Treachery at Lancaster Gate

Chapter 5

Emily Radley sat by the fire in her boudoir, that lady’s sitting room where she received her closest women friends in comfort. There was tea on a tray on the carved cherrywood table, and small sandwiches of white bread, with wafer-thin slices of cucumber from the glasshouse. She stared at her sister, Charlotte.

“Oh dear,” she said quietly. “Yes, I do know Cecily Duncannon, but not very well.”

“Then please get to know her better,” Charlotte said gravely. “This is a terribly serious matter. I need to know for Tellman, and even more for Thomas.”

Emily’s mind was racing. Years ago, when Pitt had been a regular policeman and not in Special Branch, where so much was secret, she and Charlotte had both meddled in his cases. Sometimes they had been at the core of solving them. Of course it had also been dangerous, now and then, and they had made mistakes. But still she missed the passion of those days and the involvement. It gave a sharpness to life. What they did had mattered, in fact, more than the social niceties to which she gave so much time now, the surface rules that hid deep tides of intrigue and emotions guessed at but seldom seen.

“I like her,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to do this…”

“Then let Thomas tell you what their bodies were like!” Charlotte replied. “Or how the injured men are-”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t!” Emily responded quickly. “I just…I just don’t like it! How does Thomas do it every day?”

“Choosing not to look at it doesn’t make it go away,” Charlotte told her. “Please…just find out what you can. Maybe Alexander’s innocent? Wouldn’t it be worth something to prove that?”

Part of Emily did not want to touch it, but there was another part that ached to be involved again, to search and disentangle the truth, to live in a reality that was both beautiful and painful but shorn of the shallow pretense that gave such a superficial comfort.

“Of course I’ll help,” she said firmly. “How could you think I wouldn’t? Do you think I’ve lost all heart?”

Charlotte smiled, quick to apologize. “Of course not, or I would hardly have come.” She took a sandwich. “Thank you.”

Emily took a sandwich herself. “How is Gracie?”

“Expecting another child, and desperate to protect Samuel.”

“From disillusion?” Emily smiled back and felt a sudden stab of fear herself. Her own husband, for all his ease and confidence of manner, was desperately vulnerable too. If Alexander Duncannon was guilty, then his father would be jeopardized also, and with him the China contract and Jack’s career. Jack could not afford another diplomatic failure, however much it was in no way his fault. Misjudgment could ruin a reputation, no matter how innocent, and it would not be the first time he had misjudged.

“Yes,” Charlotte replied to the question about Tellman, but it was about Jack too, and they both knew it.

“I’ll begin tonight,” Emily promised. “I have a perfect opportunity.”

A few hours later Emily sat in front of her dressing table looking glass and regarded herself critically. She was Charlotte’s younger sister, delicately fair, with hair that curled naturally about her face. Her complexion was like porcelain; it always had been; but she noticed now the tiny lines around her eyes and mouth as she rapidly approached forty. Character and wit lasted far longer than beauty. In the last year or two she had been obliged to accept that. To age with grace was the only attitude that made sense and Emily had always been the pragmatic one. She had never been the idealist, the passionate dreamer that Charlotte was. Tonight she thought of the past and the adventures they had shared, and determined that she would do all she could to help.

She was wearing a gown in one of her favorite shades of soft green, a color that always suited her. She had emeralds and pearls in her ears, and around her slender throat.

Jack stood behind her, meeting her eyes in the glass. For a moment there was a flash of admiration in them, just long enough for her to see it and be satisfied. At the beginning of the year she had had a bleak few months when she feared it was gone. He had seemed distant, even a little bored. She had realized with a blow hard enough to bruise that she had taken his devotion for granted.

She must learn from how much that had hurt, and make sure she was never so cavalier with him again. To be comfortable, take the sweetness as if it were hers by right, was not only arrogant, it was also dangerous.

Now she smiled back at him in the glass.

“Are you ready?” she asked. She was not referring to his appearance. As always, he was immaculately dressed. She was referring to his preparation for a gathering in which his position as member of Parliament and junior minister at the Foreign Office was going to be tested in relation to this contract, on which many fortunes rested.

He swallowed before replying. She knew him well enough to see small signs of tension in him others would not have noticed.

“Yes.” He always spoke positively. It was a habit gained in his earlier days when everything rested on chance and uncertainty, and a brave face was part of his armor. Charm was a mixture of many things but always included a subtle blending of modesty with confidence, and an air of belief in the good. “There’s everything to play for,” he added. “Godfrey Duncannon is the perfect man to guide this through.”

“Who’s against it?” She turned round on the padded seat and looked at him earnestly.

“Sir Donald Parsons,” he replied. “I would like to know why.”

She was surprised. “Doesn’t he say?”

“Oh, yes.” He smiled and gave a slight shrug. “He will quote so many reasons that it makes me wonder which of them is the real one, or if any of them are. It might be something we haven’t even thought of.”

She understood immediately why that was an obstacle. She had been in society quite long enough to know that in order to do battle with anyone and have a chance of winning, you had to know what they really wanted, not simply what they said they wanted.

“I see. What can I do to help?”

In some situations she was the best ally he had, and lately he had had the grace to acknowledge it.

“I would like to know what Parsons really wants, but I would also like to understand Godfrey Duncannon a lot better,” he answered. “Not that I hesitate on the contract, which is more like a trade treaty for a vast amount of money, just a lot easier to negotiate. I have looked into that for myself.” He smiled ruefully. “I’m less trusting than I used to be.” He was referring to past errors that had cost him dearly.

She did not say anything. It was a delicate subject. He was referring to the occasions when he had served with more loyalty than judgment. Pitt had had to resolve violent and bitter issues too close to treason for anyone to escape easily, even if they were as innocent as Jack had been. No one had put it into words, least of all Emily, but his ambition to succeed without any help from Emily’s connections or her money had been a considerable part of his problem.

“The contract is good,” he said again. “But I am relying heavily on Duncannon to negotiate it. He has known the other parties for a long time and they will deal only with him. They trust him completely. I will be interested to know why. I’ve looked, and I can’t find anything powerful enough to explain it.”

She frowned. “Isn’t his past record enough? He’s been a brilliant success in business himself, and without the slightest shadow on his name.”

“I’ve thought that before,” Jack said quietly.

She rose to stand in front of him. She ran her fingers over his lapel, although it was already perfectly smooth. “He’s not a politician, you know. You don’t have to be quite so wary.”

“Yes I do,” he replied. “This could be worth millions of pounds altogether, the livelihood of thousands of people. And I can’t afford another error, however little I’m really to blame.” In spite of his attempt to be optimistic there was an urgency in his voice. “My name will be connected with it. People will know that. They won’t bother to ask in what way. I can hear them perfectly. ‘Oh, really? Wasn’t he connected with that contract with China? Better not have him. Not sound, you know? Choose someone else.’?”

Emily could see the dark shadow in his eyes. He was speaking lightly, even smiling, but he was passionately serious underneath. She knew him well enough to be certain he was also afraid.

“I will do all I can to help, I promise.” She thought of Charlotte, and Thomas, and Samuel Tellman, but she did not mention them. Jack had enough to worry about already.

He kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Thank you.”

The party was held in a magnificent home just off Park Lane. They were helped by the footman to alight at the portico of the front door. Liveried footmen seemed to be everywhere. The night was cold but dry, and lamps gleamed like so many fairy moons, reflecting off the horse brasses of the carriage that drew up behind them. As the woman inside alighted, the diamonds in her tiara blazed briefly, and the pale satin of her skirts gleamed.

Jack and Emily went up the steps and through the wide, carved front door. Once inside, the rustle of taffeta was louder than the murmur of polite voices and now and then the raised tones of the butler announcing this or that important person’s arrival.

Emily had once been “Lady Ashworth.” She was quite happy now to be “Mrs. Jack Radley,” especially when his name was followed by “member of Parliament.”

They stopped for a moment at the top of the stairs, and then went down the two or three steps into the already considerable throng. They had timed it perfectly: early enough to be polite, late enough to be interesting.

Two of the first people Emily was introduced to were Sir Donald Parsons and his wife. Emily was glad Jack had mentioned them prior to the party. Parsons was an impressive man, not above average height but with a sweep of black hair and enormous eyebrows that lent a fierceness to his aspect that his features did not quite support.

Lady Parsons looked somewhat in awe of him, but Emily thought she saw a hint of amusement, which interested her far more, in the pale blue eyes.

“How do you do, Lady Parsons?” she said with a sweet smile when they were introduced. She could be just as docile as anyone, if she judged it politic. “How nice to meet you,” she added. “I have heard so many delightful things about you.”

Lady Parsons looked momentarily confused, as did her husband. She was the first to recover. The two women looked at each other, and knew exactly where the power lay.

“People are very kind,” Lady Parsons murmured, and the amusement was back in her eyes-just a momentary light, gone as quickly as it appeared.

There was no answer to such an observation, and Emily knew it. It was something to be noted for later. Never underestimate such a woman, or imagine for a moment that she did not notice everything.

Parsons made some harmless remark, and Jack responded. Emily kept her smile, appearing to listen intently, until they were joined by their host.

The men moved away, deep in discussion of international trade and finance.

Lady Parsons looked at Emily, her face still impartially polite.

“Do you know anyone here?” she inquired. “May I introduce you to people you may care to meet?” It was a delicate way of suggesting that Emily was a stranger in society, perhaps in need of assistance.

Emily could feel the prickle of anger already. How dare this woman suggest Emily was a nobody? She increased the sweetness of her smile. “How kind of you,” she said innocently. “I am sure there are many”-she hesitated delicately-“ladies more familiar with the diplomatic scene than I and with whom you have been friends for decades. I should be most grateful for your generosity.”

Lady Parsons’s smile widened, then suddenly froze as she recognized the implication of her considerable seniority. She was perhaps ten or twelve years older than Emily, not the twenty Emily suggested.

Emily continued to smile expectantly.

Lady Parsons did not flinch. “We are on opposite sides in the affair of this contract,” she said quite calmly. “But I think I shall like you. You are a great deal deeper than you look, and quicker, I think?” The amusement was back in her eyes, now quite openly. It was an offer of friendship with a barb inside.

“It doesn’t do to appear too clever,” Emily replied. “People keep up their guard.”

“I am tempted to say that you are in no danger,” Lady Parsons said sharply, “but I think that is unnecessary. It rather betrays a need to win, don’t you think? Those who must always have the last word become rather tedious.”

“I agree,” Emily said. “To be tedious is the ultimate flaw in a woman’s character.”

Lady Parsons laughed quite openly. “Oh, my dear! Did Oscar Wilde say that?”

“Not that I am aware of,” Emily replied, raising her eyebrows in surprise. “I have discerned it for myself in endless political parties.”

“A pity you are too wellborn for the stage,” Lady Parsons observed. “You might do well.”

“I could never remember other people’s lines,” Emily replied.

“Come. I shall introduce you to some of the people I know.” Lady Parsons had a very gentle but insistent hand on Emily’s arm. “I shall enjoy the experience of seeing what they make of you.”

It was pointless to argue, and Emily thought it might be profitable for her to see the wives of the “opposition” to the contract. She would tell Jack about it later.

She was walking beside Lady Parsons, acknowledging various acquaintances, when she caught a glimpse of Godfrey Duncannon about twenty feet away. He was standing talking to a woman who was at once beautiful and delicate. She looked over forty, but with an innocence of someone younger. She was paying intense attention to him as if she dare not miss a word he said. He in turn was bending very slightly to listen to her, his attention also total. And yet his posture was not in the least romantic; it appeared more to be a recognition of her fragility and her dependence upon his care.

The light shone for a moment on the diamonds at her slender throat, and gleamed on the warm apricot silk of her gown. Then she lowered her gaze, and he smiled and moved away.

Emily realized that she had made a mistake, seeing only the profile view of the man. It was not Godfrey Duncannon at all, just someone who had a certain resemblance to him in build, and the bone structure of his head. He did not even have the same color of hair. Indeed, this man was at least a couple of decades younger.

She gave herself a mental shake. She should be careful she did not address somebody by the wrong name! Or even worse than that, assume she knew someone she really did not!

She accompanied Lady Parsons for a further twenty minutes or so, meeting a few more people of interest, then parted from her with a promise to meet again soon. Apart from its usefulness, it was a friendship she would enjoy. Difference of view had always been more interesting to Emily than incessant agreement, sincere or not.

She set about moving toward Cecily Duncannon with determination. They had met several times already and the liking between them was quite natural. Cecily was about ten years older than Emily, and still a handsome woman. In fact, middle age became her more than youth had done. Her dark hair was streaked with dramatic silver and where she had been a trifle bony in youth, now her broad shoulders were less obvious, and she had learned to carry herself with unusual grace.

She saw Emily and smiled with unaffected pleasure. Cecily excused herself from the two ladies of uncertain age with whom she had been making conversation and walked toward her.

“I saw you were engaged with Mrs. Forbush and her sister earlier,” Cecily said with a smile. “Some parties seem to last for days!”

Emily knew exactly what she meant. So many conversations felt as if they ended up almost exactly where they had begun.

“I suppose time doesn’t really stand still?” Emily replied, not intending it as a question to be answered.

“I used to be so nervous at events like this,” Cecily confided with a rueful little gesture. “Godfrey was always at ease.” She glanced to her left, where Godfrey Duncannon stood talking to several men of middle years, wide of girth and decorated with orders of one sort or another. They were talking, frequently two at a time, and all nodding in agreement. Godfrey, iron-gray-haired and immaculately dressed, was either completely at ease or else a superb actor. The resemblance to the other man, earlier, was an illusion. Someone was telling a story, smiling as he did so and waving his hands around.

Godfrey laughed as if delighted by it. Everyone looked satisfied.

“Women are allowed to gossip, indeed expected to,” Emily said a little ruefully. “But we are not supposed to tell any jokes! Or even listen to them!”

“A pity,” Cecily answered. “The invented jokes allow you to laugh, which is wonderful. It’s the real absurdities and the ridiculousness of life that hurt. And you cannot help seeing them.”

Emily caught a note of sadness in her voice, perhaps even fear. She glanced at the other woman’s face momentarily. If it were really sadness or fear Emily had detected, she did not want Cecily to know that she had seen it.

Deliberately she started on a new subject. It was chatter, a means of expressing that they were friends, without saying anything so overt and clumsy.

“I just met Lady Parsons,” she said lightly. “In other circumstances I think I could like her. She is not at all as bland as she appears.”

“I expect not many of us are as we appear,” Cecily said, staring across the room. “I would hate to think I was readable at a glance. It would be like one’s nightmare of having accidentally gone out into the street in one’s undergarments!”

Emily laughed deliberately, as if she thought Cecily had been at least half joking. “Especially in this weather,” she added. “I wonder if we shall have snow for Christmas.”

“Do you go to the country for Christmas?” Cecily asked. “It’s such a family thing, it’s rather nice. The city gets so grubby when all the snow turns to slush.”

Emily looked at Cecily’s face, the strong bones, the ivory skin, the black sweep of eyebrow. There were faint shadows around the dark eyes that powder could not hide. Was it concern over the contract her husband was negotiating, and which seemed to matter so much? Or something far more personal?

“I’m afraid with so many feet, and so many wheels, that always happens in the city,” she replied. “I love Ashworth Hall in the middle of winter, with all the fires burning and the country outside mantled in snow. But I’m afraid that this year we will almost certainly have to stay home. The contract…international trade doesn’t wait for holidays.”

Cecily was still looking across the room at her husband. “No,” she agreed. “We cannot afford to assume we will win. It matters intensely to Godfrey…as I imagine it does to all of us.” She included everyone, but Emily knew she meant Jack. Did Godfrey’s career really rest on it anything like as much as Jack’s did? Godfrey Duncannon had made a fortune. Everything he touched had prospered. She had heard that it was Cecily’s money, inherited from her father, that had been the foundation of their wealth, but Godfrey had multiplied it many times over and risen to a pinnacle of respect he might not have dreamed of as a young man. Could any of this possibly matter to him as much as it mattered to Jack, who was still so very much making his way?

She refused to think of what could happen to his career if in the next election he did not hold his seat! The thought was always just beyond the edge of her mind, but it cost some effort to keep it in check. It was not a matter of money, but of self-belief. She had seen the doubt in him, the loathing of being dependent on her.

“Yes,” she murmured in agreement. She wanted to know more, but there were questions one did not ask.

She remained a little longer in pleasant, light conversation. After they were joined by several others, she excused herself and gradually worked her way over toward the most beautiful woman in the room, her great-aunt Vespasia. She had been Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould, a courtesy title inherited because her father had been an earl. Now she was Lady Narraway, because recently she had married Victor Narraway, who had been head of Special Branch immediately preceding Pitt. A scandal had robbed him of that position. Pitt had redeemed Narraway’s reputation, but too late to reinstate him in office. He had been sidelined to the House of Lords. However, he had realized his deep love for Vespasia and at last found the courage to ask her to marry him. It was not that he had doubted his feelings; he had been afraid to lose a friendship he valued above all others by telling her its nature and making the old ease between them impossible.

Now Emily and Vespasia stood close to each other, momentarily out of conversation with passersby, and Emily seized her chance. Vespasia was not her aunt by blood, but by Emily’s first marriage to Lord George Ashworth. However, their ever-deepening friendship over the years, their sharing of triumph and disaster, had created a bond deeper than that of mere kinship. Emily knew that Vespasia felt an even closer bond with Charlotte and Thomas, but she had long ago ceased to mind about that.

Vespasia’s face lit with pleasure when she saw Emily. In her youth, Vespasia had been celebrated throughout Europe for her exquisite features and the strength and delicacy of her bones, her flawless skin. Now it was the wit and the passion in her face, the courage and grace of her carriage, that arrested the attention.

“I was hoping you would find a few moments from your duties,” Vespasia said warmly. “How are you, my dear?” She held out her slender hand, which blazed with a single emerald ring.

“Enjoying myself,” Emily replied, accepting her hand momentarily with an answering smile. “At least some of the time.”

“I should hate to suspect you of dishonesty,” Vespasia said drily. “The conversation is deadly, but perhaps some of what is not said is interesting, don’t you think? I noticed you in conversation with Lady Parsons.”

Emily laughed. “I hear what you are not saying,” she observed. “She is far more perceptive than I had thought. Her husband is the chief opponent of this contract you know?”

Narraway moved closer to them and it was he who answered. He was a slender man, not so very much taller than Vespasia, lean and wiry, his eyes so dark as to look almost black. His thick hair was shot through with silver, and time had improved and refined his features rather than dulling them.

“We do know,” he agreed. “But, I think, not all of his reasons. That would be very interesting to find out, and possibly useful.”

“Jack wants me to learn what I can about Godfrey Duncannon,” Emily responded. She wanted to ask Narraway if he could tell her anything, but even though she had known him for some years, she did not dare to presume on the acquaintance to ask. He was a man who had been privy to many of the secrets of the great and powerful. It had been his job, just as it now was Pitt’s. But Pitt appeared so much more open, approachable. Would he become like Narraway, eventually? Would he see the private darkness within all kinds of people, and smile and hide his discernment…until it became useful to him?

Involuntarily she shivered.

It was Vespasia who answered. “Then you had better continue to enjoy your friendship with Cecily Duncannon,” she advised. “But I think it will not be easy for you.”

Narraway looked at her with surprise, his dark eyebrows raised.

Emily understood. Vespasia did not mean that Cecily would not continue to like Emily. On the contrary, the warmth would remain, and increase. What she meant was that learning the source of someone’s pain, understanding their secrets because they trusted you, silently if not openly, faced you with dilemmas to which there was no happy solution.

“I know,” Emily said gently. It was an admission she had avoided making to herself. It was so much less challenging not to know, to sail through life, through relationships of any sort, seeing only what you wished to, never the layers below the surface.

“Has Cecily Duncannon such painful secrets?” Narraway asked quietly, although the fact that he phrased it so exactly made it clear that he knew the answer.

“Of course,” Vespasia replied.

“To do with Godfrey?” he persisted.

“That I don’t know. It’s possible.”

“His future is secure,” Emily put in. “And, as far as I know, his reputation is above criticism. Jack has looked into it most carefully. He can’t afford to have his own reputation tied to another disaster.” She regretted the harshness of the words the moment she had said them. Of course both Vespasia and Narraway knew about the past disasters. Narraway probably knew more than Emily did herself. It still sounded like something of a betrayal to remind them.

Vespasia understood. “I was thinking of her personal life,” she said. “I do not think Godfrey is always an easy man.”

“A mistress?” Narraway said with a smile that seemed like genuine amusement. “I think not. He is far too careful for that. Unexpected passion can catch most people, but I would stake a lot that he is not one of them.”

“A lot?” Emily asked immediately. “Such as a contract that apparently matters intensely to the fortunes of many?”

“Yes,” he replied almost without hesitation. “Godfrey has never allowed any kind of emotion to cloud his honor, or his ambition.”

Vespasia gave a wince so slight only Emily caught it and read it correctly. She had watched Cecily’s face and seen the shadows in it. Maybe they had less in common than Emily had thought. She had loved Jack from the beginning, at least in part because he had always been a friend. They had talked about all kinds of things in the earliest days of their acquaintance, because then he had had no aspirations to marry her, not even any thought that it was possible. There had been none of the awkwardness of a courtship, the forced propriety, the tensions. They had laughed together, given confidences and been open about thoughts, ideas, and even feelings. That had never changed.

Of course, there had been misunderstandings, even rifts between them occasionally, but they had occurred when the friendship was strained, the laughter and ease temporarily absent.

Had Godfrey Duncannon ever offered Cecily such warmth? Perhaps he had not that ease to give to a woman? Sometimes the perceived differences were too great to bridge.

If that were so, was it any of Emily’s right or privilege to discuss it? Not if it had no bearing on the contract. Some griefs could be endured only because no one else knew of them.

The next moment, they were joined by Jack, who greeted Vespasia and Narraway formally, introducing them all to Godfrey Duncannon and Cecily, who accompanied him. Immediately the conversation became general: where people were going to spend Christmas, in the city or at some country estate; what theater or opera was playing, and whether the performances were as good as others they were familiar with; and of course what the weather would do.

Emily listened and watched, keeping a demure look of interest on her face.

“We’ll have to make the best of it in the city this year,” Duncannon said to Emily on the subject of Christmas. “You could attend the midnight service at Westminster Abbey or, of course, Saint Paul’s if you prefer. They both have such a sense of history it makes one feel very much part of a great unity, past, present, and into the future.” He smiled at her, and she had a sudden awareness of his charm. Its source was not warmth in the usual sense, but rather more an intense intelligence, an appreciation of a multitude of things, each of which was beautiful to him.

She smiled back at him. “I imagine the Abbey will be a little crowded.”

“Filled to the very doors,” he agreed. “The music will be sublime, and everyone will be singing their hearts out. It isn’t just the great organ, or the choir, or even the numbers, it’s the joy of the people, the wave of belief. If you wish, I’m sure I can arrange a decent seat for you.” There was complete assurance in what he said, generosity certainly, but also pride. He knew he could do it, and it pleased him, as when a man strikes a perfect shot at golf and the ball sinks into the hole, as he knew it would.

She would like to have had the rank and the confidence to decline, but she did not, and they both knew that.

“Thank you,” she said graciously. “It is an experience I am sure I would never forget.” She felt she should say a little more than that, so she added, “It is very kind of you.”

He was pleased. He inclined his head in acceptance of her gratitude. He did not once glance at Cecily.

The conversation continued along other lines and Emily listened dutifully. They spoke of international affairs, other people’s lives, political news and speculation.

Finally Vespasia inclined her head politely and excused herself on the grounds of seeing an acquaintance she should not seem to ignore. She took Emily’s arm. “Come, my dear, I’m sure Lady Cartwright will be pleased to meet you.”

“Thank you.” Emily murmured, the moment they were out of earshot, “Who is Lady Cartwright?”

“No idea,” Vespasia replied. “For heaven’s sake, what a cold man! Is he always like that?”

“Duncannon? I think so. Perhaps not in his own home…” She let the suggestion trail.

“You mean in the bedroom,” Vespasia replied. “If so, one might be better off sleeping through the whole thing.”

Emily kept her face straight with difficulty. “I think he is nervous about the contract. Many people overtalk when they are anxious. It does mean a great deal to him. Or perhaps he is afraid of you?”

Vespasia smiled. “I hope so.” Then suddenly she was serious. “You may be right about this contract. Victor will not discuss it with me, though I am perfectly sure he knows a great deal.”

“And he is in favor of it?” Then Emily wondered if perhaps she should not have asked. Would apologizing make it worse?

“Very much,” Vespasia replied unhesitatingly. “But there will be those who lose. Or, of course, who have political objections.”

“But not ethical ones?”

“I don’t think so. And those are the ones that matter.”

Emily looked at her with surprise, not that she should think so, but that she should say it. It seemed naive for Vespasia.

Vespasia laughed. “I am not being sanctimonious, my dear! It is that good men will fight for an ethical cause, and they are the hardest to beat, partly because one is not ever certain that one wishes to.”

“Is Godfrey Duncannon a good man?”

“I don’t know,” Vespasia admitted honestly. “There are times when he is certainly tedious enough that one would believe he wishes to give that impression. But whether his exhaustive knowledge comes from intelligence as well as the overwhelming desire to impress, I don’t know.”

“Or the wish to dominate the conversation and keep it off all personal matters,” Emily suggested.

“Ah,” Vespasia said gently. “How perceptive of you. That could indeed be it. We are about to meet another man who is exhaustingly righteous.” She smiled with a grace that disguised all dislike. “How nice to see you, Mr. Abercorn. Emily, may I present Josiah Abercorn. My niece, Mrs. Jack Radley.”

Abercorn was the man Emily had earlier briefly mistaken for Godfrey Duncannon. Closer to, he was of unusual appearance. His eyes were large and very blue. They should have been magnificent, but were marred by dark shadows around them, as if he never slept sufficiently. His features were strong, with the same power as Duncannon’s, and there was a similar fire of intelligence in his eyes, although Duncannon’s were dark.

He greeted Emily politely enough, and with marked interest-no doubt because she was Jack’s wife.

“Mrs. Radley,” he said cordially. “Perhaps your husband has not mentioned me. He is admirably discreet. I am one of the lawyers who is drafting this contract we are all so eager to have signed. It will benefit more people than most of us can imagine.”

“My husband has said as much,” Emily replied warmly. “Although, of course, he does not mention any details.”

“Of course not,” Abercorn agreed. “But I assure you, if you are a woman of conscience and compassion for those less fortunate, you will rejoice when as much of it as possible is made public. This will open up vast areas of opportunity, and perhaps right some of the terrible things we committed against the Chinese people during our Opium Wars.”

She could only guess what he was referring to, but she managed to look suitably impressed.

“I count it a great privilege to have a part in it,” he continued. “It will be the crown of my aspirations to serve my country.”

Emily felt Vespasia tense beside her, with just the slightest stiffening of her already straight back.

“One jewel in the crown, Mr. Abercorn,” Vespasia interjected. “I am sure there will be more.” Her tone was impossible to read.

“I see no further than this, Lady Narraway,” he said blandly. “?‘I do not ask to see the distant scene, one step enough for me,’?” he quoted the famous hymn.

“How cautious of you,” Vespasia responded. “And perhaps wise. Politics can move so quickly it is best not to play all your hand at once.”

“I had not-” he began, then changed his mind and bit off whatever he was going to say.

“Indeed,” Vespasia murmured, as if she had understood perfectly.

Something a few yards away drew Abercorn’s attention, and he turned to look. Emily saw his expression change from benign polite interest. For an instant she saw hatred in his face, and pain. It was so deep that she was unaware of anything else. Instinctively she also turned to follow his gaze. The only person she recognized was Godfrey Duncannon. Everyone else seemed to be at least half turned away.

Then the moment passed, Abercorn regained his composure, and Emily was left wondering. She had no time to ask Vespasia whether she had observed it as well because they were joined by others and the conversation instantly became general.

This new group included the woman Emily had seen earlier talking so earnestly with Josiah Abercorn. This time she was with her husband, Police Commissioner Bradshaw. This relationship, Emily could instantly see, was quite different.

Mrs. Bradshaw was a woman of beauty, which was disturbing because of the haunted look in her wide, dark eyes. Emily was certain within an instant that she had some emotional or physical pain that crowded out pleasure for more than a few moments here or there. Perhaps it was ill health of such a nature that there was no recovery in view. She listened to the conversation and she laughed quietly at all the right places, but she spoke very little, and she stayed very close to her husband.

Bradshaw was also keenly aware of her and every so often he touched her arm, as if to remind her of his care, even protection. However, he could not protect her from the pain inside her, and that helplessness was there in his own face in moments he thought he was unobserved, when someone else made a joke or a particularly perceptive remark.

Emily wondered how much pain other people carried that passed unnoticed by all but the closest observer. Perhaps the kindest thing was to affect not to have noticed.

Emily excused herself at the first opportunity she found, and made her way over to where Cecily was trying to look interested in the shallow conversation of three young women. It was nearly a quarter of an hour before they could extricate themselves with grace.

“Thank heaven,” Cecily said with feeling. “If it were not winter, I would go for a walk in the garden. I think I would rather have fallen into the pond than heard any more stories about Rose, or Violet, or whatever her name was.”

Emily turned to her lightly. “You look worn out. I imagine you have to attend far too many of these receptions. I find after a while that they all seem the same, and I can’t for the life of me remember what this particular one was supposed to be about. I can understand why some people call everyone ‘my dear,’ or even ‘your excellency.’ How does anyone remember all these names?”

Cecily smiled. “Oh, there are tricks, but they don’t always work.”

“Then let us go and look for the room with the Gainsborough portrait in it,” Emily suggested.

“I didn’t know there was one!” Cecily said with surprise.

“Then we may well be some time in finding it,” Emily responded.

For the first time in the evening Cecily genuinely laughed. They walked close beside each other, talking of trifles, until they were out of earshot of the main party. A few moments later, out of sight as well.

“Are you just madly bored?” Emily asked gently. “Or are you concerned about the contract? I have heard nothing to suggest that there will be any problems. I know it is extraordinarily important to you.”

Cecily gave a slight shrug. “No, I think it is all as it should be. Godfrey is confident. He has certainly worked hard enough at it, and he is meticulous. He leaves no details to chance, or even for someone else to check.”

“Then I think we have no need to worry.” Emily tried to sound as if that were a relief, but none of the anxiety was lifted from Cecily’s face. “It isn’t the contract, is it?” she said after another moment or two.

Cecily blinked, and Emily realized with a wave of pity that she was close to tears. She put an arm around Cecily very lightly. “Come and sit down. There is a sort of small sitting room just through here. I remember it from another occasion.”

“It’s really nothing.” Cecily hesitated. “I’m sorry. I must be a little…tired.”

“Perhaps you have a slight chill,” Emily said, not as a serious answer but to fill a silence that seemed to require an explanation. She wanted very much to know what it was that caused Cecily such concern, but it would be clumsy to ask. It would sound more like curiosity than friendship.

They walked into the small room and Emily closed the door. It was, as she had said, a sitting room of sorts. There were three chairs in it, close to one another, and a very small table with a pitcher of water and several glasses. Emily poured two and gave one to Cecily.

“You have children, don’t you?” Cecily asked, more as confirmation than an inquiry.

“Yes, a son and a daughter,” Emily agreed. “And you have a son, Alexander. You’ve spoken of him once or twice. How is he?”

Perhaps that was what Cecily had been waiting for, but she did not look up at Emily as she answered. “He had a terrible accident several years ago. His horse fell on him. It damaged his spine…”

Emily tried to imagine how she would feel if it were Edward, and she could hardly bear it. “I’m so sorry…” What a feeble thing to say. But what could possibly be equal to seeing your child appallingly injured? Most mothers would sooner it were themselves!

“He recovered…quite well,” Cecily said, looking up for the first time. “The doctor thought his spine had healed, even though it took quite a long time. Alex could walk again, quite quickly. Even dance. But we didn’t realize that without the medicine he was still in a lot of pain.”

Emily nodded, but she did not interrupt. What was there to say that could possibly be of use?

Cecily drew in a shaky breath. “I thought that it would lessen, and it seemed to. I didn’t realize he was sheltering me from much of his pain.”

“And his father?” Emily asked. Although Jack was not Edward’s father, he loved Edward as deeply as he did Evangeline, who was his. The idea of either of them being hurt would be unbearable to him, every bit as much as to Emily.

Cecily looked away. “Alexander is…very different from Godfrey. Perverse, some people might say. Godfrey is a good man, extraordinarily gifted and dedicated to the causes he works for. Alexander is a dreamer, creative in his imagination and in the arts.” She turned back to Emily almost as if she had read criticism in her. “And I do not mean he is lazy or impractical, or that he does nothing to realize his visions into form. He has a gift for sculpture. He has made an altarpiece for one of the local churches. And he gets other commissions, too. But…” She stopped.

Emily guessed that the quarrel with his father went deeper than Cecily wished to say, and in truth, it was a very private matter, even though it was not at all uncommon. Jack had to work hard not to quarrel with Edward now and then. If he had been his own son, he might not have restrained himself so much. Emily had not always been entirely at peace with her own mother, Charlotte even less so. Their sister, Sarah, long dead now, had been the only obedient one.

“Alex lives a different way,” Cecily started again. “I don’t approve of it, but he is still my son. He has friends I don’t care for, and I am certain he spends far too much of his time indulging…tastes I dislike.” She said it so quietly Emily did not even think of asking what they were. Cecily’s pain was all she cared about. Perhaps it happened to most mothers. Edward was a little young for her to worry about his having those sorts of troubles, but her own turn could well come, and far sooner than she would ever be prepared for.

“He…he had some very unsuitable friends,” Cecily said again, as though now the floodgates were open on the dam that had held her troubles back, and she needed to deal with it all at once.

“We all do…” Emily responded. “And some of them turn out to be good.”

“Not like Dylan Lezant,” Cecily said softly, her voice catching as if she found it hard to control.

“Dylan Lezant?” Emily echoed.

“He was a young man of passion and charm, but emotionally fragile. ‘Too much imagination,’ Godfrey said. Josiah Abercorn was close to him as well. That’s how Alexander met him, when he was recovering from his accident.”

“He sounds like a good friend,” Emily observed.

“He was…”

“Was?”

“He’s dead.” Cecily gulped, and turned her head away a little, swallowing hard. “They hanged him. I think Alexander has never got over it.” The tears spilled and slid down her cheeks. “He seemed so young! So…so very foolish. But I suppose that is the law, and there was no escaping it.”

“The law?” Emily said, startled.

“He killed a man…shot him.” Cecily met Emily’s eyes at last. “They were buying opium…for pain. The police caught them, and in running away, Dylan shot a man, a Mr. Tyndale, who was just going home by a shortcut. Alexander refused to believe he was guilty, but of course he was.” She swallowed hard and dabbed her cheeks with the handkerchief from her reticule. “He still doesn’t believe it today. You see…Alex escaped without the police identifying him. He thought Dylan was right behind him…but he wasn’t. The police arrested him with the gun in his hand. Poor Tyndale was dead, shot through the heart. That was the worst time in my life. Alexander came forward-did everything he could to prove that Dylan was innocent-but no one believed him. They tried Dylan and found him guilty. I can remember Alexander’s face as if it were days ago, not years. I was terrified he would take his own life, with the grief of it…and the guilt. I thought he would never stop…that he would…damage his heart, quite literally.”

“Guilt?” Emily said slowly, having difficulty with the idea. She ached to help, but what was there anyone could do?

“Because he lived!” Cecily explained. “They both ran, but Dylan was closer and they caught him. And Alexander couldn’t prove Dylan’s innocence. He spent all his money, spent every day and night until he passed out with exhaustion. But he couldn’t even make anyone listen to him.”

“If I said I can even imagine how you feel, it would be a lie,” Emily told her. “But if there is anything I can do in any way at all, please allow me to.”

Cecily was silent for a few moments, as if searching for something to ask of her, then shook her head. “Thank you…”

There were footsteps outside and both of them stood up, not wishing to be caught in what was an acutely private conversation. Gossip could interpret it in too many ways.

Even so, the subject arose in another conversation within the hour, and Emily was determined to turn it to her advantage. She was speaking with Mrs. Hill, a woman she had known for some time, when they were joined by her brother, Mr. Cardon, and his wife, a blunt-faced woman who was wearing rather too many diamonds for the best of taste. However, she had a candor that Emily found a pleasant change from the too common desire to please those considered to be important.

The first reference caught Emily completely by surprise. She hadn’t been paying close attention to the conversation.

“You must mean Lestrange,” Mrs. Cardon was saying to her husband. “Lezant was the poor young man who was hanged for shooting the bystander in the opium sale, or whatever it was.”

Her husband’s eyebrows rose so far they wrinkled his brow right up to the point where his hair was receding. “I don’t know why on earth you need feel pity for such a miserable creature. You really should be more careful of the words you choose, my dear. I’m sure you don’t mean that. You will give Mrs. Radley quite the wrong impression of you.”

“Please don’t concern yourself,” Emily said quickly. “I don’t form impressions so rapidly.”

Mrs. Cardon was not so easily corrected. “I meant what I said,” she told him. “I read the case very carefully.” She looked at Emily, not her husband. “Herbert disapproves of my reading such things, but I consider that if it is in The Times, then it is fit for all people to read. Don’t you agree?” There was no challenge in her voice, but it was intended nonetheless.

“I think you should read whatever you wish,” Emily replied with more candor than she had originally intended. “But I agree with your taste. I’m not sure how I missed that story myself. I don’t recall it. I feel remiss.” She said it as if she were genuinely interested, as indeed she was.

“Very polite of you, Mrs. Radley,” Cardon said. “But such indulgence is not really necessary.” A shadow of arrogance passed over his face.

Emily drew in breath to argue, then thought better of it. Her chance of learning more was slipping away. “I have heard something of the matter just by word of mouth, occasional references,” she said, directing her words to Regina Cardon. “I would be very interested in hearing what The Times had to say. It is the most likely to be accurate, at least as to what was indisputable. No doubt opinions vary. They always do.”

“There was no doubt about the young man’s guilt,” Cardon said firmly. He gave his wife a warning glance.

Emily plunged on anyway. It concerned Cecily, whom she liked and for whose grief she had a deep compassion. It also might eventually affect Jack, if Alexander Duncannon felt as profoundly about the situation as his mother believed.

“He confessed?” Emily said with perhaps a little too much innocence.

“No,” Regina Cardon said instantly. “He went to the gallows denying his guilt in anything except purchasing opium to treat his pain.”

“He should have got it through a doctor, not illegally from some street dealer,” her husband told her brusquely. “He was resisting arrest, and that is still murder, because it was done while in the act of committing another crime. You have no argument, Regina. Lezant was a thoroughly undesirable young man.”

“If every young man were hanged whom someone three times his age thought undesirable, we should few of us grow to adulthood, Herbert,” she answered coldly.

He looked at her with ill-concealed surprise and arrogance.

“Although I have little doubt you would have made it,” she added.

Emily put her hand up over her mouth as if she were aghast, whereas actually she was afraid of laughing aloud. Cardon might be uncertain as to what his wife meant, but Emily knew exactly-and agreed. With reluctance she rescued the conversation by changing the subject, but she did manage to smile directly at Regina Cardon, to let her know that she both understood and sympathized. She received a flash of gratitude in return.

Later she rejoined Jack, but did not have an opportunity to speak alone with him until nearly two in the morning, when they were in their own carriage on the relatively short journey home.

She was tired, but what she wished to say should not be delayed. Discussion on the contract was continuing every day. Only if there were difficulties would it extend beyond Christmas.

“Jack…”

He brought himself to attention with an effort.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “But I feel I should tell you that I had a long talk with Cecily Duncannon this evening, much of it in private.”

He blinked, and in the shifting light of passing carriage lamps she saw the expression of ease go from his face. “I could see that she was worried. Is it something serious? Is she unwell?”

“Her son, Alexander, is unwell…”

He relaxed. “The poor fellow hasn’t been really well since his accident. Godfrey mentions it occasionally. He seems to be recovering very slowly.” He put his hand over Emily’s where it rested on her cloak. “He’s a difficult young man. He has chosen a style of life not likely to help him. Godfrey has done all he can to persuade him to change, but I’m afraid it has so far been to no avail. He made some unfortunate friends earlier on, as I suppose many of us do, but in his case it ended in total tragedy, and Alexander refuses to let go of it.”

“He still believes Dylan Lezant was innocent,” Emily replied.

Jack looked at her sharply. “Emily, there was no question. The bystander was shot. The police were there to arrest them and the dealer, and they saw everything. Alexander was just…devoted to this Lezant as a fellow sufferer dependent on opium for the relief of pain. Except Alexander had real and severe pain and this Lezant was just…just an addict! I’m sorry for both of them, but it is far beyond time Alexander put it behind him and concentrated on getting his health back.”

“And that’s all there is to it?” Emily said with a touch of chill her fur-trimmed cloak and carriage rug did nothing to dispel. “Is that what Godfrey said to Cecily too?”

“I don’t suppose he was quite so blunt, but in substance, yes.”

She did not reply. She had no facts with which to argue, not with Jack, anyway.