Paragon Walk - Anne Perry [30]
“I’ve been trying to check where everyone was. I’m afraid no one remembers whether George was at his club on that evening or not. I pressed as hard as I dared, but they don’t recall one evening from another. In fact, I’m not honestly sure how much they recall one person from another. A lot of them look and sound much the same to me.” He smiled slowly. “Silly, isn’t it—I suppose most of us look the same to them?”
She sat silent. It was the one thing she had been praying for, that George would be cleared beyond question, quickly, completely.
“I’m sorry,” he reached out and touched her hand. She closed her fingers over his hand.
“I’m sure you tried. Did you clear anyone else?”
“Not really. Everyone can account for themselves, but it can’t be proved.”
“Surely some can!”
“Not proved,” he looked up, his eyes clouded. “Afton and Fulbert Nash were at home and together most of the time, but not all—”
“But they were her brothers,” she said with a shudder. “Surely you don’t think they could possibly be so depraved, do you?”
“No, but I suppose it isn’t impossible. Diggory Nash was gambling, but his friends are peculiarly reticent about exactly who was where, and when. Algernon Burnon implies he was on a matter of honor, which he won’t divulge. I imagine that means he was having an affair, and in the circumstances he dares not say so. Hallam Cayley was at the Dilbridges’ party and had a row. He went for a walk to cool off. Again, it’s not likely he left the garden and somehow found Fanny, but it is possible. The Frenchman, Paul Alaric, says he was at home alone, and that’s probably true, but again we can’t prove it.”
“How about the servants? After all, they are far more likely.” She must keep it in proportion, not let Fulbert’s words warp her thinking. “Or the footmen and coachmen from the party?” she added.
He smiled slightly, understanding her thoughts.
“We’re working on them. But nearly all of them stayed together in groups, swapping gossip and bragging, or else were inside, getting something to eat. And servants are too busy to have much time unaccounted for.”
She knew that was true. She could remember from the days when she had lived in Cater Street that footmen and butlers did not have spare time in the evenings to go wandering outside. A bell might summon them at any moment to open the door or bring a tray of port or perform any other of a dozen tasks.
“But there must be something!” she protested aloud. “It’s all so—nebulous. Nobody’s guilty, and nobody’s really innocent. Something must be provable!”
“Not yet, except for most of the servants. They can account.”
She did not argue anymore. She stood up and began to serve his meal, placing it carefully, trying to make it look delicate and cool. It was nothing like Emily’s, but then she had made it for a twentieth of the price, all except for the fruit—she had been a little extravagant to buy that.
The funeral was the most magnificently somber affair Charlotte had ever been to. The day was overcast and sultry hot. She was collected by Emily’s carriage before nine in the morning and taken straight to Paragon Walk. She was welcomed quickly, Emily’s eyes warm with relief to see her and to know that the outburst of the other day was forgotten.
There was no time for refreshments or gossip. Emily rushed her upstairs and presented her with an exquisite deep-lavender dress, far more elaborate and formal than anything she had seen Emily wear. There was a sort of grand dame effect to it she could not reconcile with Emily as she knew her. She held it up and stared over its regal neckline.
“Oh,” Emily sighed with a faint smile. “It’s Aunt Vespasia’s. But I think you will look wonderful in it, very stately.” Her smile widened, then she flushed with guilt, remembering the occasion. “I think you are very like Aunt Vespasia, in some ways—or you might be, in fifty years.”
Charlotte remembered that Pitt had said much the same thing and found herself rather flattered.
“Thank you.” She put the dress down and turned for Emily to unbutton her own dress so that she might change.