Ashworth Hall - Anne Perry [141]
There were three pairs of boots, brown, black and fawn, and one pair of slippers, mid-green.
She closed the door and took another quick glance around. There was nothing else of interest. Her eye caught the waste-paper basket, a pretty thing of woven wicker with a flower motif on the side. There were pieces of torn paper in it. It was an appalling thing to do, but she went over and picked up two or three of them. She looked at them. It was inexcusable. They were part of a love letter from Fergal. There were only a few words, but it was unmistakable.
She dropped them again quickly, her face hot. Kezia was going to have a lot to be generous over, if she could find it in her. Perhaps Fergal would have learned something about infatuation, and about love and loss, and how easy it is to follow one’s desires, and need the compassion of those you have treated lightly, when your own time of loneliness and defeat comes.
Out on the landing there was nothing left but to go back to Justine’s room. Unless it was Kezia after all, it must be Justine.
She looked very carefully from left to right to see if Doll were still anywhere in sight, but thank heaven she was not.
Charlotte ran along the corridor and, after the very briefest rap on the door, threw it open and slipped inside, closing it behind her as quickly as she could.
It was smaller, prepared in haste for an unexpected guest. The dressing room was barely big enough for the wardrobes, dressing table, and small central table with a lace cloth and a low easy chair beside it, and a pleasant fireplace. She looked in the first wardrobe. There were several dresses, all of very good quality and apparently bought within the last year or two. The colors varied but were suitable for a young, unmarried woman. Justine might lack family; she certainly was not without funds. Her parents, or some other relative, had left her very well provided for.
She looked at the shoes and boots. They too were of very fine make and style. None were blue or had blue heels.
She could not stay there any longer. Anyone could leave the table for a dozen different reasons, and she would be caught here. She would look like a petty thief at worst, or at best an unpleasantly nosy woman who snooped through other people’s clothes and personal belongings.
On second thought, perhaps it was better simply to be thought a thief!
She went out into the corridor and had only just reached the landing when she saw Justine at the head of the stairs.
“Are you feeling better?” Justine asked solicitiously.
Charlotte felt as if she must be blushing scarlet. “Yes … yes, thank you,” she stammered. “Much better. I … I wasn’t nearly as ill as I thought. Maybe the room was a little warm. A … a drink of water.” That was a stupid remark. There was plenty of water available in the dining room. It was the easiest place to find it. And the room had not been hot. Her guilt must be standing out like spilled wine on a clean tablecloth.
Justine smiled.
“I’m so glad. I expect it is just the distress of the last few days. I am sure it will affect all of us, one way or another.”
“Yes,” Charlotte said gratefully. “Yes, that will be what it is.”
Justine walked past her. She moved extraordinarily grace fully, back straight, head high, a very slight swing to her skirts. One side brushed against one of the chairs on the landing. Charlotte, who was staring after her, saw a glimpse of heel, blue heel. Justine’s gown was smoky gray-blue, with darker patterning on it. Blue slippers were right. On the first evening she had been there, when Greville had been killed, she had worn another blue dress.
Charlotte stood on the spot as if she truly were faint. She found herself gripping the railing to