Anne Perry - Belgrave Square

“You want a great deal, my dear.” Vespasia nodded courteously to people as they passed. She knew and was known by almost everyone who mattered in society, although few of them could claim more than an acquaintance with her.

Charlotte glanced at the band, who were still playing vigorously; the center of the floor was swirling with dancers.

“Regina Carswell,” Vespasia said absently as they passed the Carswells engaged in conversation with a group of elderly gentlemen. “Agreeable woman, and more sense than many, but three more daughters to marry, and that is no easy task, especially when they are all much the same.”

“But she has both position and money,” Charlotte pointed out as they skirted around a general in scarlet and two subordinates.

“Indeed. Addison Carswell is a magistrate,” Vespasia agreed. “But three daughters is still a formidable task. It is to her credit that she has kept any sense of proportion at all.”

“Lord Anstiss,” Charlotte prompted.

“I heard you, Charlotte. He is a man used to great power, great wealth and the respect that those things bring with them, the ability to support arts and sciences as he wishes.” Vespasia accepted a glass of chilled champagne from a footman in livery. “To patronize individuals and causes,” she continued, “which of course means people court his favor. All this considered, he is remarkably gracious and restrained.” She nodded to an acquaintance. “There is nothing vulgar about him and he abhors ostentation, although he does enjoy good company and is not so noble as to despise admiration.”

“Very good,” Charlotte said softly. “Do you like him?”

“That is irrelevant,” Vespasia replied.

“You don’t.”

“I neither like nor dislike him,” Vespasia said in defense. “I know him only publicly. He has qualities I admire, and his acts I certainly approve. Personally I have spoken with him little.” She sipped her champagne. “Although he has intelligence, and that always appeals. No my dear, you will have to make up your mind yourself. Just remember he has great power, never forget that, and at the moment it is Jack who matters.”

“I shan’t.”

Vespasia smiled.

“Thank you,” Charlotte said sincerely.

“Then you had better be about your duties,” Vespasia prompted, and Charlotte obediently took her leave, at least temporarily. And since Emily had also stressed his importance, she felt it obligatory to make a specific effort to speak again to Lord Anstiss and assure as far as it was possible that he was in good company and aware of his welcome.

She found him with little difficulty, standing with a wineglass in one hand and talking with Lord and Lady Byam and a thin woman with flaxen fair hair and a marvelous emerald necklace. They moved aside to include Charlotte as soon as she approached them.

“An excellent affair, Mrs. Pitt,” Anstiss said courteously. “Of course you know Mrs. Walters?” He inclined his head slightly, indicating the woman with the emeralds.

Charlotte had no idea who she was.

“Of course,” she murmured; she would not admit to ignorance, it would be too insulting. “How charming to see you, Mrs. Walters.”

“How kind,” Mrs. Walters replied noncommittally. “Lord Anstiss was speaking of the opera. Do you care for music, Mrs. Pitt?”

“Indeed I do,” Charlotte answered, hoping they would not ask her for a list of the performances she had seen lately. Such things were quite beyond her finances. “I enjoy all forms of music, from one person singing to please himself through to the grandest choruses.”

“I had great voices in mind, rather than merely large numbers,” Mrs. Walters said coolly, and it crossed Charlotte’s mind that in some way this woman resented her intrusion. She wondered what the conversation had really been. She looked more closely at Mrs. Walters, and saw the fine lines of irritation in her face, as if her habitual expression was one of anticipating anger. There was a mixture of eagerness and tension in her now, and she seemed acutely aware of Lord Anstiss. Her eyes flickered to him as if she was uncertain whether to speak or not.

Charlotte smiled at her sweetly, and indeed she felt a certain sympathy.

“I was thinking of type rather than quality. Perhaps I expressed myself poorly. I apologize. Have you seen anything of great interest recently, Mrs. Walters?”

“Oh-” Mrs. Walters shrugged. “I saw Otello a few weeks ago. Verdi, you know? It is his latest. Have you seen it?”

“No,” Charlotte admitted readily. “I have been rather preoccupied with other things. Was it excellent?”

“Oh yes. Do you not think so, Lord Anstiss?” She turned to him with a bright glance.

“Indeed.” Anstiss gave a lengthy, informed and sensitive opinion of the work and of the particular performance he had seen, his face full of power and animation, his choice of words individual and obviously colored by his own intense feeling. No one interrupted him, and Charlotte listened with interest. It made her wish dearly that such events were within possibility for her. But it was never going to be more than a dream, and this was a game, a few days out of Emily’s life. Charlotte should enjoy them for what they were, and do her best to acquit herself honorably.

“How well you describe it, my lord,” she said with a smile. “You make me feel not only as if I had been there, but in the most excellent company.”

A quick pleasure lit his face. “Thank you, Mrs. Pitt. What a charming compliment. You have made my evening doubly enjoyable in retrospect.” The phrase was conventionally polite, and yet she felt had he not meant it he would have said nothing.

Mrs. Walters’s face darkened. “I am sure we all find you most interesting to listen to,” she said a trifle peevishly. “You must have seen something of note, Mrs. Pitt. You surely have not spent all your time pursuing your brother-in-law’s career? I thought he was but very lately come to political interest.”

Next to Mrs. Walters, Lord Byam disengaged himself from his group and turned towards them.

“His interest is long-standing,” Charlotte contradicted. “It is his decision to stand for Parliament which is recent.”

“A nice distinction,” Anstiss observed with relish. “Don’t you think so, Byam?”

Byam smiled, a warm, natural gesture. “I take your point, Mrs. Pitt. Still, it is a pity if it has required so much of your time you have had no opportunity to refresh yourself with theater or music.”

“Oh I have, my lord.” Charlotte did not wish to appear too earnest or single-minded. She racked her memory for any acceptable affair she had attended, and stretched the truth by a few years. “I did a short while ago see a delightful performance of a light opera by Messrs. Gilbert and Sullivan. Not quite Verdi, I confess, but a charming evening.”

Mrs. Walters raised her eyebrows, but said nothing.

“I agree,” Eleanor Byam said quickly. “We cannot be indulging in great tragedy all the time. I saw Patience again last month. I still found it highly entertaining, and so many tunes stayed in my mind.” She glanced at her husband.

“Indeed,” he agreed, but he looked not at her but at Anstiss. “Did you not find the whole plot and the humor of it delicious-knowing your opinion of the aesthetic set?”

Anstiss stared somewhere over their heads, his eyes bright with inner humor, as if he took some point deeper than the mere words. “Mr. Oscar Wilde should be flattered,” he replied lightly. “His wit and his ideas have been immortalized and will be sung and whistled by half London, and done so without their knowing why.”

“Particularly the song about the silver churn,” Byam said quietly, smiling and looking at no one in particular. He hummed a few bars. “Magnetism is a most curious quality. Why do some have it, and some not?”