Bluegate Fields - Anne Perry [88]
“Apparently not, but then he would not be likely to admit it if he could avoid doing so,” Charlotte reasoned, “since Arthur was murdered. No one admits to knowing a person who has been murdered, if they can avoid it—not if they would be suspected.”
“Quite. What an extremely distasteful affair. I presume you have told me all this because you believe the tutor, what’s-his-name, to be innocent?”
Now that it came to the point, it was impossible even to prevaricate.
“I don’t know,” Charlotte said bluntly. “But it’s so convenient, it closes it up so tidily that I think we haven’t bothered to prove it properly. And if we hang him, it’s too late after that!”
Aunt Vespasia sighed very gently. “I imagine Thomas is not able to prove the matter any further, since the trial will be considered to have ended all questions.” It was an observation rather than a request for information. “What alternative solutions do you have in mind? That this miserable child Arthur may have had other lovers—possibly even have set up in business in a mild way for himself?” Her fine mouth turned down delicately at the corners. “An undertaking fraught with all manner of dangers, one would have thought. One wonders for a start whether he procured his own custom, or whether he had a business partner, a protector, who did it for him. He can hardly have used his own home for such a concern! What order of money was involved, and what happened to it? Was money at the root of it, after all, for whatever reason? Yes, I see that there are a number of avenues to explore, none of which would be pleasing to the families.
“Emily said you were a social disaster. I fear she was being somewhat generous to you—you are a catastrophe! Where do you wish to begin?”
In fact, they began with an exceedingly formal call upon Callantha Swynford, since she was the only person connected with the affair whom Vespasia had any personal acquaintance with. And even then, it took them some mind-searching to concoct an adequate excuse, including two conversations upon that marvelous new instrument, the telephone, which Aunt Vespasia had had installed and used with the greatest enjoyment.
They drove in her carriage as soon after luncheon as was considered acceptable to visit. They presented calling cards to the parlormaid, who was duly impressed by the presence of not merely one but two titled ladies. She showed them in almost immediately.
The withdrawing room was more than pleasant; it was both gracious and comfortable, a combination unfortunately rare. A large fire burned in the grate, giving a feeling of warmth and life. The room was cluttered with far less than the usual forest of family portraits; it was even devoid of the customary stuffed animals and dried flowers under glass.
Callantha Swynford was also a surprise, at least to Charlotte. She had expected someone portly and self-satisfied, perhaps inordinately pleased with her own good sense. Instead, Callantha was on the lean side, with white skin and freckles, which in her youth she had doubtless spent hours endeavoring to remove, or at least to mask. Now she ignored them, and they complemented her russet-colored hair in a surprisingly attractive way. She was not beautiful; her nose was too high and long for that, and her mouth too large. But she was certainly handsome, and, more than that, she possessed individuality.
“How charming of you to call, Lady Cumming-Gould,” she said with a smile, extending her hand and inviting the ladies to sit down. “And Lady Ashworth—” Charlotte had not presented a card, and she was at a loss. No one helped her.
“My cousin Angelica is indisposed.” Aunt Vespasia lied as easily as if she were reading the time. “She was so sorry not to renew your acquaintance in person, and told me to say how much she enjoyed meeting you. She asked me if I would call upon you instead, so you would not feel she was cool in your friendship. Since I had my niece Lady Ashworth and her sister Charlotte already in my company,