Death On Blackheath tp-29 Read online

  ‘Actually, I like her,’ Emily replied, her voice almost level again. ‘She is much more individual than she appears at first. She reads quite a lot, and she knows about all sorts of unusual things: adventures, explorers, the people who go to Mesopotamia, and Greece, and dig up tombs and find amazing things — artefacts and writings. And she has great knowledge of plants. I went to Kew Gardens with her, and she could tell me where dozens of the different trees and flowers came from, and who found them. I started paying attention to her out of courtesy, but quite quickly found I was genuinely interested. And she is nothing like as bland or easily misled as I used to suppose.’

  ‘Is that why she is going to this lecture?’ Charlotte asked, surprised. Pitt had said little about Rosalind, and Charlotte had assumed her to be rather colourless. Perhaps she was guilty of supposing that because her husband had a mistress, then she must be dull. Did all married women suppose that? If a man seeks another woman, then his wife must be cold, tedious, plain — something one could avoid being oneself, so it would never happen to you?

  ‘I look forward to getting to know her better,’ she said.

  Emily might be unhappy but she had lost none of the social skills. She could still make careful planning look like complete chance. She and Charlotte found themselves standing close to Rosalind and Ailsa Kynaston. They were related by marriage, and clearly knew each other well, but no one would have taken them for sisters. Rosalind was soberly dressed in a deep plum colour, which looked gracious and expensive, and yet it lacked the flair that Emily could have achieved with far less.

  Ailsa, on the other hand, had the advantage of height, and the grace it gave her movement. There was a vitality in her face and a silver-pale gleam to her hair that attracted the eye, willingly or not. The sombre blues of her gown were of no importance; if anything they were a contrast that heightened her own energy.

  They greeted each other with pleasure, as if it were good fortune that had placed them so closely. Both Ailsa and Rosalind remembered Charlotte and affected to be happy to see her again. If they connected her immediately with Pitt and the wretched business that had brought him into Rosalind’s house, they were too polite to say so.

  Conversation was easy and touched only on trivial things. Emily was at her best, being both interesting and amusing. Particularly she made Rosalind laugh, leaving Charlotte free merely to listen, and to watch the language of look and gesture between Rosalind and Ailsa. Perhaps that was what Emily had intended. If she had, she could not have contrived it better.

  ‘I am pleased so many people have come,’ Rosalind said, glancing around at the steadily increasing crowd. ‘I admit, I had feared there would be embarrassingly little support.’

  ‘We will all leave grateful that our spring, if chilly, is not nearly as harsh as it could be,’ Emily agreed.

  Ailsa lifted her graceful shoulders a little. ‘The north has a clean beauty that many people admire,’ she said. She was not exactly contradicting Emily, but there was a coolness in her voice.

  ‘Do you know the north well?’ Emily asked with enthusiasm.

  For a moment Ailsa hesitated, as though she were unprepared for the question.

  ‘I have travelled north,’ she conceded. ‘It has great beauty, and one becomes acclimatised to the cold. Of course, summer is not cold at all, and brighter than here … quite often.’

  ‘So you will be familiar with places like the ones Dr Arbuthnott will be mentioning,’ Emily concluded. She turned to Rosalind. ‘Have you been there also?’

  Rosalind smiled. ‘Oh, no. I’m afraid I have never been further north than Paris, which I find a marvellous city.’

  ‘Paris is south from here, my dear,’ Ailsa said gently.

  Charlotte looked at her face. She was smiling but there was no warmth in it, in spite of her tone. If she had liked Rosalind, Charlotte knew that she would not have made the observation at all.

  Rosalind coloured very slightly. ‘I know that. Perhaps I would have been clearer if I had said “in Europe”.’

  Several appropriate remarks occurred to Charlotte, which would have put Ailsa in her place, but she refrained from making them.

  ‘I would love to travel,’ she said instead. ‘Perhaps one day I will. But I still find people more interesting than even the most marvellous cities. And I am grateful that there are men like Dr Arbuthnott who will bring us photographs and magic lantern images to show the beauty of the places I will never visit.’

  ‘A lifetime’s worth of them,’ Ailsa observed.

  Charlotte pretended to misunderstand her. She was irritated at having her own life dismissed in such a way, but more offended for Rosalind, because to judge from her face, she felt the cut more keenly.

  ‘Really? He did not look more than forty-five in the photographs. But perhaps they are not recent?’

  Ailsa stared at her, then quite suddenly a flash of amusement lit her face, almost appreciation. Charlotte realised she respected someone who would fight back. She smiled at Ailsa with all the considerable charm she could call on when she wished, and saw the recognition of it, and a quick acknowledgement.

  They took their seats and an expectant hush settled over the room. Dr Arbuthnott appeared, to applause, and the lecture began.

  Certainly what he had to say was interesting, and to Charlotte completely unfamiliar, but she could not afford to turn her attention to it fully. She and Emily had finally decided to take seats on the aisle immediately behind those of Ailsa and Rosalind. This gave her the opportunity to watch them both, while still appearing to be fully intent upon the lecturer.

  Of course it would be ill-mannered to whisper to each other during the time when Dr Arbuthnott was actually speaking, but it seemed to Charlotte completely natural, and even expected, that at suitable moments one would speak to one’s companion to remark on something of particular beauty or surprise. She did so to Emily without giving it thought.

  Then she faced forward again, and began to study the two women in front of her. Both sat straight up, as governesses would have taught them. Beauty was a gift; deportment was acquired, as was graceful speech both in timbre and pronunciation. Having something of interest to say was, of course, quite another matter.

  Rosalind inclined very slightly towards Ailsa, and murmured to her, but so quietly Charlotte did not hear any of it.

  Ailsa nodded, but did not reply. She did not lean her body towards Rosalind. A moment later she looked around the audience as discreetly as was possible, as if searching for someone she knew. Apparently she did not find them, because she did so again at the next opportunity, without being obvious about it. Charlotte was very curious as to who it might be.

  She learned who, later in the evening after the lecture itself was finished and refreshments were offered. Many people congratulated Dr Arbuthnott and asked him further questions about the power and beauty of the far northern oceans.

  Emily was in close conversation with Rosalind, and Charlotte had decided to follow behind Ailsa as closely as she could without being obvious. She made herself appear to be looking for an acquaintance, and felt as if she were behaving like a complete eccentric. She hoped she would never have to meet any of those people again socially. Possibly if they thought she was peculiar enough, they would take trouble to avoid her?

  She was abundantly rewarded. She followed where she had seen Ailsa disappear, presumably seeking a little respite from the stuffiness and intense conversation of the room. She had walked quite casually under an elaborate archway leading to a side room, a minor gallery. It was beautifully proportioned but leading nowhere except to a large window.

  Charlotte did not want a confrontation. It would be far too clumsy, and unmistakable that she had seen Ailsa go in and chosen to follow her. She dared not even go too close, because there were several very fine mirrors, and her passing in front of one would catch anybody’s eye.

  Then she stopped abruptly. Inadvertently she had placed herself exactly where she could see Ailsa reflect
ed in a mirror to her side, giving a clear profile angled in a further mirror beyond Charlotte’s line of sight. She could not take her eyes from it! Ailsa was standing quite still beside Edom Talbot. From their closeness to each other, and the look on Talbot’s face, there was no one else in the room. He moved a little behind her so Charlotte could see only his arms as they gently curved around Ailsa’s waist, and his shoulders above hers. She was tall, but he was several inches taller again. He was not a handsome man, but he was in a way distinguished, and quite unmistakable.

  Ailsa did not move. She was smiling slightly, as though not only pleased but faintly amused.

  Talbot’s hands moved up a little from her waist, gradually inch by inch until he caressed her breasts. He did it with some confidence, as if he did not expect to be denied.

  Charlotte studied Ailsa’s face and saw her expression freeze. The gesture had not surprised her, but she found it distasteful. Charlotte could feel it as if it were her own body being touched. She saw the muscles in Ailsa’s neck and throat clench as if she almost stopped breathing.

  Charlotte’s mind raced. Why did she endure it? She did not believe for an instant that Ailsa did not know how to deal completely effectively with such a thing. She had only to turn around sharply and confront him, or — even more simply than that — take a very carefully judged step back and put her heel on the instep of his foot, and then her weight. She was a handsomely built woman. The pain would be excruciating. She could pretend it was accidental, and they would both know it was entirely on purpose. And yet she did not.

  Talbot bent his head and began to kiss her gently along the back of her neck and shoulder. She seemed to struggle to master her feelings. He could not see her face, only Charlotte could, and she read the revulsion in it as if it had been her own.

  Then Ailsa turned and kissed him back quickly and pulled away. She said something, and Talbot smiled back. They began to move.

  Charlotte dared stay no longer. There were too many mirrors. She could not afford to be caught staring. One meeting of the eyes and she would never be able to deny it.

  Charlotte had no opportunity to tell Emily until they were in the carriage again on the way home, moving swiftly through the brightly lit traffic.

  ‘What?’ Emily said incredulously. ‘You must be mistaken! Are you sure it was Ailsa?’

  ‘Yes, of course I am. Apart from her gown, which was quite individual, I could see her face!’

  ‘Then maybe it wasn’t Talbot! Could Dudley Kynaston have arrived, and we didn’t see him?’ Emily persisted.

  ‘Dudley? She’s the widow of the brother he adored!’ Charlotte protested.

  ‘Don’t be naïve!’ Emily said, more with disbelief than criticism. ‘Bennett is dead! What greater compliment could the devoted Dudley give him than to step into his shoes?’

  ‘That’s disgusting!’ Charlotte retorted. ‘Would you be as quick into my shoes?’

  Emily smiled. ‘Oh, I don’t know. I think Thomas is rather sweet! And he’d never be boring! Would he?’

  Charlotte realised she was being teased just in time to avoid making a fool of herself, and perhaps making a remark whose sting would linger far more than she intended.

  ‘He snores,’ she said.

  Emily looked crushed. ‘Does he?’

  ‘No!’

  Emily sighed. ‘Jack does. He looks quite beautiful asleep, with those eyelashes. But he does snore — sometimes.’

  Charlotte swivelled around. ‘Emily, were you serious that Ailsa could be the mistress that Dudley is so desperate to keep quiet about?’

  Emily was immediately sober again. ‘Well, it would make sense, wouldn’t it? It isn’t that it’s so terribly scandalous, so much as it is a desecration of his adored dead brother.’ She stopped. ‘Except that Rosalind told me Ailsa never really got over Bennett. She’s still in love with him.’

  ‘Perhaps Dudley reminds her of him?’ Charlotte thought aloud. ‘And in a weak moment, a lonely one, she slipped up?’

  ‘What? And now she can’t say no?’ Emily asked incredulously. ‘Yes, she could. I’ll wager Ailsa could say no to anyone — and mean it. If she’s playing along, then there’s something she wants.’

  ‘Except that this wasn’t Dudley, it really wasn’t,’ Charlotte insisted. ‘He was a similar height, but it was very definitely Edom Talbot. I saw his face. It was a reflection, but it was perfectly plain. She allowed him to touch her in a very intimate way, but she had to force herself to.’

  ‘With Talbot,’ Emily said thoughtfully. For a little while she was silent. ‘There are so many possibilities,’ she said at last. ‘We need to discuss this. Come home with me and we’ll talk. It’s still early. I’ll have the carriage take you home after. Please?’

  ‘Of course,’ Charlotte said instantly. It did not matter whether it was really to discuss whatever they might have observed this evening, or simply because Emily did not want to go home alone — or even worse, to Jack being silent and withdrawn. Possibly he would even be tense about the situation with Kynaston, and therefore perhaps irritable. The very fact that he was not sharing his anxiety with Emily was the cause of hurt, whatever it was about. He probably thought he was protecting her. Men could be incredibly stupid sometimes, trip over the obvious, and still not see it.

  But then Emily ought to know that by now, and not make an issue out of something that was not meant to be one.

  Or on the other hand, perhaps Jack was drifting out of love, and a far bigger change was needed. And Charlotte was certainly not wise enough to answer that question. But she would go home with Emily and stay at least an hour, if Emily wished it.

  ‘Do you think it really could be all about Bennett?’ Charlotte asked when they were sitting beside the fire in Emily’s drawing room, which perfectly reflected her tastes and character in its rich golds and pinks, the flashes of red, and the paintings on the walls.

  ‘Why not?’ Emily asked. ‘He seems to have been reasonable, from what Rosalind says. And actually very nice. He was the handsomer of the two brothers and, at the time he died, he was considered the one with the greatest promise.’

  Charlotte thought for a minute, knowing Emily was watching her. ‘That sounds a little difficult to live with,’ she said at last. ‘I wouldn’t entirely blame Dudley if his feelings about Bennett were a trifle mixed. Although Thomas did say he still keeps a portrait of Bennett in his study. He seemed to be devoted. He admired him enormously and in a way strove to be like him, even to finish some of the work Bennett began …’

  Charlotte shivered. ‘Are you saying that now he wants to complete it by having an affair with Bennett’s widow?’

  ‘Well, it’s not impossible, is it?’

  ‘No …’

  ‘In fact it’s not completely impossible that he started the affair before Bennett was dead!’ Emily continued.

  ‘But if Bennett were all that marvellous, why was Ailsa willing to betray him, and with his own brother?’ Charlotte argued.

  Emily pulled her mouth into a grimace. ‘Not all men who seem handsome and clever and charming are all that interesting when you get to know them … well …’

  ‘You mean in bed?’

  ‘Of course I do.’ Then Emily laughed. ‘Oh dear! I’m not talking about Jack. That did sound a bit clumsy, didn’t it?’

  Charlotte was too relieved to argue. ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘It definitely did! But I accept your denial. Do you really think it could go that far back? That’s … years! Poor Rosalind. No wonder she looks a bit … crumpled.’

  The shadow passed over Emily’s face again. ‘She does, doesn’t she?’ She hesitated. ‘Do I?’

  Charlotte had walked straight into a trap — perhaps not an intentional one, but very complete none the less. And Emily would see a lie, or an evasion instantly. She always had done.

  ‘Compared with the way you usually are, yes, you do,’ she said, hating each word as it came from her mouth. Had Emily wanted her to lie, even if neither of them b
elieved it? It was too late now. She had to add something, retrieve hope from it. ‘Because you believe Jack has fallen out of love with you,’ she added. ‘That doesn’t make it true! There are people who believe the world is flat! They even burned people for it, once.’

  ‘Actually several times,’ Emily said with an attempt at a smile.

  ‘What’s the point in burning anyone several times?’ Charlotte asked without taking a breath. ‘Seems a little excessive, doesn’t it?’

  Emily laughed in spite of herself. ‘Are you trying to make me feel better?’

  ‘I’m trying to make you see sense.’ Charlotte poured some tea for each of them. It was Earl Grey, subtle and very fragrant; the exact opposite of the conversation.

  ‘I’ve had another thought,’ Emily went on. ‘It’s pretty awful! But what if Dudley and Ailsa really fell in love with each other, away back when she was married to Bennett? And what if it’s far worse than that? Are we absolutely certain that Bennett’s death was natural? He was awfully young to die, when he wasn’t fragile before.’

  Charlotte was stunned. ‘You mean that Dudley killed him? That was the secret that Kitty found out? How on earth would she?’

  ‘I don’t know! Ladies’ maids find out all kinds of things. I’d hate even to imagine what mine knows about me. In some ways, more than Jack does. Even more than you do!’

  Charlotte followed the thought. ‘Then why is Rosalind still alive and well? Or does she know, and has some kind of way of keeping herself safe? For heaven’s sake, why bother? What on earth is a husband worth if he would so much rather be somewhere else?’

  ‘Revenge? I don’t know.’ Emily leaned forward. ‘Maybe they didn’t kill Bennett. Maybe he found out and was so broken-hearted he committed suicide, and they covered it up? I’m sure a decent doctor could be persuaded to be discreet.’

  ‘And that’s the scandal?’ Charlotte thought about it for several moments. ‘That would be pretty awful, wouldn’t it? What a betrayal! What a rotten tragedy. Dudley couldn’t afford to let that be known. It’s so … ugly!’ She shut her eyes as if she could make the thought disappear. ‘I wonder if you go on loving someone after that, or if you end up hating them because every time you think of them, even see their face, you are reminded of what you have become because of your feeling for them. Don’t you think a really good love should make you strive to be the very best you can? The noblest, the bravest, the gentlest?’