Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [102]
“Aaron Godman?”
Clio frowned. “I am not certain. I know Granville was unhappy about it, and hated to speak of it. The trial was perfectly proper, of course, but he felt it had been poorly handled. It was a source of embarrassment to him.”
“By Judge Quade?” Charlotte said with surprise.
Clio shook her head quickly. “Oh no—not at all. By the police, I think. I am redly not sure. He would not discuss it with me. But then that is quite natural, since I knew Aaron, and cared for him very much. He was a very sweet man.”
“Was he? No one has said very much about him, personally, only about the case. Tell me about him,” Charlotte asked.
Clio lowered her voice even more, so Tamar, a few feet away, could not hear her.
“He was two years younger than Tamar—twenty-eight—when he died five years ago.” Her face had a curious expression of sweetness mixed with pain. “He was slight, like her, but not really so dark, and of course a lot taller. In fact he was not so unlike Joshua. They used that, sometimes, on stage. He had a lovely sense of humor. He loved to play the most terrible villains and provoke the audience to scream.” She smiled as she said it, then her eyes quite suddenly filled with tears and she sniffed hard and turned her head away for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said quietly. “Please don’t go on if it is painful. It was thoughtless of me to ask. It is Devlin O’Neil we have to know about.”
Clio sniffed again. “That is really too bad of me,” she said fiercely. “I thought I had better control of myself. Please forgive me. Yes, of course. I shall arrange for you to meet Kathleen O’Neil.” She fished for a handkerchief. “I know just how I shall do it. She is very fond of romantic music, and there is a soiree the day after tomorrow, at Lady Blenkinsop’s house in Eaton Square. I know the pianist well, and he will invite us. Can you come?”
Charlotte considered asking if Clio were sure it would be socially acceptable, and then decided she really did not care if it were or not.
“Certainly,” she said firmly. “I shall enjoy it. Tell me who I am supposed to be. I cannot be myself, or they will tell me nothing. In fact they will probably ask me to leave.”
“Of course,” Clio agreed cheerfully. “You had better be a cousin visiting from—from Bath!”
“But I don’t know Bath,” Charlotte argued. “I would look ridiculous if I fell into conversation with someone who knew it well. Let it be Brighton; at least I have been there.”
“By all means.” Clio smiled and stuffed her handkerchief away. “Then it is arranged? If you come here first, we can travel together. I shall say you are up visiting because you are interested in the stage. Can you sing?”
“No. Not at all!”
“Well, you can certainly act! At least your mother says so. She has recounted some of your adventures to Joshua, just two or three days ago, and he told us. We were all very entertained—oh, and impressed, of course.”
“Oh dear.” Charlotte was taken aback. She knew Caroline disapproved of her involvement in Pitt’s cases. How much she had changed, at least on the surface, if she was now regaling her new friends with accounts of them. How much she was denying her previous self in order to please. That was a most uncomfortable thought, and she pushed it away. There was no time for it now.
“I think it is quite thrilling,” Clio went on enthusiastically. “More dramatic than anything we do—because it is real. Remember not to dress too fashionably, won’t you? You are supposed to be a provincial cousin.”
“Oh, certainly,” Charlotte said with a perfectly straight face. What did Clio Farber imagine policemen earned, that their wives might dress in the current vogue?
In the event, without Emily to borrow from, and not daring to approach Vespasia for anything less than a reception or a ball, Charlotte asked Caroline if she might try something of hers from last season, or even the one before. Her request was granted with alacrity, and considerable disappointment that it was really not advisable for