Pentecost Alley - Anne Perry [137]
Charlotte smiled. “Yes, you had. Your concern for your brother is unselfish. You are prepared to get into a considerable amount of unpleasantness yourself in order to clear him of suspicion. It will not enhance your reputation—with society in general, or Jago in particular—if you admit to having been at that party. Nor will your father be inclined to view it favorably. You may well find your freedom curtailed, or your dress allowance cut short or even suspended altogether.”
Tallulah was very pale. “Yes,” she said softly. “I know. But that’s different.” Her hands clenched in her lap. “Fin is my brother. I’ve known him all my life. If I don’t stand by him, who will?”
“Probably no one,” Charlotte said honestly. “But please don’t think so lightly of liking someone. It’s terribly important. It is a kind of loving, you know, and one that frequently lasts a lot longer than romance. You can fall out of love, as well as in. Most of us do, especially if you don’t actually like the person as well. It doesn’t always grow into love by any means, but sometimes it does.”
Tallulah blinked and frowned.
“Would you care to spend the rest of your life with someone you didn’t actually like?” Charlotte added.
“No, of course not.” Tallulah looked at her closely, as if trying to judge what kind of woman she was. “Would you marry someone you merely liked, and who no more than liked you?”
Charlotte had to smile broadly. “No, I wouldn’t even entertain the idea. I married highly unsuitably because I loved my husband wildly, and still do.”
“Well, Jago doesn’t love me,” Tallulah said with flat desperation. “And the whole discussion is pointless because he doesn’t even like me either.”
“Don’t give up yet,” Emily cut in. “Merely not going to parties and being extravagant is not enough. It is negative, a case of not doing things. Your heart isn’t in it, and he knows that. You must find something to do that you care about, a cause to fight for. We’ll think about it after we have won this battle. We have a pretty big cause in these terrible murders. If no one is going to believe you, then we must find someone else who was there, and sober enough to recall seeing Finlay, or if not Finlay, then at least seeing you. That would prove you were there. It might push someone’s memory. Are you willing to do that?”
“Of course I am.” Tallulah was very white, but she did not hesitate. “As soon as he comes home, we shall speak with him.” She reached for the bell and rang it. When the parlor maid answered, expecting a request for tea, Tallulah asked her to inform them as soon as Mr. Finlay should come in.
“Yes, miss. Is there any message?”
“Only that there is something most urgent I have to see him about,” Tallulah replied. “It concerns him, and it may be of service to him. Please be sure to let him know immediately, and then tell me.”
The maid had no sooner gone than there was a knock on the door, and before Tallulah had time to respond, it opened and Aloysia FitzJames came in. She was a handsome woman with a quiet, well-bred manner. There was a serenity in her face, as if she deliberately closed out that which was ugly and, by strength of will, created her own world.
“Good afternoon,” she said as they rose to greet her. “How pleasant of you to call.” It was now considerably after the appropriate hour for formal calls, or even informal ones. Their presence needed some explanation.
“Mama,” Tallulah began, “these are my good friends, Mrs. Radley and her sister, Mrs….” She was obliged to hesitate, not having been told Charlotte’s name.
“Pitt,” Charlotte supplied.
It was a moment before Tallulah realized what she had said. She glanced at Emily, saw the consternation in her face, turned to Charlotte and saw it there also. Anger flamed up inside her, a sense of betrayal which she held in check only with extreme difficulty.
Aloysia noticed nothing.
“How do you do, Mrs. Radley, Mrs. Pitt,” she said with a smile. “Tallulah my dear, are your guests remaining for dinner? I think now would be an appropriate time to inform Cook.”
“No.” Tallulah