Silence in Hanover Close - Anne Perry [86]
And she should slip away. Maids had no business remaining in the room as if they were guests. She did not excuse herself; that too was unnecessary, an interruption. She simply stood up and tiptoed out. Jack did not even turn his head. At the door she looked over her shoulder at him, but he was smiling at Veronica, and Emily might not have existed.
Charlotte was frightened when Pitt described Emily’s danger with such clarity, but she was helpless to save her sister. Even if Charlotte went to the Yorks’ as often as she could, she could hardly rescue Emily over the teacups and cucumber sandwiches. The only comfort was that she did not actually believe Veronica was Cerise; from what Pitt had said, she had not the nerve to be a spy.
She raised the subject again the next day, hoping to ease the rift between them. “If she is a spy, don’t we have to discover her, for the nation’s sake?”
“No, we do not,” he said pointedly. “I do.”
“But we can help! Nobody in Hanover Close is going to talk to you because you are police, whereas they take no notice of us. They don’t think we have enough brains for them to have to lie!”
Pitt grunted and raised his eyebrows. He looked at her pointedly, and she decided to ignore him. It might be wiser to let the subject drop, in case he forbade her going to the Yorks’: she really did not want to have to disobey him. She wanted very much to avoid another quarrel. She could not possibly allow Emily to face whatever danger there was alone, but there was nothing she could say that Pitt would believe. If she were too docile he would become suspicious, so she merely resumed eating her supper and presently spoke of something else.
The following morning, as soon as Pitt was out of the house, she wrote a letter to Jack Radley and had Gracie put it in the ten o’clock post. While she was ironing Pitt’s shirts, Charlotte laid her plans.
It was Saturday, two days later, when they came to fruition, by which time she had been visited by Jack with an account of his call upon Veronica York. Emily had been in the room on his arrival, but had left shortly afterwards. He had been concerned that she looked very pale and rather unhappy, although he had not dared to do more than glance at her. The news of Emily was not good, but Charlotte was quite elated that he seemed so anxious for her. Looking at his face, which usually revealed nothing but charm and the superficial pleasure Society expected, she saw something of the man beneath, and found she liked it. Perhaps for Emily to be in danger was precisely what he needed, to show her that he had in him the depth she wanted for Emily.
Consequently it was with a high heart and some exhilaration that she set out alone from Emily’s house in the early afternoon, dressed in one of her sister’s older gowns, let out judiciously here and there because she was a couple of inches taller, and handsomer of bust than Emily, even before the tragedy of George’s death. It was golden brown, the color of old sherry, and extremely becoming to her warm-toned complexion and her hair with its auburn lights. She chose a hat trimmed with black fur, and a muff to match. Altogether she had never looked so well in a winter outfit in her life.
She had sent a letter and received one in return from Veronica, so she was expected. She drew up in Emily’s carriage, hoping no one would notice. If asked, she was going to explain that it had been lent for convenience, since Lady Ashworth was out of town.
Veronica was awaiting her in the withdrawing room and her face lit with pleasure as Charlotte was shown in. She rose immediately.
“How nice to see you. I’m so glad you came. Do sit down. I wish it were not so terribly cold, but all the same I thought we might go for a ride, just to be away from the same surroundings all the time. Unless you would like to see the winter exhibition