Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [120]
“Be careful,” Pitt said quickly, his eyes sharpening and his attention reawakened in spite of the oppressive heat and his real tiredness. “You are dealing with very powerful people. Don’t imagine because they are unfailingly polite that they are as gentle in deed as they are in word.”
“Of course not,” she said quickly. “I shall merely listen and watch.”
“Rubbish! You never kept silent in your life when your interest was engaged,” he said with a twisted smile. “And neither will Emily.”
“I—” she began, then caught his eye and her denial withered away. He knew perfectly well Emily would demand and Charlotte would relate everything she knew, in between the hairpins and the petticoats and the instructions to footmen, parlormaids and anyone else who was involved. “I shall not forget how serious it is,” was the very best she could do and retain a shred of honesty. She passed him a glass of lemonade from the pantry (which was still cool, even in this weather) and a small piece of cake, small so as not to spoil his appetite for dinner. “Did you speak to Mr. Drummond?”
“Yes.” He took the lemonade and the cake.
She looked at his face and saw the lines of weariness in it, the shadows under his eyes and the tightness around his mouth.
She slid her hand over his shoulder and touched his hair. It was thick and too long, and badly needed cutting. She kissed him very gently, and did not ask what Drummond had said.
He set the cake down, put both his arms around her and pulled her closer to him. They were still standing together, her head on his shoulder, when Jemima came in and put her arms around him too, not knowing why, simply wanting to be included.
The following evening was utterly different. Charlotte was collected in Emily’s carriage so that she would have plenty of time to prepare herself with the help of Emily’s maid, and immeasurably more important, to tell Emily everything there was to tell about the case.
“So you don’t know if Lord Byam might have done it!” Emily exclaimed, putting the last touches to her hair while her maid was temporarily out of the room.
“No,” Charlotte conceded. “We have only his word. The ridiculous thing is, why was the letter not there, and the paper incriminating him, and who has them now?”
“Or did they ever exist?” Emily added. “And if they did not, why did he call in Mr. Drummond and draw attention to himself? Is it all actually something to do with this wretched secret society, and perhaps nothing to do with moneylending or blackmail at all?”
“Thomas didn’t even mention that. But why?” Charlotte sat in front of the mirror, pushing Emily along a little. They both looked their loveliest. Emily was in aquamarine satin stitched with tiny pearls, extremely expensive; but it was her party, and she wished to impress. After all, that was the entire purpose of it at the moment, enjoyment of personal acquaintance was incidental. Charlotte was in borrowed plumes again, this time hot apricot, and it looked far better on her than it had on Emily two summers ago. It had been extensively remade, both to bring the style more up to date and to add an inch or two for Charlotte’s more handsome figure.
“Who knows?” Emily dismissed it, staring at her face in the glass and apparently finding it beyond further help, because either it was as she wished it, or she could think of nothing more to do. “Men are sometimes incredibly silly. They play such self-important games. There is nothing makes them feel so superior as having a secret, so if they don’t have one they will invent it. Then everyone else wants to know it, simply because they don’t already.