Paragon Walk - Anne Perry [27]
Selena was furious. Her eyes spat something that looked as deep as hatred. Charlotte was surprised and a little taken aback to see it.
“We go to too many of the same places,” Selena said between her teeth. “And I should dislike above all things to be thought to ape your tastes—in anything. One should at all costs be original, do you not agree, Mrs. Pitt?” She turned to Charlotte.
Charlotte, acutely conscious of Emily’s made-over dress, full of pins, could not summon a reply. She was still shaken by the hatred she had seen, and Fulbert Nash’s ugly remark about whited sepulchers.
Oddly, it was Fulbert who rescued her.
“Up to a point,” he said casually. “Originality can so easily become outlandish, and one can end up a positive eccentric. Don’t you think so, Miss Lucinda?”
Miss Lucinda snorted and declined to reply.
Emily and Charlotte excused themselves shortly afterward, and, as Emily obviously did not feel like making any further calls, they went home.
“What an extraordinary man Fulbert Nash is,” Charlotte commented as they climbed the stairs. “Whatever did he mean about ‘whited sepulchers’?”
“How should I know?” Emily snapped. “Perhaps he has a guilty conscience.”
“Over what? Fanny?”
“I’ve no idea. He is a thoroughly horrible person. All the Nashes are, except Diggory. Afton is perfectly beastly. And whenever people are horrible themselves, they tend to think everyone else is too.”
Charlotte could not leave well enough alone.
“Do you think he really does know something about all the people in the Walk? Didn’t Miss Lucinda say the Nashes had lived here for generations?”
“She’s a silly old gossip!” Emily crossed the landing and went into her dressing room. She took Charlotte’s old muslin dress off its hanger. “You should have more sense than to listen to her.”
Charlotte began searching for the pins in the plum silk, taking them out slowly.
“But if the Nashes have lived here for years, then maybe Mr. Nash does know a lot about everyone. People do, when they live close to each other, and they remember.”
“Well, he doesn’t know anything about me! Because there isn’t anything to know!”
At last Charlotte was silent. The real fear was out. Of course Mr. Nash did not know anything about Emily, but then no one would suspect Emily of rape and murder. But what did he know about George? George had lived here every summer of his life.
“I wasn’t thinking of you.” She slipped the plum dress to the floor.
“Of course not,” Emily picked it up and passed her the gray muslin. “You were thinking of George! Just because I’m with child, and George is a gentleman and doesn’t have to work like Thomas, you think he’s out gambling and drinking at his club and having affairs, and that he could have taken a fancy to Fanny Nash and refused to be put off!”
“I don’t think anything of the kind!” Charlotte took the muslin and put it on slowly. It was more comfortable than the plum, and she had let her stays out an inch, but it looked inexpressibly drab. “But it seems that you are afraid of it.”
Emily whirled around, her face red.
“Rubbish! I know George, and I believe in him!”
Charlotte did not argue; the fear was too high in Emily’s voice, the sharp corrosive poison of anxiety eating away. In weeks, perhaps days, it would turn to question, doubt, or even actual suspicion. And George was bound to have made some mistakes somewhere, said or done something foolish, something better forgotten.
“Of course,” she said softly. “And hopefully Thomas will soon find whoever did it, and we can begin to forget the whole thing. Thank you for lending me your dress.”
Four
EMILY SPENT A miserable evening. George was at home, but she could think of nothing to say to him. She wanted to ask him all sorts of questions, but they would have betrayed her doubts so openly that she dared not. And she was afraid of his answers, even if he kept his patience with her and was neither hurt nor angry. If he told her the truth, would there be something she would wish with