Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [100]
They were obliged to stop.
“In excellent health, thank you, Mrs. Parkin,” Caroline replied. “And you?”
“All things considered, not badly, thank you.” Mrs. Parkin stared at Charlotte enquiringly.
Caroline had no option but to outstare her.
“May I present my daughter, Mrs. Pitt. Mrs. Parkin.”
“How do you do, Mrs. Parkin,” Charlotte said obediently.
“How do you do, Mrs. Pitt.” Mrs. Parkin smiled, her eyes going up and down Charlotte’s rather plain coat and second-season boots. “I don’t believe we have met before?” She made it a question.
Charlotte smiled back, brightly and just as blandly.
“I am sure we have not, Mrs. Parkin. I should have remembered.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Parkin was momentarily lost for words. The reply was not what she had planned. “How kind of you. Do you live in this area?”
Charlotte smiled even more brightly. “Not now, but of course I used to.” Seeing the intent expression in Mrs. Parkin’s face, and knowing the interrogation would continue, she carried the war into the enemy’s camp. “Have you lived here long yourself, Mrs. Parkin?”
Mrs. Parkin was startled. She had considered herself in charge of the conversation, and all she had looked for were polite and truthful answers as befitted a socially junior woman. She regarded Charlotte’s eagerly interested face with displeasure.
“Some five years, Mrs. Pitt.”
“Indeed,” Charlotte said quickly, before Mrs. Parkin could continue. “Most agreeable, don’t you find? I know Mama does. I do hope you have a pleasant day. I think the weather is going to improve, don’t you? Do you require a hansom?”
“I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Parkin said stiffly.
“Then you will forgive us if we take that one.” Charlotte gestured vaguely. “We have an appointment some distance away. So very pleasant to have made your acquaintance, Mrs. Parkin.” And with that she took Caroline’s arm firmly and hurried along the pavement, leaving Mrs. Parkin standing staring after them with her mouth open and her breath drawn in to speak.
Caroline did not know whether to laugh or be horrified. She was torn between natural instinct and a lifetime of training. Instinct won and she giggled happily as they walked with undignified haste towards a hansom cab waiting by the curb.
They alighted in Pimlico and were admitted to the Passmores’ huge parlor. Joshua Fielding, Tamar Macaulay and several other people were sitting in large cane chairs, involved in animated conversation. Scripts lay about on table tops and several on the floor in piles. Miranda Passmore sat on a heap of cushions; this time the door had been opened by a youth with curly hair, bearing a strong resemblance to her.
As soon as Caroline and Charlotte came in, Joshua rose to his feet and welcomed them. Charlotte saw with remarkably mixed emotions the instant pleasure in his face and a gentleness in him unique in his glance towards Caroline. If it were possible he cared for her more than mere friendship, or a gratitude that she was so concerned for his welfare, then Caroline was not so wildly vulnerable, not open to such a humiliating rejection. That brought a rush of warmth to Charlotte and smoothed away some of her own fear.
And yet if he did have such feeling, it would only lead to disaster. At best a sad parting, because it was impossible—or at worst an affaire, with all the heartbreak when it ended, when he grew tired of her, or she came to her senses. And the ever-present risk of the most fearful scandal. Grandmama had no gentleness in her, no tenderness, but her fears were not ill founded. Society did not forgive. It was full of women like Mrs. Parkin with her prying questions and intrusive, knowing eyes. Those who broke the rules were never permitted to return. There would be no place for Caroline after that.
Joshua was speaking to Charlotte, and she had not heard a word he had said. He was standing in front of her smiling, with a shadow of anxiety in his eyes. He had a remarkably mobile and expressive face, full of possibilities for humor, passion, pain and wry, relentless self-knowledge.