Anne Perry - Silence in Hanover Close

“I shouldn’t anticipate anything,” he answered her irritably. “I can’t imagine any circumstance in which I should be sent to any part of Europe, except perhaps Germany. All the interest in my department is with the empire, particularly Africa and who colonizes where. And if I went there it would be on business. I should be there and back in weeks, and most of the time would be spent on the voyage.”

Harriet was still too absorbed in trying to hide her feelings from the company to say anything. Garrard was leaning backwards in his chair, admiring the sparkle of the wine in his glass as the light from the chandelier caught it. A little self-consciously elegant, Charlotte decided, although she felt there was more emotion behind that highly individual face than she had first imagined-deeper lines round the mouth, a sharper curve to the lips, gestures that told of control mastering an inner restlessness. He was not as unlike Adeline as he had seemed at first.

“I must ask Mrs. York about Paris,” she said, smiling dazzlingly at no one in particular. “I have never traveled, and I daresay I will not have the opportunity, but I love to hear about other people’s experiences.”

“Mostly experiences of barbarous food and plumbing that doesn’t work.” Garrard looked at her with irony. “A much overrated occupation, I assure you, Miss Barnaby. You will usually be too hot or too cold, someone will mislay your baggage, the Channel crossing on the steamer will make you ill, and once you reach Calais you will not understand a word anyone says.”

Charlotte was about to retort with asperity that she spoke French, when she realized she was being teased, and for his amusement, not hers. “Indeed?” She raised her eyebrows. “All experiences I am quite used to in England, except for the Channel crossing. Perhaps you have not lately left London, Mr. Danver?”

“Bravo!” Aunt Adeline said with satisfaction. “She has your measure, my dear.”

His smile touched only his mouth. “Indeed,” he said, but he left it more a question than a concession.

“You shouldn’t spoil people’s dreams, Papa.” Julian began eating again slowly. “Anyway, Miss Barnaby may find things quite different if she comes to travel. I remember Robert’s mother used to enjoy it. She mentioned Brussels in particular.”

“Was that recently?” Charlotte asked eagerly. “Perhaps things have improved since you were there, Mr. Danver.”

His face hardened. The light shone on the smooth, tight skin of his cheeks, and Charlotte sensed a powerful anger inside him. Why on earth should he be abraded by something so trivial? No one had proved him mistaken, merely expressed a different opinion. Was his temper so unstable?

“Perhaps my dreams will never be realized,” she said quietly, “but it is pleasant to have them.”

“God preserve us from dreaming women!” Garrard raised his eyes to the ceiling, and there was an edge to his voice that Charlotte would ordinarily have called him to account for.

“It is frequently the only way we can get anything,” Aunt Adeline said, picking up her glass and sniffing at her Chablis. “But of course, you wouldn’t realize that.”

Everyone looked nonplussed. Felix glanced at Julian. Sonia’s face, with its regular features and flawless skin, registered what Charlotte was convinced was stupidity, although it was totally unfair to judge her so harshly. She was being too partisan towards Harriet and she knew it.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Danver?” Jack said with a frown.

“Not at all your fault,” she said graciously. “I daresay you are in a similar position.”

Jack turned to Charlotte, totally confused.

“What are you talking about, Aunt Addie?” Harriet asked gently.

“Scheming women.” Aunt Adeline’s eyebrows rose above her bright eyes, too round for beauty. “Aren’t you listening, my dear?”

“Henderson!” Garrard called loudly. “For heaven’s sake, bring on the pudding, whatever it is!”

“ ‘Dreaming women,’ Aunt Addie,” Julian said patiently. “Papa said ‘dreaming women,’ not ‘scheming.’ ”

“Oh, really?” She smiled quite suddenly at Jack. “I apologize, Mr. Radley, do forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive,” he assured her. “One can very easily lead to the other, don’t you think? One begins by dreaming, and without the restraint of morality, isn’t it often too easy to end in working out ways to bring about whatever it is one wants?”

Charlotte glanced from one face to another, not daring to look at Julian too long. Had they any idea why she was here? Was she perhaps far more transparent than she supposed, and they were merely playing with her?

“You are overrating people’s morality.” Garrard’s smile still curved his lips upward, but there was derision in it rather than pleasure. “It is more often a perception of what is practical and what is not-although, God help us, there are some hideous exceptions. Thank you, Henderson; put it down, man!” He accepted the steaming treacle pudding and syrup and brandy sauce. “Miss Barnaby, let us talk of something less sordid. Have you any plans to go to the theater? There are plenty of amusing plays on; one is not restricted to Mr. Wagner by any means.”

The subject had been changed, and she realized that without the most extraordinary ill manners she could not pursue the topic further. Even if she did, it would be profitless now; she would betray herself and ruin all future plans.

“Oh, I certainly hope to,” she said eagerly. “Is there anything you recommend? It would be lovely to go to the theater, wouldn’t it, Jack?”

And so the meal concluded and nothing more was said that seemed to have any bearing upon Robert York’s life or death, or the Danver family’s relationship with the Yorks.

The ladies left the table before the port was brought in, and returned to the withdrawing room. Charlotte had expected the conversation to be stilted, as she sensed what Harriet’s feelings for Felix were. Whether Sonia was aware of them or not, they could not possibly feel at ease with each other. As for Felix himself, Charlotte had not yet decided whether he knew of Harriet’s love, or whether he returned it, and if so, with what sincerity or honor. Aunt Adeline’s sharp tongue and dull hearing were unlikely to help matters.

Charlotte was ready to do her best to smooth the awkwardness with small talk, but she found her assessment mistaken. Apparently they had all known each other long enough to have found their own accommodation. Either by trial or by instinct, they knew what harmless comments to make on fashion, what gossip of mutual acquaintances to exchange, and which short stories in the London Illustrated News they all had read.

Charlotte did not have the time, or the money, to take the Illustrated News, nor had she ever heard of their friends. She sat with a smile of polite interest which became more fixed and less natural as the minutes dragged by. Once or twice she caught Aunt Adeline’s eye, saw a flash of amusement there, and looked away.

Finally Aunt Adeline stood up.

“Miss Barnaby, you expressed an interest in art. Perhaps you would care to see one of the landscapes in the boudoir? It was my sister-in-law’s favorite room, and she was quite fond of travel. She hoped to visit so many places.”

“And did she?” Charlotte asked, rising also.

Adeline led the way. “No. She died young. She was twenty-six. Harriet was barely walking; Julian was seven or eight.”

Charlotte was touched with a sudden sharp sense of loss for the woman whose life had ended when she was on the brink of so much-a husband and children, one a mere baby. How would she feel, if she had to leave Daniel and Jemima, and Thomas, to manage alone?