Highgate Rise - Anne Perry [150]
“Gracie!”
Gracie materialized from the landing, a duster in her hand, her face bright.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Would you like to come to Mr. Lindsay’s funeral with me?”
“Oh yes, ma’am! When is it, ma’am?”
“In about quarter of an hour—at least that is when we shall be leaving. Mrs. Radley is taking us in her carriage.”
Gracie’s face fell and she had to swallow hard on the sudden lump in her throat.
“I ’aven’t finished me work, ma’am. There’s still the stairs to do, and Miss Jemima’s room. The dust settles jus’ the same though she in’t there right now. An’ I in’t changed proper. Me black dress in’t pressed right—”
“That dress is dark enough.” Charlotte looked at Gracie’s ordinary gray stuff working dress. It was quite drab enough for mourning. Really, one day when she could afford it she should get her a nice bright blue one. “And you can forget the housework. It’ll not go away—you can do it tomorrow; it’ll all be the same in the end.”
“Are you sure, ma’am?” Gracie had never been told to forget dusting before, and her eyes were like stars at the thought of just letting it wait—and instead going off on another expedition of detecting.
“Yes I’m sure,” Charlotte replied. “Now go and do your hair and find your coat. We mustn’t be late.”
“Oh yes, ma’am. I will this minute, ma’am.” And before Charlotte could add anything she was gone, her feet clattering up the attic stairs to her room.
Emily arrived precisely when she said she would, bursting in in a wildly elegant black gown cut in the latest lines, decorated with jet beading and not entirely suitable for a funeral, in that although the lace neckline was so high as to be almost to the ears, the main fabric of the dress was definitely a trifle fine, showing the pearliness of skin in an unmistakable gleam more fit for a soiree than a church. Her hat was very rakish, in spite of the veil, and her color was beautifully high in her cheeks. It was not difficult to believe that Emily was a new bride.
Charlotte was so happy for her she found it hard to disapprove, sensible though that would have been, and appropriate.
Jack was a couple of steps behind, immaculately dressed as always, and perhaps a little easier now about his tailor’s bills. But there was also a new confidence about him too, not built solely on charm and the need to please, but upon some inner happiness that required no second person’s approbation. Charlotte thought at first it was a reflection of his relationship with Emily. Then as soon as he spoke, she realized it was deeper than that; it was a purpose within himself, a thing radiating outward.
He kissed Charlotte lightly on the cheek.
“I have met with the Parliamentary party and I think they will accept me as a candidate!” he said with a broad smile. “As soon as a suitable by-election occurs I shall stand.”
“Congratulations,” Charlotte said with a great bubble of happiness welling up inside her. “We shall do everything we can to help you to succeed.” She looked at Emily and saw the intense satisfaction in her face also, and the gleam of pride. “Absolutely everything. Even holding my tongue, should it be the last resort. Now we must go to Amos Lindsay’s funeral. I think it is part of our cause. I don’t know why, but I am convinced he died in connection with Clemency’s death.”
“Of course,” Emily agreed. “It doesn’t make any sense otherwise. The same person must have killed both of them. I still think it is politics. Clemency ruffled a great many feathers. The more I investigate what she was doing, and planning to do, the more I discover how fierce was her determination and how many people could be smeared with the taint of very dirty money indeed. Are you sure the Worlingham sisters did not know what she was doing?”
“No—not absolutely,” Charlotte confessed. “I don’t think so. But Celeste is a better actress than Angeline, whom I find very hard to think guilty, she seems so transparent, and so unworldly—even ineffectual. I can’t think of her being efficient