Belgrave Square - Anne Perry [127]
Conversation was only slight to begin with, and upon the usual trivialities of style, theater, the weather and other inconsequential matters. Charlotte looked under her lashes first at Carswell, who was still pale. She observed that his hand with the fork raised to his lips shook very slightly. Then she turned her attention to Lord Byam, who was quite composed, at least on the outside. Whatever deep fears were troubling him, he had mastered his demeanor so that a relative stranger like herself could see nothing in his manner to betray it.
The entrées were served: curried eggs, sweetbreads or quenelles of rabbit. The remove course was simply iced asparagus.
With the game course the mood was changed quite suddenly and completely when Aunt Vespasia with casual innocence looked up from her plate and asked of the table in general:
“Does anyone know how poor Horatio Osmar is faring? It seems extraordinary to me, but I believe he is to sue the police for perjury, or something of the sort. Can that really be true?”
Charlotte slid the asparagus across her plate and nearly upset her wine.
Beside her Carswell was absolutely motionless, his fork in the air.
Fitz seemed unaware of any strain. Either that, or he was far more subtle than his manner suggested, or his charming, artless smile.
“Good gracious. I didn’t know you could do such a thing. Wouldn’t that open the door for anyone charged with an offense to suggest the police were lying?” His fair eyebrows rose. “The courts would never settle any charge at all, they would be so busy with claims and counterclaims as to who was telling the truth and who was not.” He looked at Carswell. “You are a magistrate, sir; don’t you agree?”
“I am afraid—” Carswell swallowed hard. “It—it is a subject upon which it would be improper for me to express an opinion.”
At the far end of the table Drummond apparently did not hear them.
“But your opinion would be most interesting, and surely the most informed,” Fitz protested. He looked around. “After all, who else among us knows about the law in such matters? But you are an expert.”
Fanny Hilliard’s face was very pink. She looked across at Carswell and there was anguish in her eyes, a sort of fierce, protective pain.
“I think what Mr. Carswell means is that it would be profoundly unethical for him to comment,” she said quickly but very distinctly. She avoided Fitz’s eyes.
Fitz heard the sharpness in her voice and he did not understand it. A shadow crossed his face but he continued with a light, easy voice, looking at Carswell.
“Oh is it? Are you involved with the case?”
Carswell at last put his fork down. He was very pale.
“Yes—yes I am. It was I who first heard the case.”
“Good gracious,” Vespasia said mildly, her eyebrows arched very high. “Will you be called to give an opinion as to whether the police were lying or not?”
“I have no way of knowing, Lady Cumming-Gould.” He was beginning to regain his composure at last. “It would be quite pointless to ask me.”
“I don’t see how anyone can know, except the police themselves, and Osmar,” Peter Valerius said with a twisted smile on his lips. “And they all have very considerable vested interests in the matter. What I don’t understand is why he chose to contest it at all. Why didn’t he just admit that he was behaving like a fool, and get it over with quietly, pay a small fine, which he would well afford, and be a bit more discreet in future?”
“It is a matter of reputation,” Carswell said sharply. “The man has been charged publicly with indecency. It is not something most men would care to have said about them, surely you can understand that, sir? He is defending his reputation, which any Englishman has a right to do.”
“I beg to disagree, sir.” Valerius said it politely, but his face held none of the mildness of his words; his eyes were bright and the muscles of his jaw hard. “Immeasurably more people will hear of it