Anne Perry - Resurrection Row

“Oh.” He walked back across the room and sat down in his chair opposite her.

“But you still don’t like Dominic,” she added.

He did not answer. Instead, he pulled out the box where he kept the pieces he was making into a train for Jemima and began working on them skillfully with a knife. He had got enough of the answer he wanted. For tonight, he would prefer to leave it alone. She was still cross, but he knew it was not to do with Dominic, and that was all that mattered.

He carved at the wood with satisfaction, beginning to smile as it took shape.

The following day Charlotte determined to do something about the matter herself. She had not a really good winter dress, but she had one that, although it was very much last year’s fashion, flattered her. Its cut fit her extremely well, especially now that her figure was quite back to its weight before Jemima’s birth, in fact, if anything a little improved. The gown was the color of warm burgundy, complementary both to her hair and her complexion.

She remembered what Aunt Vespasia had said about a suitable hour to call, and she spent the next day’s housekeeping on a hansom cab to take her to Gadstone Park. She could not possibly be seen arriving on an omnibus, even if such a thing were to run anywhere near.

The parlormaid was surprised to see her but well trained enough to show it only slightly. Charlotte had no card to present, as most callers did in society, but she kept her chin in the air and begged the maid to be good enough to inform her mistress that Mrs. Pitt was here at her invitation.

She was more relieved than she had realized when the girl accepted this somewhat odd introduction and led her to an empty withdrawing room to wait, while Lady Cumming-Gould was apprised of the event. It was probably the word “invitation” that had decided it; after all, it was just possible Lady Cumming-Gould had invited her, the old lady being a trifle eccentric.

Charlotte was too tense to sit down. She stood with her hat and gloves still on and tried to affect an air of indifference, in case the maid should return before she heard her; anyway, it was good practice.

When the door opened it was Vespasia herself, dressed in dove gray and looking like a figure from a silversmith’s dream. She was more magnificent in her seventies than most women ever are.

“Charlotte! How delightful to see you. For goodness’ sake, girl, take off your hat and cloak! My house cannot possibly be as cold as that. Here. Eliza!” Her voice rang out in imperious disgust, and the maid appeared instantly. “Take Mrs. Pitt’s cloak, and bring us something hot to drink.”

“What would you like, m’lady?” The girl took the things obediently.

“I don’t know,” Vespasia snapped. “Use your imagination!” She sat down the moment the door was closed behind the maid and treated Charlotte to a detailed inspection. Finally she snorted and leaned back. “You look in excellent health. Time you had another child.” She disregarded Charlotte’s blush. “I suppose you’ve come about this disgusting business of the corpse? Old Augustus Fitzroy-Hammond. He was always a nuisance; never knew when it was time to go, even when he was alive.”

Charlotte wanted to laugh; perhaps it was a relief from nervousness, especially after last evening’s wretched, silly conversation with Pitt.

“Yes,” she agreed warmly. “Dominic came to see me yesterday, you know. He is very afraid the continued investigation may cause a lot of unkind speculation.”

“No doubt,” Vespasia said drily. “And most of it to the effect that either he or Alicia killed him-or both together.”

She had said it so immediately Charlotte’s mind flew to the obvious. “Does that mean they have started already?”

“They are bound to have,” Vespasia replied. “There is little enough else to talk about at this time of the year. At least half of Society is in the country, and those of us who are left are bored to stupidity. What more exciting than the rumor of a love affaire or a murder?”

“That’s vicious!” Charlotte was angry at the callousness of it, the enjoyment of other people’s tragedies, almost as if the gossipers were willing it to be true.

“Of course.” Vespasia looked at her with amusement and regret under her hooded eyelids. “Nothing much changes; it is still bread and circuses. Why do you think they baited bears or bulls?”

“I’d hoped we had learned better,” Charlotte replied. “We are civilized now. We don’t throw Christians to the lions anymore.”

Vespasia raised her eyebrows, and her face was perfectly straight. “You are out of date, my dear, far out: Christians are passe now; it is Jews who are the fashion. They are the stuff for the circuses.”

Memories of delicate social cruelty came back to Charlotte. “Yes, I know. And I suppose if there isn’t a Jew or a social climber to hand, then Dominic will do as well.”

The maid came in with a tray with hot chocolate in a silver pot and very small cakes. She set it in front of Vespasia and waited for acceptance.

“Thank you.” Vespasia regarded it down her nose. “Very good. I’ll call if I wish for you again. For the time being, I am not at home.”

“Yes, m’lady,” and the girl departed, her face still wide open with surprise. Why in goodness’ name should her ladyship treat this Mrs. Pitt, whom no one had ever heard of, with such extra-ordinary regard? She could hardly wait to regale the other servants with the news and discover if anyone knew the answer.

Charlotte sipped the chocolate; she had a weakness for it, but it was something she could not often afford.

“I suppose someone must think he was murdered,” she said presently. “Or they would not keeping digging him up!”

“It seems the most likely explanation,” Vespasia agreed with a frown. “Although I cannot for the life of me imagine who would do such a thing. Unless, of course, it is the old woman.”

“What old woman?” For the moment Charlotte could not think whom she meant.

“His mother, the old dowager Lady Fitzroy-Hammond. Fearful old creature, lives in her bedroom most of the time, except Sundays, when she goes to church and watches everyone. She has ears like a ferret, although she affects to be deaf so people will not be discreet in front of her. She never comes anywhere near me; in fact, she took to her bed for a week when she heard I had come to live in the Park, because I am nearly as old as she is, and I can remember her perfectly well fifty years ago. She is forever recalling her youth and what a splendid time she had, the balls and the carriage rides, the handsome men and the love affaires. Only her memory has in it a great deal more than mine has, and a good deal more highly spiced. I recall her as a mouse-colored girl far too short in the leg for elegance, who married above herself, rather later than most. And winters were just as cold then, orchestras just as out of tune, and the handsome men just as vain and every bit as silly as they are now.”

Charlotte smiled into her chocolate cup. “I’m sure she must hate you soundly, even if you never say anything at all about it. No doubt part of her remembers the truth. Poor Alicia. I suppose she is in a constant comparison, a moth to the memories of a butterfly?”

“Very well put.” Vespasia’s eyes glittered in appreciation. “If it were the old woman who had been killed, I would hardly have blamed her.”

“Did Alicia love Lord Augustus-I mean in the beginning?” Charlotte asked.

Vespasia gave her a long stare. “Don’t be ingenuous, Charlotte. You are not so long out of society as that! I dare say she was fond enough of him; he had no intolerable habits, so far as I am aware. He was a bore, but no more so than many men. He was not generous, but neither was he mean. He certainly kept her well enough. He seldom drank to excess, nor was he indecently sober.” She sipped at her chocolate and looked Charlotte straight in the eye. “But he was no match for young Dominic Corde, as I dare say you know for yourself!”