Silence in Hanover Close - Anne Perry [145]
“Yes m’lady.” And Jennet disappeared, closing the door softly.
“Well?” Vespasia demanded.
When Charlotte left, her plans were perfected down to the finest detail. She felt immensely better for the food, and realized she had not been eating as she should—either she’d forgotten or she had no heart for it. Aunt Vespasia’s determination eased a great deal of the despair tightening inside her. She had very gently encouraged Charlotte to let go of the self-control which had kept her dry-eyed and rigid for so many days. Charlotte wept fiercely, with abandon. Naming all her fears, rather than forcing them down inside her like black devils, had robbed them of some of their horror; now that she had spoken them aloud and shared them, they no longer seemed unconquerable.
When Aunt Vespasia sent a handwritten letter two days later to say that the dinner was arranged and the invitations accepted, it was time to prepare Jack for the last and best gamble of all. Emily knew of it also, in as much detail as Charlotte dared tell her in a rather oddly coded letter, delivered by Gracie by omnibus.
Jack was far more nervous than Charlotte had expected when he collected her at quarter to seven on the evening of the dinner. But as soon as she was settled in the carriage and had a chance to weigh her thoughts, she realized that this was her own blindness. Just because he had done all he could right from the beginning, never questioning Pitt’s innocence or Emily’s harebrained plan to go to the Yorks’, did not mean he had no emotion under his rather casual exterior. After all, he was born and bred in a society where manner was all; one very quickly became out of fashion if one either loved or offended, and real emotions were apt to embarrass, which was even worse. They could disturb the peace of mind, unsettle, spoil the pleasure, and that was inexcusable. If Jack were worth anything, then of course he was nervous. He probably had a sick fluttering in his stomach just as she did, and a racing heart, and hands that were clammy no matter how often he wiped them.
They did not speak on the journey. They had made all the plans they could, and there was no time for trivia. It was bitterly cold, a rare winter night when the ice was crackling hard on the road and in the frozen gutters. The keen wind off the sea had blown the fog clear, and even over the city the smoke did not obscure the stars, which seemed to hang low as if someone had exploded a chandelier across the sky.
Vespasia had chosen Charlotte’s gown for the evening, and had obtained it for her, disregarding her protests. It was of deep ivory cream satin, touched here and there with gold, the bodice scattered with pearls. It was quite the most flattering garment she had ever worn, low-cut and with a beautiful bustle. Even Jack, who had wined and dined with the great beauties of the age, was startled and impressed.
They were shown into Vespasia’s withdrawing room and found her seated by the fire on a high-backed chair as if she were a queen receiving court. She wore gun-metal gray with a choker of diamonds and pearls, and her hair above her arched brows was coiled like a wrought silver crown.
Jack bowed and Charlotte, without thinking, dropped a curtsy.
Aunt Vespasia smiled; there was deep conspiracy in it. The situation was desperate, but there was also exhilaration going into battle.
“England expects that every man will do his duty,” Aunt Vespasia whispered. “I believe our guests are about to arrive.”
The first to come were Felix and Sonia Asherson, looking agreeably surprised to be there. Vespasia Cumming-Gould was something of a legend, even to their generation, and they knew of no reason why they should be among the very few invited to her house. What had seemed in Sonia to be an unbearably placid complacency, in this light appeared merely the rather regular cast of her features and an expression of politeness.
Felix appeared frankly interested. He could be extraordinarily