Callander Square - Anne Perry [76]
The next time she called upon Sophie Bolsover she found Euphemia and Adelina Southeron there, and consequently could say nothing of Helena Doran and hope to learn answers of value. It was several tedious, desperately impatient days before she felt it suitable to call again.
This time she was more fortunate, although fortune was only partly responsible. She had done a little reconnoitering beforehand, and thus discovered Sophie satisfactorily alone.
“Oh, Sophie, what a pleasure to find you unengaged,” she breezed in immediately, making no pretense. “I have such wonderful gossip to tell you. I should have been so disappointed to have been constrained to speak of trivialities.”
Sophie brightened instantly. Nothing pleased her more than gossip, except gossip from a lady of title.
“Come in,” she urged. “Make yourself comfortable, Emily dear, and do tell me. Is it about Lady Tidmarsh? I have been simply dying to discover whether she really did stay with those fearful Joneses! I can hardly bear the suspense.”
This was precisely what Emily had hoped she would ask, for she had taken great pains to provide the answer.
“Of course!” she said triumphantly. “But you must swear not to repeat it!” This added an irresistible spice. Sophie dissembled utterly, her eyes shining with excitement; she almost pulled Emily physically onto the sofa by the fire, curling up immediately like a little cat.
“Tell me!” she pleaded. “Tell me everything!”
Emily obliged, decorating it here and there with detail that might well be true enough, and was certainly no more than harmless color. When she had finished Sophie was ecstatic. It would furnish her with stories to drop hints about and retell to those she wished to impress, one by one, with further swearings to secrecy; and of course, to refuse to tell to those she wished to annoy, with many hints as to how fascinating and exclusive was the information she could not possibly divulge. And it would be only human to imply she knew yet more, which she was bound to keep in the utmost silence. She was beside herself with delight.
Now was the perfect time to ask about Helena Doran. Sophie would tell her everything she knew, or even guessed. Emily made no bones about her interest.
“Oh,” Sophie breathed out happily, “of course.” Then she frowned. “But it is all a little old now! Are you sure you care?”
“Oh yes,” Emily assured her. “I think it is fascinating. Who can he have been?”
Sophie screwed up her face in thought.
“Helena was very pretty, you know, almost a real beauty, one might say; such hair, all the color of winter sunshine, or so poor Mr. Ross used to say. He was quite dreadfully upset, you know?
“I do hope he will be happy with Christina. She is utterly different, as different as could be; to look at, naturally, but in her character as well.”
“What was Helena like?” Emily asked innocently.
“Oh,” Sophie thought again. “Quiet, not terribly fashionable; of course she did not need to be, she was beautiful enough to get away with dressing plainly. And she didn’t need to be witty. She played the piano very well, and she used to sing also. I sometimes wish I could sing. Can you?”
“Not very well. Was she secretive?”
“Quiet, yes; when I come to think of it, she did not have a great many close friends. She was fond of Euphemia Carlton.”
“What sort of men did she admire?”
Sophie contorted her face in an effort to remember.
“Men of substance, not just material, but men who had succeeded at something, who were established. In fact, older men. Perhaps because she had had no father for years, poor child. She did admire General Balantyne, I recall. Such a handsome man, don’t you think? Such an air