Anne Perry - Dorchester Terrace

“No,” Charlotte said firmly, looking up and meeting his eyes. “I mean that I like this house and I’m not ready to leave it yet-if I ever will be. We’ve had a lot of good times here, and bad-or they’ve looked bad for a while. Victor Narraway, Aunt Vespasia, Gracie, and you and I have sat up all night in the kitchen, and fought some desperate battles.” She shook her head a little, ignoring her sewing. “A new house would be empty in comparison. And I’m not ready to let the old ones go. Are you?”

“No, perhaps I’m not.” He smiled, feeling the warmth blossom inside him. “Every time I go down the corridor to the kitchen I see Gracie standing on tiptoe, still a couple of inches too short to reach the plates on the top of the dresser. I’m not used to seeing Minnie Maude, five inches taller. But she’s a good girl. You’re happy with her, aren’t you?”

“I’ll always miss Gracie, but yes, I am,” she said with certainty. “And Daniel and Jemima like her, which is almost as important.” Then she frowned, aware that something was wrong. She was uncertain whether he was not telling her because it was confidential, or because he did not want to spoil the evening. She could read the tension in him as easily as if he had spoken. For more than fourteen years they had been friends, as well as husband and wife. He kept all manner of secrets from the government, the police, and the general population, but he kept only the most specific, confidential details from her.

She saw in his eyes that he had made a sudden decision.

“I saw Jack today,” he said, after a moment.

Charlotte waited, watching his face, reading the conflicting emotions.

“I had to see Tregarron about something, or at least try to,” he went on. “But he sent Jack for me to report to, and relay his replies back.”

“Jack’s new promotion,” she said with a little tightening of her lips. “I think Emily’s prouder of it than he is.”

“Did she push him into it?” he asked.

“Possibly.” A shadow crossed her face. “Was he arrogant?”

Pitt relaxed at last, allowing his shoulders to ease and his body to sink into the familiar shape of the chair. “Not really. I was annoyed because I was damn sure Tregarron wouldn’t have dismissed Narraway like that, but I think I went to them with too little information. Tregarron didn’t believe there was any cause for concern, and it may well be that he is right. I need to know a lot more. I should have waited. Narraway would have.”

“And you expect to walk in and be as good in your first year as he was after twenty?” she asked, her eyebrows raised.

“I need to be,” he said quietly. “Or at least as near as makes no visible difference.”

“He failed sometimes as well, Thomas. He wasn’t always right.”

“I know.” He did know, but that did not ease his anxiety, or change the fact that he knew what failure would cost not just him, but the entire Branch.

Charlotte left home at nine o’clock the following morning, stepping out onto the pavement feeling a trifle self-conscious in her new riding habit. She looked extremely smart in it, which she was happily aware of, but it had been a long time since she had worn such a flattering and rather rakish outfit. It had not been possible until lately. Money had been reserved for essentials, which this most certainly was not, especially when one had children who seemed to grow out of every piece of clothing within months.

A week ago she had agreed to meet Emily in Rotten Row in Hyde Park, to spend an hour or two on horseback. Accordingly she now walked briskly toward Russell Square, where she was certain she could find a hansom cab. The wind had dropped, and there was a very slight frost in the air. It was a perfect winter morning for a ride.

However, when she alighted in Hyde Park she felt far less enthusiastic than she had expected to when the arrangement had been made. She could not put from her mind Pitt’s conversation about his meeting with Jack in Lord Tregarron’s office.

The trees of the park were bare, a fretwork of black lace against the sky. The earth of the long bridle path was already churned up by hooves, and the grass beyond was the strange, almost turquoise color that the frost crystals lent it. In the distance there were at least twenty riders already out: women sidesaddle, graceful in perfectly cut habits; men riding astride, some of them in military uniform.

The sound of laughter drifted on the slight breeze; she also heard the jingle of harnesses and the thud of hooves as a horse broke into a canter.

Charlotte walked across the hard, frosty earth toward the group of horses still held by their grooms, and she wondered how much of the previous day’s encounter Jack had relayed to Emily. Did he consider his work also to be bound by secrecy? More probably he had imagined that she would hear of it from Charlotte today, and would have prepared her for that, regardless of protocol.

She saw Emily standing by her horse. She was easily distinguishable from the other women there by her slenderness, and the gleam of winter light on her knot of fair hair, visible beneath the brim of her exquisite riding hat, which was like a shallower version of a gentleman’s top hat, its brim slightly curled. Charlotte estimated the cost of it, and felt a flicker of envy.

She walked onto the gravel, which crunched under her boots.

Emily turned. She saw Charlotte and immediately started toward her.

“Good morning,” she said with a tentative smile, her eyes searching Charlotte’s. “Are you ready to ride?”

“Very much,” Charlotte replied. “I’ve been looking forward to it.” It was a strangely stilted conversation, nothing like the ease and good humor they usually shared.

Side by side, without meeting glances, they walked back to the grooms standing with the animals. They mounted and moved out at a walk. They nodded to other riders they passed, but did not speak to anyone, as there was no one with whom they were acquainted.

The longer the silence lasted, the more difficult it would be to break it. Charlotte knew she must say something, even if it was completely trivial. Words often meant little; it was the act of speaking that mattered.

“We’ve been thinking about moving,” she began. “Thomas asked me if I would like to, but I’m fond of the house on Keppel Street. A lot of important things have happened while we’ve been there, memories I like to live with, or at least I don’t want to let go of yet.”

Emily looked sideways at her. “But wouldn’t you like to live somewhere slightly larger? Perhaps on one of the squares? Or do you think it’s just a little early to move?” She meant, was Charlotte certain that Pitt would measure up to the job?

For a moment Charlotte did not answer. She was the elder, but she would always be socially the junior because of Pitt’s humble beginnings, and because Emily had a wealth Charlotte could never even dream of.

Emily colored uncomfortably and looked away, fussing with her reins as though she needed to guide her horse along this safe, flat, fine gravel and earthen path.

“It is always a good idea not to take success for granted,” Charlotte replied levelly. “Then, if one does fail, one has so much less distance to fall.” She saw Emily’s expression tighten. “But actually, I simply meant that I am not yet ready to leave a house so full of happy memories. I have no intention of entertaining, so we don’t require the extra rooms.”

“Surely you’ll have to entertain?” Emily asked. “And anyway, it’s such fun!” A smile flickered across her face.

“Yes, we will have to entertain. But only friends,” Charlotte said quickly, keeping her horse even with Emily’s. “And our friends are perfectly content with Keppel Street.”