Belgrave Square Read online

  “I will,” Charlotte promised, leaning forward and brushing the hair off Emily’s brow gently. “Believe me, I am not so self-indulgent or so undisciplined as you think.”

  Emily said nothing, but lowered her eyes and smiled more widely.

  For another thirty minutes they talked of fashion, gossip, who might be coming this evening, whom they liked or disliked, and why. Then Charlotte tidied the bed, straightening the sheets and plumping the pillows, and assured Emily one more time of her preparations, and the tact she would exercise, regardless of temptation, and took her leave ready to await the first arrivals.

  Jack met her on the stairs. He was a handsome man, not perhaps in the most traditional way, but he had remarkably fine dark gray eyes with lashes any woman would have committed crimes for, and the most utterly charming smile. Indeed in their first acquaintance both Emily and Charlotte had discounted him as a deal too smooth to be of any virtue at all. But a guarded wariness had gradually turned into respect and then affection when he had proved himself a friend of both courage and judgment in exceptionally difficult circumstances after Emily’s first husband had been murdered, and Emily herself had fallen under suspicion. It had been some time before Emily had learned to love him, but now she had no doubt about it whatever, and Charlotte was happy every time she thought of them both.

  “How is she?” Jack asked, glancing upwards towards Emily’s room.

  “She’ll be all right,” Charlotte said quickly. “It will pass, I promise you.”

  He made an attempt to look unconcerned. “Are you ready?” He glanced at her new gown, a gift from Emily for the occasion and something she would never have had the money for herself, nor indeed an event at which to wear such a thing. It was a deep Prussian blue, a shade which suited her dark auburn hair and honey-warm complexion. Naturally, since it was Emily’s gift, it was up to the minute in fashion, décolleté at the front, with a paneled skirt embroidered asymmetrically, very à la mode, and scarcely any bustle at all. The best people were wearing only the very slightest padding this season, but a most elegant train.

  Jack had been farsighted enough to learn something about fashion, and he fully appreciated the gown both for its social statement and for the way it flattered her. But mostly, she suspected, because he understood the way it made her feel. He too had spent a good deal of his life with insufficient money to dress or behave as he wished.

  His smile broadened to a grin. There was no need for words; explanations would have been crass.

  They had reached the top of the stairs when the clatter of horses outside announced the first arrivals, and a moment later the doors opened to a babble of chatter and laughter, a rustle of cloaks being removed, hard heels on the marble floor, and silk and taffeta skirts rattling against each other, and against the balustrade of the stair. The guests swept upward to be greeted, mortified that they were first, but totally unable to retreat and return at a better time. It was simply not done to be first. Then who else would mark one’s arrival?

  “Sir Reginald—Lady West, how delightful to see you,” Charlotte said with a radiant smile. “I am Mrs. Pitt. Mrs. Radley is my sister, but most unfortunately she has been taken unwell, so it is my good fortune to stand in her place and make you welcome. Of course you are already acquainted with my brother-in-law, Mr. Jack Radley.”

  “How do you do, Mrs. Pitt,” Lady West said a trifle coolly, taken aback at not finding whom she expected. “I hope Mrs. Radley’s indisposition is nothing serious?”

  “Not at all,” Charlotte assured her. It would be indelicate to mention its cause, but it could be implied. “It is one of the trials women have to bear, and it is best done graciously.”

  “Oh—of course—I see.” Lady West collected her wits and managed to force a smile. It was annoying to be caught out in slow thinking and she was irritated with herself for being stupid, and also with Charlotte for having observed it. “Please give her my very best wishes for her recovery.”

  “I will—most kind of you. I am sure she will be obliged.” And with that the Wests moved on to greet Jack, and for him to escort them into the first room cleared for dancing. Charlotte turned to the couple immediately behind them, a dyspeptic-looking young man with ginger hair and a girl in pink, while at the foot of the stairs yet another couple were already being helped out of their cloaks and looking upward.

  It was a further half hour before the first guest arrived whom Charlotte knew even by reputation other than Emily’s careful schooling, and a further fifteen minutes before she saw with great pleasure the tall, erect, almost gaunt figure of Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould. She had been Emily’s first husband’s great-aunt, and for many years now one of Charlotte’s dearest friends. Indeed Great-Aunt Vespasia had conspired with Charlotte and Emily in helping to solve many of Pitt’s cases, meddling with considerable flair in the detection of crime, and less successfully in the reform of laws regarding social conditions about which they felt most passionately.

  Had it not been totally unacceptable, and therefore embarrassing to everyone, Charlotte would have raced down the stairs and taken Aunt Vespasia’s cloak herself. As it was she had to be content to mutter some polite nonsense to the large woman she was at that moment greeting, and something agreeable but equally inane to her husband, who was dressed more vividly than she. There was a scarlet sash over his chest with a wonderful array of medals and orders bejeweling him. She could do no more than glance over their shoulders at Great-Aunt Vespasia climbing slowly up the curve of the staircase, her silver head high, her tiara winking in the lights, her dove-gray gown sewn with crystals like stars, and her train precisely, to the inch, the most fashionable length.

  “Good evening Charlotte, my dear,” she said calmly when she reached the top. “I assume you are standing in for Emily?”

  “I am afraid she is not feeling well this evening.” Charlotte dropped the very slightest curtsey. “She will be terribly disappointed not to have seen you, but I am delighted to be in her place.”

  Vespasia smiled with perfectly genuine pleasure, inclined her head in acknowledgment, spoke warmly to Jack, and then swept past to join the throng in the first reception room. As she entered there was a hush, a turning of heads and a quick murmur of appreciation. Everyone knew who she was. Fifty years ago she had been one of the great beauties of her day, and even now at eighty she had a structure of bone and a hairline across the brow that made many a younger woman envious. She was frailer than she had been even a short while ago, but she still held her head as if her tiara were a crown, and could with a glance freeze an impertinent comment on the lips of an unfortunate offender.

  Charlotte felt a lift of pleasure, almost excitement, as she watched Aunt Vespasia disappear among the crowd. With her here the whole evening would have a quality of glamour and purpose far deeper than a mere social exercise. Something of importance might be begun.

  A few moments later she welcomed Mr. Addison Carswell and his wife. Emily had told her he was a magistrate of considerable influence, sitting in one of the central city courts. He was not a remarkable man in appearance, of average height and slightly stocky build. His hair was receding although it was still thick from the top of his head backwards, but it was nondescript brown, and his mustache was minimal, his cheeks clean shaven. It was only when she was speaking to him in the usual polite, rather stilted phrases that she observed the strength of his features, and the intelligence in his eyes. It was a face of good balance, and without meanness.

  Mrs. Carswell was a solid woman, strong and thickset, but her face was handsome in its own fashion, with straight nose, steady eye and a candor of bearing that indicated an inner calm. This social whirl might find her out of her depth. She looked the kind of woman who had no ready wit to swap comments with the ladies of high fashion, but neither would she need it for her happiness. Her values might rest largely in her home and family.

  Accompanying their parents were the four Carswell daughters, each presented in turn. The eldest, Mary
Ann, had come with her husband, Algernon Spencer. He was a large, rather bluff young man with too much hair for the current mode, but presentable enough otherwise. Mary Ann herself was as pleased as any girl might be who has succeeded in marrying reasonably well, and ahead of her sisters.

  Miss Maude, Miss Marguerite and Miss Mabel were all fair haired, rose skinned and comely enough, if rather too like each other to be easily told apart or offer any memorable individuality. They all curtseyed gracefully, looked under their eyelashes with modest expressions of pleasure, and proceeded up the stairs to take their places, be presented to whomsoever their mother chose, or could arrange, and talk inconsequentially but with charm. They had been well schooled in their duty and knew it down to the last glance, murmur, gesture of fan and swish of skirt. No doubt within the next two seasons even the youngest of them would find a suitable husband, which was quite necessary, since two seasons was all society permitted a young woman before writing her off. Naturally they were all dressed in white, or as close to it as made little difference.

  On this occasion their brother, Mr. Arthur Carswell, was not with them, having decided to go to a different function, because there would be present at that a young lady whose hand in marriage he aspired to win.

  A little behind the Carswells Charlotte was delighted to see Somerset Carlisle. His curious, wry and highly individual face was full of interest, not at the social scene, in which he took no concern at all, but at the interplay of character and political ambition. He had been a member of Parliament himself for several years, to begin with conforming with his party’s views, then as his passion for reform overcame his discretion, branching more and more into his own activities. Charlotte had first met him when his zeal had overridden his propriety to the extent of involving him in the events surrounding the murders in Resurrection Row some years earlier. She had liked him personally, and sympathized with his aims, even then. He had also become a fast friend, and in many instances a collaborator, with Great-Aunt Vespasia. It was Somerset Carlisle, with Aunt Vespasia, who had encouraged Jack to consider Parliament.

  He reached the top of the staircase and Charlotte greeted him with delight.

  “Anything I can do to help Jack,” he replied with a smile. “I need an ally in the House, heaven knows!”

  “What do you think are his chances?” she said more seriously, lowering her voice so those around them could not overhear.

  “Well, Fitzherbert is his main rival,” Carlisle replied. “I don’t think the others count. But Fitz is well known and well liked. He’s unmarried as yet, but he’s betrothed to a Miss Odelia Morden, who is very well connected.” He raised his eyes momentarily, and then met hers again. It was a very expressive gesture. “Her mother is third daughter of the earl of something, I forget what, and there is plenty of money.” His voice lifted cheerfully. “On the other hand, not more money than Emily, and Emily has hers now, whereas Odelia may not see a penny for years. Emily certainly has more intelligence and political savoir faire. And as we know, Emily is capable of learning and adapting to almost anything, if she has a mood to; and she can doubtless be as witty, as fashionable and as charming as anybody alive.”

  “I don’t think Mr. Fitzherbert has arrived yet,” Charlotte said, trying to recall the names of everyone she had welcomed so far. “Is he very ambitious? What are his beliefs, the issues he cares about?”

  Carlisle’s smile broadened. “I don’t think he has anything so specific as an issue, my dear. He is not a crusader, simply a very charming fellow who has decided that Parliament offers a more interesting career than any other presently open to him.” He lifted one shoulder a little. “He will fill it with all the intelligence and grace he possesses, which are considerable, but I doubt with passion, unless something occurs in his life to waken his sensibilities.” His smile remained but his eyes were serious. “Don’t underestimate him. That is precisely the kind of man many leaders desire—popular with the electorate, not disturbing to the prejudices or the intellect, and above all malleable.”

  Charlotte’s spirits sank. Already she could see failure more sharply, which hurt not only for Emily’s and Jack’s sakes, but because she truly believed in the goals they would strive for. She had seen the fearful slums just as clearly as Jack, and cared every bit as much for their victims. She had wished as fiercely to begin some small legislative step towards crushing the profiteers who hid behind anonymous companies and ranks of rent collectors, managers and offices of lawyers with gray clothes, scratching pens and hard, blank faces.

  “It also depends a great deal on individual patrons,” Carlisle went on, lowering his voice still further. “Whatever the actual politicians say, if you can get Lord Anstiss on your side, you are almost assured of selection. He has a great deal more power and influence than most people realize. And of course selection for the seat is tantamount to victory. The Tories haven’t won it in living memory!”

  The arriving guests were beginning to crush closely behind Carlisle. She was holding up progress by indulging in overlong conversation with him. Already she had failed to perform her duty to the highest. She caught his eye and saw a quick understanding in it as he felt the pressure behind him, and he bowed very slightly and proceeded across the landing towards the first reception room and was lost in the bank of flowers, the swirl of skirts and the glitter of jewels and medals.

  Charlotte had not heard about Pitt’s latest case, so the names of Lord and Lady Byam meant nothing to her. But as the stair was now becoming more than a trifle cramped she did no more than smile at them dazzlingly and say how delighted she was that they had come, and inwardly note his sensitive, unusual face with its arresting eyes, and the calm inner dignity of Lady Byam, as if she knew the social stage for what it was worth, and no more. It was a quality Charlotte admired.

  Odelia Morden she was also able to speak to only in the briefest manner, as she reached the top of the staircase in rather a crush of other fashionable ladies at the optimum moment that convention demanded: not early enough to insult, nor late enough to overflatter or dull her own worth. After all one did not wish to allow others to think one had nowhere else to go. It did not do for people to think too well of themselves. Mr. Morden and Lady Flavia Morden were ordinary enough in appearance, in spite of her having been born daughter of an earl, if Somerset Carlisle was correct. But Odelia had an air of distinction about her; she was unusually handsome, with fine hazel eyes, fair hair a trifle lacking in thickness, and regular features. Her smile was sufficiently individual that one remembered her without difficulty, and yet it was not forward nor insolent, nor yet lacking in candor.

  Charlotte summed her up as a rival worthy of respect and certainly not to be taken lightly.

  Herbert Fitzherbert came only a few moments after his betrothed. He made rather more of a stir at his entry. He was remarkably charming, seemingly effortlessly so. He had simply to smile and people found themselves warming to him. There were in his eyes both imagination and humor, as if he were willing to share some deep understanding with whoever he spoke to, and at the same time a total lack of deliberate guile. There seemed a vulnerability in him that led many a woman to imagine some secret hurt which only she could ease, and dreams that lay waiting to be realized if only opportunity offered. And yet he was not a poseur, or very little, and with his charm the temptation was great. He had enough intelligence to be able to laugh at himself now and again, and sufficient good humor not to resent it if from time to time others did also.

  Charlotte could imagine there were several he irritated, probably men, as would be inevitable, but she also thought that if he took the trouble to court them they would nearly always thaw. To dislike him would appear both petty and churlish.

  He was a trifle above average height, with fair hair and gray-blue eyes, but it was the innate grace with which he did everything that left the most lasting impression, along with his rueful, whimsical smile.

  Even before Charlotte had finished speaking to him she considere
d the very real possibility that with all Emily’s work, the money she had inherited and the efforts that Great-Aunt Vespasia might put forth on his behalf, Jack still would not win the selection. “Fitz” would have to make some serious mistake before his loss could be counted on. She was ashamed to find ugly hopes fluttering through her mind—perhaps he would drink too much and commit an unforgivable indiscretion, like making an indecent suggestion to an elderly duchess? But with his charm she might well enjoy it! Or perhaps he would seduce someone’s daughter—a wife would matter far less, as long as she was discreet. Or he might vociferously espouse some completely unacceptable cause, such as female suffrage, or Irish Home Rule. Perhaps that was the best hope?

  “Good evening, Mr. Fitzherbert,” Charlotte said with a dazzling smile. She intended to be especially courteous to him, as a sort of barrier, and was annoyed to find herself liking him even before he spoke, in spite of all her mental precautions. “I am Mrs. Pitt, Mr. Radley’s sister-in-law.”

  “Oh yes,” he said with a quick understanding. “Emily said you might be here, if she were not feeling her best. It is remarkably kind of you to give up your time. At least half of us are bound to bore you to within an inch of sleep.”

  “I am sure the other half will more than make up for it.” She wanted to be unquestionably polite, and yet keep a cool distance between them. Let him consider himself in whatever half he pleased. She would claim total innocence.

  He laughed outright.

  “Bravo, Mrs. Pitt,” he said frankly. “I am sure I am going to like you.”

  To rebuff him would be appallingly rude, and quite insincere. Despising herself for being quite genuinely outwitted, and without a shred of dislike, she thanked him.