Bethlehem Road - Anne Perry [63]
“Oh, ma’am!” Gracie breathed out a sigh of exquisite anticipation. Dark and wonderful adventures raced through her mind. “Do be careful, ma’am!”
Forty minutes later Charlotte alighted from the carriage, assisted by the footman, and climbed the stairs to the front door of Great-aunt Vespasia’s town house. It opened before she raised her hand to the knocker, indicating that she was expected, indeed awaited, but she was surprised to see that it was the butler himself who stood in the entrance, grave and elegant.
“Good morning, Mrs. Pitt. Lady Cumming-Gould is in the withdrawing room, if you care to go through. Luncheon will be served presently in the breakfast room.”
“Thank you.” Charlotte handed him her cape and followed him across the parquet floor of the hallway. He opened the door for her, and she passed into the withdrawing room.
Great-aunt Vespasia was sitting in her favorite chair by the fire. Opposite her was a woman almost gawkily lean, with a face of marvelous, dynamic ugliness, so full of intelligence it had its own kind of beauty. Her eyes were very dark, her brows fiercely winged, her nose too powerful, mouth humorous, perhaps in youth even tender. She was nearly sixty, and her complexion had been ruined by all kinds of weather, from the extremes of ocean wind to the heat of a tropical sun. She gazed at Charlotte with quite undisguised curiosity.
“Come in, Charlotte,” Vespasia said quickly. “Thank you, Jeavons. Call us when luncheon is ready.” She turned to the other woman. “This is Charlotte Pitt. If anyone can give us really practical help it is she. Charlotte, Miss Zenobia Gunne.”
“How do you do, Miss Gunne,” Charlotte said courteously, although a single glance at the woman made her feel sure such formality was soon going to be dismissed.
“Sit down,” Vespasia directed, waving her lace-cuffed hand. “We have a great deal to do. Nobby will tell you what we know so far.”
Charlotte obeyed, catching the urgency in Vespasia’s voice and realizing the other woman must be profoundly worried to have come for help to a person she had never met before, nor even heard of socially.
“I am most grateful for your attention,” Zenobia Gunne said to Charlotte. “The situation is this: My niece owns a house south of the river, inherited from her parents, my younger brother, and his wife upon their death some twelve years ago. Africa—my brother called her after that continent because I spent a great many years exploring it, and he was fond of me—Africa is a girl of intelligence and independent opinions, and a very lively compassion, especially for those whom she feels to have suffered injustice.”
Zenobia was watching Charlotte’s face as she spoke, trying already to ascertain what impression she might be forming.
“Some two or three years ago Africa met a woman a few years older than herself, perhaps twelve or fourteen, who had left her husband, taking with her her young daughter. She had managed quite adequately on her own resources for some time, but when some change in circumstance made this no longer possible, Africa offered both the woman and the child a home. She grew very fond of both of them, and they of her.
“Now, the part of the story that concerns us is that the woman’s vicious husband sought to obtain custody of the child. She appealed to her member of Parliament, who promised to assist her, which for some time he did. Suddenly he changed his mind and instead gave his aid to the husband, who then won his custody order for the child and forthwith removed her. The mother has not seen her since.”
“And the husband has been murdered?” Charlotte asked, fearing already that there was going to be nothing she or anyone could do to help.
“No.” Zenobia’s remarkable eyes held hers unflinchingly, but for the first time Charlotte realized that there was both resolution and pain in them, clearly justifying all Vespasia’s fears. “No, it is the member of Parliament who has been murdered, Mrs. Pitt.”
Charlotte felt a chill, as if that night on the Bridge with its chill and fog from the river had entered the room.