Highgate Rise - Anne Perry [19]
“No. He is in Highgate, but I know very little about the case,” Charlotte confessed. “In fact it has only just begun—”
“The very best place for us to become acquainted with it,” Emily said, her enthusiasm returning. “What is it?”
Charlotte looked at their expectant faces and wished she had more to tell.
“It was a fire,” she said bleakly. “A house was burned and a woman died in it. Her husband was out on a medical call—he is a doctor—and the servants’ wing was the last to be damaged and they were all rescued.”
“Is that all?” Emily was obviously disappointed.
“I told you it was only the very beginning,” Charlotte apologized. “Thomas came home reeking of smoke and with fine ash in his clothes. He looked drained of all energy and terribly sad. She was supposed to have gone out, but it was canceled at the last moment.”
“So it should have been the husband who was at home,” Vespasia concluded. “I assume it was arson, or Thomas would not have been called. Was the intended victim the husband—or was it he who set the fire?”
“It would seem that he was the intended victim,” Charlotte agreed. “With the best will in the world, I cannot see any way in which we could”—she smiled with a touch of self-mockery —“meddle.”
“Who was she?” Emily asked quietly. “Do you know anything about her?”
“No, nothing at all, except that people spoke well of her. But then they usually do of the dead. It is expected, even required.”
“That sounds totally vacuous,” Vespasia said wearily. “And tells neither Thomas nor us anything about her at all-only that her friends are conventional. What was her name?”
“Clemency Shaw.”
“Clemency Shaw?” Vespasia’s voice quickened with recognition. “That name is familiar, I believe. If it is the same person, then she is—was—indeed a good woman. Her death is a tragedy, and unless someone else takes over her work, a great many people will suffer.”
“Thomas said nothing of any work.” Charlotte was acutely interested herself now. “Perhaps he doesn’t know. What work was it?”
Emily sat forward in her chair, waiting eagerly.
“It may not be the same person,” Vespasia warned.
“But if it is?”
“Then she has begun a fight to get certain laws changed regarding the ownership of slum housing,” Vespasia answered gravely, her face expressing what she knew from her own experience of the near impossibility of overcoming such vested interests. “Many of the worst, where there is appalling overcrowding and no sanitation at all, are owned by people of wealth and social standing. If it were more readily known, some minimal standards might be enforced.”
“And who is in its way?” Emily was practical as always.
“I cannot give you a detailed answer,” Vespasia replied. “But if you are determined to pursue it, then we should go and visit Somerset Carlisle, who will be able to tell us.” Even as she spoke she was already rising to her feet and preparing to leave.
Charlotte caught Emily’s eye with a flash of amusement, and they also rose.
“What an excellent idea,” Charlotte agreed.
Emily hesitated only a moment. “Is it not an unsuitable time to call upon anyone, Aunt Vespasia?”
“Most unsuitable,” Vespasia agreed. “That is why it will do very well. We shall be highly unlikely to find anyone else there.” And without continuing the discussion she rang the bell for her maid to call Emily’s carriage so they might travel together.
Charlotte had a moment’s hesitation; she was not dressed well enough to call upon a member of Parliament. Usually for anything approaching such formality in the past she had borrowed a gown from Emily, or Aunt Vespasia herself, suitably made over to fit her, even if by strategic pins here and there. But she had known Somerset Carlisle for several years, and always in connection with some passionate cause when there was little thought of social niceties, only the matter in hand. Anyway, neither Emily nor Vespasia were taking the slightest notice of protests and if she did not catch them up she would be left behind,