Resurrection Row - Anne Perry [61]
“Of course,” Dominic said firmly. “Tomorrow.”
“Good.” St. Jermyn patted him on the shoulder, then drained his glass. “Come on, Carlisle, we’d better go and talk to our hostess; she knows simply everyone, and we need that.”
A flicker of distaste crossed Carlisle’s face for an instant and was gone almost before Charlotte was sure of it, and he moved to keep up with St. Jermyn. They walked together past the Misses Rodney and Major Rodney, holding a glass in his hand and looking anxiously over their heads as if searching for someone, or possibly fearing someone.
There was an uncomfortable silence; then Virgil Smith appeared. He looked a little doubtfully at Charlotte; then his face softened and he spoke to Alicia. It was only some common remark, quite trivial, but there was a gentleness in his voice that jarred Charlotte away from thoughts of poverty or parliamentary bills, and even suspicions of murder. It was sad, and perhaps unnoticed by anyone else, but she was quite sharply aware that Virgil Smith was in love with Alicia. Probably she had eyes only for Dominic and was not in the least conscious of it, and perhaps he would know its futility and never tell her. In those few seconds Charlotte became one person with Alicia in her mind and memory, reliving her own infatuation with Dominic, finding again the miseries and wild hopes, the silly self-deceptions, all the virtues she read into him, and how little she really knew him. She had done them both a disservice with her dreams, saddling him with virtues he had never claimed to possess.
She would not have seen Virgil Smith either, with his unsculpted face and his impossible manners, and certainly never known or wanted to know that he loved her. It would have embarrassed her. But perhaps she would have been the loser for it.
She excused herself and went to talk to Vespasia and Gwendoline Cantlay and saw more than once a look of unease pass over Gwendoline’s face as she recognized Charlotte vaguely, struggling to place her and failing. She was not sure if she knew her socially, and whether she ought to acknowledge it. With a faint malice, Charlotte allowed her to search; the satisfaction of telling her would not be as great and might possibly embarrass Aunt Vespasia. She might not care in the least if they all knew she kept company with policemen’s wives—but, on the other hand, she might prefer to select whom she told, and how!
It was late, with one or two guests departed and the gray afternoon already beginning to close in, when Charlotte found herself comparatively alone, near the entrance to the conservatory, and saw Alicia coming toward her. She had been expecting this moment; in fact, if Alicia had not chosen it, she would have contrived it herself.
Alicia had obviously been rehearsing in her mind just how she could begin; Charlotte knew it, because it was what she would have done.
“It has been a most pleasant afternoon, hasn’t it?” Alicia said quite casually as she drew level with Charlotte. “So considerate of Lady Cumming-Gould to arrange it in such a way that it is not inappropriate for me to come. Mourning seems to go on for so long, it only makes the bereavement worse. It allows no one diversion in order to relieve one’s mind from thoughts of death, or from loneliness.”
“Quite,” Charlotte agreed. “I think people do not realize the added burden it is, on top of the loss one has already sustained.”
“I did not know before today that Lady Cumming-Gold was an aunt of yours,” Alicia continued.
“I think that is rather more than the truth,” Charlotte smiled. “She is the great-aunt of my brother-in-law, Lord Ashworth.” Then she said what she intended to tell Alicia ever since the conversation with Lord St. Jermyn. “My sister Emily married Lord Ashworth a little while ago. My older sister, Sarah, was married to Dominic before she died; but then I’m sure you knew that—” She was, in fact, quite sure that she did not, but she wanted to allow Alicia room to pretend that she had.
Alicia disguised her confusion with a masterly effort. Charlotte affected not to have noticed.