Silence in Hanover Close - Anne Perry [44]
“The gentlemen have rejoined us. Won’t you come back, Aunt Addie?” Then she remembered her manners. “Miss Barnaby?”
A look of pity passed over Adeline’s face and vanished so rapidly that Charlotte was almost doubtful she had seen it; perhaps she had only imagined an echo of her own quick understanding. “Of course.” Adeline moved towards the door. “We were admiring your mother’s painting of the Bosphorus. Come, Miss Barnaby, asylum is over for this evening. We must leave Theodora and Byzantium and return to the world and the pressing matters of the present, such as whether Miss Weatherly will become engaged to Captain Marriott this month, or next, or whether perhaps he will evade her entirely”—she shrugged her thin shoulders—“and go to sea in a sieve.”
Harriet looked puzzled, glancing uncertainly at Charlotte.
“Edward Lear,” Charlotte hazarded an explanation. “ ‘Their heads were blue and their hands were green,’ or the other way round, and they went to sea in a sieve—I think. But he was also an excellent artist. His paintings of Greece are beautiful.”
“Oh.” Harriet looked relieved, but no wiser.
“Well?” Jack asked her as soon as they were alone in the carriage, huddled together in biting cold, breath white as steam. Outside the wind moaned and rattled and the gutters were filled with freezing slush, dark with mud and frozen manure, for once odorless. The horses’ hooves thudded heavily on the ice.
“All sorts of things,” she replied with chattering teeth. She decided not tell him that Harriet was in love with Felix Asherson; it was young Miss Danver’s own private heartache, and if he had not noticed it, then it should remain so. “They seem to have quite as much money as the Yorks, so that is not a motive. And apparently the two families have known each other for some time, so Julian and Veronica might have fallen in love before Robert died. On the other hand, and this really is most interesting, Aunt Addie—”
“Whom you like enormously,” he interrupted.
“Whom I like enormously,” she agreed. “But that doesn’t blind my wits.”
“Of course not.”
“It doesn’t! Aunt Adeline said that twice at least she had seen a strange and beautiful woman in the house, at night, up until three years ago, but not since! She wore an outrageous shade of cerise, always.”
“You mean both times?”
“All right, both times. But who was she? Maybe she was the spy, after Julian’s secrets from the Foreign Office. Perhaps she inveigled him.”
“Then why hasn’t she been seen since?”
“Perhaps after Robert York’s death she went away, or into hiding. Or maybe he was the one with the secrets, and since he is dead, there is nothing for her anymore. Maybe Julian Danver wouldn’t fall for her—he loved Veronica. I don’t know!”
“Are you going to tell Thomas?”
She took a deep bream and let it out slowly. Her hands deep in Emily’s muff were numb with cold. It was so late that she was going to have to stay the night with Emily and go home tomorrow, which would not please Pitt. She could tell him Emily was upset, so she had remained, which was true after a fashion, but she hated lying to him, and it was a lie at heart.
The alternative was to tell him the truth, and the reasons for pursuing the York murder. “Yes,” she said slowly. “I think so.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?” he said doubtfully.
“I’m an awfully bad liar, Jack.”
“You amaze me!” he said, his voice rising mockingly. “I would never have guessed it!”
“Pardon?” she asked sharply.
“I should say I’d witnessed a bravura performance this evening.”
“Oh—that’s quite different. It doesn’t count.”
He started to laugh, and although she was furious, she liked him for it. Perhaps Emily would be all right.
Charlotte got up before dawn the following morning, and by seven o’clock she was at home in her own kitchen frying prime bacon and fresh eggs, a peace offering from Emily.
“Is Emily ill?” Pitt looked worried, but she knew he was on the edge of losing his temper if her answer was not satisfactory. She knew perfectly well that she