Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [122]
“Good evening, Great-Aunt Vespasia,” Charlotte said enthusiastically.
“Good evening, my dear,” Vespasia replied with slightly raised eyebrows. “Do not tell me Emily is unwell; she is in abundantly good health, as any fool can see.” She regarded Charlotte closely. “And you have a warmth in your cheeks which I know of old. You are here meddling.” She could not drop her dignity so far as to ask in what, or to request inclusion, but Charlotte knew what was in her mind, and bit her lips to hide her smile.
“I am waiting …” Vespasia warned.
Charlotte altered her expression immediately, making it as close to demure and innocent as she could.
“We have two possible murderers at the table,” she said in a whisper.
“A conspiracy?” Vespasia did not change expression, only the brilliance of her eyes betrayed her.
“No—I mean either of two people might be guilty,” Charlotte continued.
“Indeed?” Vespasia’s eyebrows rose. “Is this still Thomas’s miserable usurer in—where was it? Some unpleasant place.”
“Clerkenwell. Yes. He was a blackmailer as well, remember.”
“Of course I remember! I am not yet in my dotage. I assume Sholto Byam is one. Who, pray, is the other?”
“Mr. Addison Carswell.”
“Good gracious. Why, may one ask?”
“He has a mistress.”
Vespasia looked surprised. “That is hardly a matter for blackmail, my dear. Half the well-to-do men in London have mistresses, or have had—or will do. And that is a conservative estimate. If Mrs. Carswell is a well-bred woman with any sense of her own and her family’s survival, she will take good care that she never finds out, and will continue her life as usual.” Her face darkened for a moment. “You don’t mean that he is spending a ridiculous amount of money on this person, whoever she is?”
“I don’t know. It is possible, but Thomas didn’t say so.”
“Oh dear—then it may be worse. Is she married to someone who will take the matter ill, and be vindictive? That could be serious.” She sighed. “How very foolish. No one is so high in society that a scandal cannot ruin him, if it is ugly enough. Look at Doll Zouche and that miserable business with Wilfred Scawen Blunt. Amusing in its fashion, but all quite unnecessary. Are there letters, do you know?”
“No I don’t know. I don’t think it has got that far yet, but I didn’t ask Thomas. Perhaps he wasn’t familiar with the Zouche case.”
“He must be, my dear. Everyone is,” Vespasia said with total assurance.
Charlotte blinked. “I’m not.”
“Are you not? Well, Doll Zouche, daughter of Lord Fraser of Saltoun, and wife of the current Lord Zouche. They held a tournament—”
“Did you say a tournament?” Charlotte interrupted in amazement. “When did this happen, for heaven’s sake?”
“In 1875,” Vespasia said coolly. “Do you wish to hear it or not?”
“Oh yes! I just didn’t know they had tournaments in 1875!”
Vespasia’s face was almost straight. “They have tournaments whenever the ’romantic ideal’ grips hold of them, and they have more money than they need, and more time than things to do with it.”
“Go on,” Charlotte prompted. “Doll Zouche?”
“She came as the Queen of Abyssinia—they proposed making a trip to that country the following summer. The culmination of the tournament was a sham fight in which Doll and others dressed as Christian ladies were attacked by Moorish marauders, Blunt being one of them. They were rescued by two knights on horseback—Lords Zouche and Mayo. What began in fun ended in earnest. Unfortunately she was having an affaire with both young Fraser and Lord Mayo, who wished to elope with her—which he ultimately did—and of course, Blunt.”
Charlotte was speechless.
“On the day of the tournament,” Vespasia concluded, “she quarreled with her husband, and galloped away on her favorite horse. Blunt was nearly cited in the ensuing divorce.”
Charlotte’s eyebrows shot up. “Only nearly?”
“That is what I said. But you may be sure Mr. Carswell will know of it!”
“Oh dear.” Unconsciously