Paragon Walk - Anne Perry [40]
She found Charlotte expecting her, and busy preparing tea. The house was smaller than she had remembered, the carpets older, but it had an air of being lived in that made it pleasant, along with the smell of wax polish and roses. It did not occur to her to wonder whether the roses had been bought specially for her.
Jemima was sitting on the floor, crooning to herself, as she built a precarious tower out of colored blocks. Thank heaven it seemed as if she were going to look like Charlotte rather than Pitt!
After the usual greetings, which she meant most sincerely—in fact she was coming to value Charlotte’s friendship more and more lately—she launched straight into news of the Walk.
“No one else even talks of it!” she said heatedly. “At least not to me! It’s as if it had never happened! It’s like a dinner table where someone has made a personal noise—a moment’s embarrassed silence, then everyone begins to talk again a little bit more loudly, to show that they haven’t noticed.”
“Don’t the servants talk?” Charlotte was busy with the kettle. “Servants usually do, among themselves. The butler wouldn’t know. Maddock never did.” She recalled Cater Street vividly for a moment. “But ask one of the maids, and they’ll tell you everything.”
“I never thought of asking the maids,” Emily admitted. It was a stupid oversight. At Cater Street she would have done so without the need for Charlotte to tell her. “Perhaps I’m getting too old now. Mama never knew half as much as we did. They were all afraid of her. I think perhaps my maids are afraid of me. And they’re terrified of Aunt Vespasia!”
That Charlotte could well believe. Quite apart from Aunt Vespasia’s personality, no social climber was more impressed by a title than the average housemaid. There were the exceptions, of course, those who saw the trivialities and the flaws behind the polished front. But these servants were usually not only perceptive but also awake enough to their own advantage not to allow their perception to be known. And there was always loyalty. A good servant regarded his master or mistress almost as an extension of himself, his property, the mark of his own status in the hierarchy.
“Yes,” she agreed aloud. “Try your lady’s maid. She’s seen you without your stays or your hair curled. She’s the least likely to be in awe of you.”
“Charlotte!” Emily banged the milk jug on the bench. “You say the most appalling things!” It was an undignified and uncomfortable reminder, especially of her increasing weight. “In your own way you are as bad as Fulbert!” She drew breath quickly. Then as Jemima began to whimper at the sharp noise, she swung around and picked her up, jiggling her gently till she began to gurgle again. “Charlotte, he’s been going around in the most awful way, letting out little jibes at people, nothing you could exactly say was accusing, but you know from their faces that the people he’s talking about know what he means. And inside himself he’s laughing all the time. I know he is.”
Charlotte poured the water onto the tea and put on the lid. The food was already on the table.
“You can put her down now.” She pointed at Jemima. “She’ll be all right. You mustn’t spoil her, or she’ll want holding all the time. Who is he talking about?”
“Everyone!” Emily obeyed and put Jemima back with her bricks. Charlotte gave her daughter a finger of bread and butter, which she took happily.
“All of the same things?” Charlotte said in surprise. “That seems a little pointless.”
They both sat down and waited for tea to brew before eating.
“No, all different things,” Emily answered. “Even Phoebe! Can you imagine? He implied that Phoebe had something she was ashamed of and one day all the Walk would know. Who could be more innocent than Phoebe? She’s positively silly at times. I’ve often wondered why she doesn’t hit back at Afton. There must be something she could do! On occasions he is quite beastly. I don’t mean he strikes her or