Silence in Hanover Close - Anne Perry [11]
Charlotte noticed it. “That is the point!” she said quickly. “Thomas has been asked to investigate, to see if she is a suitable person to marry someone as important as Mr. Danver will become, when he is promoted.”
“Might she not be?” Emily asked. “Please do pour the tea, I’m as dry as the Sahara, and it’s had plenty of time to brew. Has she a reputation? I wish I could hear more. I’m so cut off it’s as if I were a leper! Half the people I used to know are embarrassed to see me, and the other half spend their time sitting around solemnly and talking in whispers, as if I were dying myself.” She sniffed fiercely, searching in her reticule for a handkerchief. It was not self-pity so much as the sudden warmth of the kitchen after the cold air in the carriage which provoked the necessity.
Charlotte shook her head. “No, that’s as much as I have learned, but the crime itself is very unexplained.” She poured the tea and pushed Emily’s cup across towards her, along with a piece of fresh ginger cake, which was taken readily. “It is rather odd.” And she told Emily all that Pitt had told her.
“Very odd,” Emily agreed at last. “I wonder if she had a lover, and there was a quarrel. I suppose that is really what the Foreign Office wants Thomas to discover, but they are afraid to say so, in case it should get back to Mr. Danver, who would be furious. And of course, it would prejudice him terribly; he would never have any peace of mind at such a slur.”
“Neither would she!” Charlotte said hotly. “If it is untrue, it could be the most appalling injustice. But I don’t know how Thomas will be able to make any inquiries. It is hardly the thing a policeman can ask of her social acquaintances.”
Emily smiled. “My dear Charlotte, you don’t need to labor the point so hard. You are being singularly unsubtle, even for you! Of course we will find out. We have done nothing but bake cakes and stitch seams for six months, and I am ready to scream with it. We shall prove Veronica York’s impeccable reputation, or ruin it entirely. Where shall we begin?”
Charlotte had already anticipated the difficulties. Emily could no longer move in Society as she had when George was alive; and Charlotte, as the wife of a policeman, had not the money to dress appropriately, nor the friends upon whom to call. There was only George’s great-aunt Vespasia, who would understand and assist, but she was over eighty, and since George’s death had taken a less active part in affairs than before. She was devoted to a number of causes, and believed that the battle against poverty and injustice could be tackled through reform of the law. She was currently engaged in a struggle to improve the working conditions in factories which employed children, especially those under the age of ten.
Charlotte poured more tea into her cup and sipped it. “Are you still in acquaintance with Jack Radley?” She asked, trying to sound casual, as if the question were entirely to do with the problem of Veronica York.
Emily reached for the ginger cake again. “He calls upon me from time to time. Do you think he might involve himself?” She cut a large slice of the cake and bit into it hungrily.
“Perhaps he might help us to—to arrange a meeting,” Charlotte suggested.
“Not us.” Emily made a face. “You.” She poured herself more tea, spilling it. At this she swore, using a word she had heard George use in the stables. Charlotte knew her reaction had nothing to do with the mess in the saucer; she was frustrated by the imprisonment of mourning, and above all the loneliness.
“I know I shall have to do it this time,” Charlotte agreed. “And you will have to instruct me. I shall gather what information I can, and together we will unravel what it means.”
It was not like being there herself, catching the nuances of tone, the expression fleeting across the face, the glance from one to another, but Emily knew that Charlotte’s idea was the best she could hope for, and she was grateful for