Long Spoon Lane - Anne Perry [49]
Emily looked across at Charlotte, then back at Jack. “All right,” she conceded. “But I’m still frightened.”
“So am I,” he said softly, moving his hand from her shoulder to touch her cheek. “So am I.”
Charlotte gained Jack’s permission to tell Vespasia what he had said. After luncheon she declined Emily’s offer of the use of her carriage, and set out in the spring sunshine to walk the mile and a half or so to Vespasia’s house. It gave her the opportunity to calm her racing mind and compose her thoughts into something sensible. The wind was fresh and warm, rustling the leaves as the trees shivered, dappling the shade. Open carriages passed her with women showing off the latest fashions, extravagant hats, quite small in themselves, but decorated with feathers and huge satin bows and frills. She barely noticed any of it.
She arrived just as Vespasia was dressed in lilac gray silk, about to leave on her afternoon calls, but looking at Charlotte’s anxiety and disappointment, she canceled her arrangements.
“What has happened?” she asked bluntly as soon as they were seated. The quiet room overlooked the lawn and the roses; only the yellow climber that bloomed first was showing a touch of color in the flower bed.
“I have been talking to Emily about this bill to arm the police and give them greater powers,” Charlotte replied. “Jack returned home from Westminster and told us of a new dimension to it that is far worse than anything I knew of before, and that was bad enough.” She did not mince words with Vespasia. It would not only be unnecessary, it would be insulting. They knew and understood each other better than that. “It seems feeling is running high, and likely to get higher if there is any more crime reported beyond the usual.”
“We may rely upon that,” Vespasia said grimly. “But we too have resources. I imagine Jack will be firmly on our side. That young man is finding his feet rather well. And Somerset Carlisle we may rely upon also. He has always been a fighter against injustice of any sort, regardless of cost to himself.”
Charlotte saw a shadow cross Vespasia’s face. She waited. To ask its cause would be an intrusion.
“In times past I would have been certain that Lord Landsborough would have lent all his weight to oppose it,” Vespasia went on, her voice quiet and sad. “And his influence would have been sufficient to sway two or three government ministers. But since it was his only son who was killed, he may have different feelings now, or at the very least feel like abstaining from the fight.” She frowned.
“But you said there was something worse than you had thought. Has something new occurred?”
“Yes. It has not happened yet, but Jack has heard word of it, and he is deeply afraid.” Charlotte could hear the fear in her own voice, sharp and rough-edged. “They plan to add a provision for police to be able to question any household servants, without the knowledge or permission of the master or mistress.”
Vespasia froze. “Question them about what?”
“Anything. Since it is to be done in secret, no one will ever know.” Charlotte stared at her, watching the realization flood her face and the enormity of it as she understood what it could mean.
“Surely they cannot pass it?” Vespasia let out her breath slowly. “It would be a charter for blackmail. It would…” She did not bother to finish her sentence. “I suppose it is driven by fear, without thinking ahead to what it will become.” She looked suddenly tired. “Sometimes I despair of how stupid people can be. Ask anyone who has dealt with servants; they are people like anyone else—good, bad, and indifferent. They have their passions and rivalries, greeds and ambitions, as we all do. And they can be manipulated, or at times do the manipulating. Some will say whatever you want, just to please you. Some will take any chance for attention, or to put down a rival.”
“Perhaps the members’ wives will persuade them not to be so idiotic?” Charlotte said, without any hope at all. “Isn’t it strange what people will do if they are frightened?