Callander Square - Anne Perry [74]
“She wouldn’t be the one, I suppose.” Emily looked at her a little sideways.
“No,” Charlotte said firmly. “At least I would say not, if character is anything at all to judge by.”
Emily considered for a moment.
“It isn’t,” she decided. “Still, we’ll concentrate on Helena first. There is a mystery there, beyond question. You ask Jemima, and for goodness’ sake be a bit more discreet than you usually are. I shall speak to Sophie Bolsover again. She is always only too willing to gossip a little. I must think up what I know to tell her in return.”
Having stayed for a little further discussion, and the quite real pleasure of visiting with her sister, Emily took herself home again and prepared to launch her new offensive. First she would call upon Sophie when she might reasonably find her alone; then she would pursue the acquaintance of the last woman in the square whose establishment she believed a possible refuge for secrets, Mariah Campbell.
She was very put out to discover Sophie not at home, and in a considerable pique left her card and gathered her wits to think of something to say to Mariah Campbell, a fit excuse for calling unasked upon someone she had barely met. Any message could perfectly easily be left with servants, therefore she must inquire after something. What?
She was already at the door. It would appear most odd to remain in a stationary carriage, therefore she must alight, and trust to her wits to think of something, should Mariah Campbell be in and able to receive her.
She inquired of the parlormaid, and was courteously received. Yes, Mrs. Campbell was in, and yes, Mrs. Campbell would be happy to receive her. She was shown into the small family parlor where Mariah was sitting with her daughters. Apparently they had not yet resumed lessons after the celebration of Christmas. They both stood and curtseyed as Emily was announced, then retired obediently.
Mariah Campbell was a pleasant-looking woman, not beautiful, but with a distinction about her that was perhaps longer lasting than mere prettiness. She was becomingly dressed, but with no concession to the trimmings of fashion.
“How very civil of you to call,” she said, also rising to meet Emily, since Emily was a lady of title, and she was not. She did not pretend any false warmth; they were strangers and both knew it. “I hope I may offer you some refreshment; tea, perhaps?”
“I should be delighted,” Emily accepted. She could not possibly give her true reason for having called—curiosity; she must rapidly produce another. “I heard from Lady Anstruther,” she sincerely hoped there was no such person, “that you had stayed in Scotland, with the Taits,” another invention. “My husband is quite set upon our going too—we have been invited, you know. I have heard that the house is quite impossible! As cold as a tomb, and with servants who can never be found when one wants them, and don’t speak English even then. I was hoping you could tell me if that is true. Dear Marjorie does tend to exaggerate, to color a story to make it the more lively!”
Mariah looked totally foxed. Quite naturally, she had even less idea what Emily was talking about than Emily herself.
“I’m afraid I have no knowledge,” she admitted. “Lady Anstruther—did you say?—must have confused me with someone else. Campbell is a Scots name, it is true, but quite a common one. And I have never been to Scotland myself. I’m so sorry, I cannot be of any guidance to you.”
“Oh, never mind,” Emily waved her hand to dismiss it before she got too bogged down, and perhaps contradicted herself, having forgotten what she had first said. “I dare say I can persuade George not to go at all. He isn’t really very fond of shooting anyway.” She had no idea whether it was even the season for shooting; but then with luck Mariah would not know either.
“And of course,” Emily continued with a sudden flash of inspiration, “I must be here for the wedding!”
Mariah blinked.
“Wedding?”
“Christina Balantyne and Mr. Ross!” Emily went on with enthusiasm.