossip and pointless parties just to fill the day, serving no larger purpose? Or was it really about Jack? Certainly it had little if anything to do with Dudley Kynaston or the body in the gravel pit.

Emily was still walking away, though she had slowed down. Charlotte hurried to catch up with her. There was no point in being subtle now; in fact it might only make things worse.

‘Do you really know Rosalind Kynaston?’ she asked a little breathlessly. She wanted desperately to help, and yet the slightest clumsiness would close off the opportunity, perhaps for a long time. She knew even as she was doing it that it might be dangerous, and Pitt would not approve, but she knew also that what she had thought was temper on Emily’s part was really pain.

They had known each other all the life they could clearly remember. Sharing was woven through all childhood. It was nothing to do with toys, lessons, dresses, books; it was memory. As little children they had run hand in hand. As girls they had shared secrets and laughter, quick squabbles. As young women there had been adventures, hope, falling in love, and heartbreak. Now, probably more than half-way through life, there would also be disillusion, coming to terms with other kinds of pain, inequalities that would always be there.

Emily shook her head. ‘Not very well, but that could be mended. In fact, it will have to be, if Jack takes a position with Dudley Kynaston. He’s likely to be offered it. It must be a promotion.’ And yet there was no lift in her voice, no excitement.

Charlotte hesitated, then decided honesty was the only safe choice. ‘But you don’t like it? Or is it just this messy maid business that worries you?’

Emily kept her eyes forward. ‘I don’t know why you say that …’

‘Shall I explain it?’ Charlotte asked. ‘Or would you rather talk about something else?’

Emily pulled her mouth into a grimace. ‘I’m not as sure as he is that it would really be upward. I think it’s rather more sideways. Honestly …’ She gave a little sigh and looked away again. ‘Promotion carries some burdens as well. He could be away more … a lot more.’

‘Oh …’ Charlotte immediately wondered whether Emily was going to miss him, or if she were more worried about what he might do far from home, and perhaps if he would miss her as much. As far as Charlotte knew, Jack had not been unfaithful to Emily, even in thought, but before marriage he had certainly been widely experienced, and had not hidden the fact. The novel thought of being completely faithful to one woman was part of the new adventure of marrying. So also, of course, was the equally novel experience of being financially far more than comfortable, with at least two very fine homes of his own, instead living most of the year as a guest in someone else’s house, there because he was charming, entertaining and always agreeable, but never secure.

He was a Member of Parliament commanding considerable respect from his peers, and being offered advancement entirely on his own merit. Emily had begun as the privileged one; now Jack made his own way. Charlotte realised with surprise that that was a bit like herself and Pitt, except that all she had possessed at the beginning was an excellent upbringing and the entrée to certain circles in Society, no money at all. The change that Pitt’s promotions had brought delighted her, especially the respect he was now accorded by those who had previously condescended to him. The only disappointment was the inability to take part in his cases, no excitement, no detection. With a jolt of surprise she realised that she too had become a trifle bored. She was definitely affected with a feeling that she was repeating the same tasks over and over, and perhaps they were not really either as useful, or as interesting as she had imagined.

Emily had waited as long as she was going to. ‘What do you mean?’ she demanded.

‘I know what you mean about promotion,’ Charlotte answered. ‘It brings more money, and more responsibility, but not necessarily more satisfaction. And certainly not more fun.’ Then afraid she had given away too much about herself, she hastened on. ‘What does Jack say?’

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 striking-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.’

‘Oh dear.’ Vespasia sipped her tea again. ‘Sibling rivalry is a snake you can never quite kill. I’m afraid Emily has been used to being a step ahead for rather too long. She is finding it hard to adjust to being a step behind.’

‘She isn’t behind!’ Charlotte said instantly.

Vespasia merely smiled.

‘Well … she needs something to do, I mean something that matters,’ Charlotte tried again. ‘The way we used to when we could help with Thomas’s cases, before they were secret.’

‘Be careful,’ Vespasia warned.

Charlotte thought of denying that the affair of Kynaston and the missing maid was in her mind, but she had never deliberately lied to Vespasia, and their friendship was too precious to begin now, even to defend Emily.

‘I will be,’ she said instead. It was half-way to the truth.

‘I mean it, my dear,’ Vespasia’s voice was very grave again. ‘I know Thomas is inclined to believe that Dudley Kynaston is not unfortunately involved with this missing maid, and possibly even that the body in the gravel pit was not hers. He may be right. That does not mean that Kynaston has nothing to hide. Be very careful what you do … and perhaps even more careful what you arrange for Emily to do. Her mind is filled with her own misgivings: her fear of boredom, and thus of becoming boring herself. Her beauty, to which she has been accustomed, is beginning to lose its bloom. She will have to learn to rely on character and charm, style, even wit. It is not an easy adjustment to make.’ She smiled with deep affection. ‘Especially when your older sister has never relied on her looks and has already learned wit and charm, and now at the age when other women are fading, she is coming into bloom. Be gentle with her, by all means, but do not be indulgent. None of us can afford the errors that come with carelessness, or desperation.’

Charlotte said nothing, but she thought about it very deeply as she took the last sip of her tea. Regardless of Vespasia’s advice, and the wisdom she knew it held, she was going to involve Emily, she had to.