Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [114]
“Good,” Charlotte said with a gentleness not usual in her, in such a pedestrian matter as an afternoon call. “We’ll go today. I must change, of course, and we’ll take luncheon here, if you like.”
“Yes—yes,” Caroline agreed. “And we will think what we shall say.”
“If you like, although I always find plans are of little use, because the other people never say what you intended.”
Mid-afternoon found Charlotte and Caroline alighting from Caroline’s carriage at Prosper Harrimore’s house in Markham Square. They presented Caroline’s card at the door so that Mrs. O’Neil might be informed that they had called upon her, if she would receive them. Then they held a sudden and extremely hasty debate as to how they should account for Caroline’s name being Ellison, while Charlotte’s was Pitt. They concluded the only safe answer would be a widowhood and a second marriage, if they were forced to say anything at all.
A very few moments later the maid returned to say that indeed Mrs. O’Neil would be delighted to receive them, and was in the withdrawing room, where if they would care to, they might join her.
Kathleen O’Neil was not alone, but she welcomed them courteously, and with obvious pleasure, introducing them to the two Misses Fothergill who were also calling. Conversation recommenced and was so trivial that neither Charlotte nor Caroline paid it more than the bare minimum of attention necessary not to make a crass remark. Charlotte noticed that even Kathleen was growing a little glassy eyed.
They were rescued by the arrival of Adah Harrimore, dressed in deep plum-colored wool and looking very dignified. Her rather dour presence seemed to awe the Misses Fothergill, and after a short interval they took their leave. Then Adah herself received a visit from an elderly clergyman, whom she preferred to entertain in private, so she excused herself and repaired to the morning room with him.
“Oh, thank heavens,” Kathleen said with heartfelt relief. “They are very well meaning, but they are so terribly boring!”
“I am afraid some of the kindest people can be very hard work to entertain,” Caroline said with wide eyes. “After my husband died there were so many people, not unlike the Misses Fothergill, who called on me, intending to take me out of my grief—and I suppose in a fashion they did—at least for as long as they were there.” She smiled at Kathleen, and felt a terrible guilt at her duplicity.
“I’m so sorry,” Kathleen said quickly. “Was your loss recent?”
“Oh no. It is several years now, and it was not especially sudden.” Caroline made a mental apology to Edward, but felt less guilt towards him than to Kathleen. In later years they had been reasonably comfortable, but much of the trust had gone. There had been tolerance, and some gradual understanding, but not the closeness she dreamed of. She could not even remember knowing the laughter and the tenderness she knew Charlotte and Pitt shared.
“But I am sure you must have felt it deeply, all the same.” Kathleen was looking at her with sympathy in her eyes. “I lost my first husband in the worst possible circumstances, and I always felt that people like the Misses Fothergill still have it in their minds when they call here. I think that is why they are so stilted. They cannot yet think quite what to say to me. I suppose one can hardly blame them.”
Caroline wanted to pursue the subject, but it was too blatant, and she found herself stuck for words. Apparently Charlotte felt no such qualms.
“Since you are so obviously happy with Mr. O’Neil, I am surprised they still think of your first husband.” She lifted her voice at the end to make it half a question.
Kathleen looked down.
“If you knew the circumstances you might understand,” she said very quietly, almost under her breath. “You see, Kingsley was murdered. There was a great scandal at the time, and a big court case when they caught the man who killed him. And then even though he was convicted, he appealed.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “Of course they denied it, and he was hanged