The Hyde Park Headsman - Anne Griffin Perry [158]
“So have I,” Emily agreed, lowering her voice. “More especially, I have been trying to imagine why. Just to say it is madness is not in the least helpful.”
Further discussion or conversation was prevented by a disturbance at the entrance to the room as people parted to allow the passage of an elderly person in black, leaning heavily on a stick.
“Grandmama!” Emily said in amazement. She looked immediately beyond her, expecting to see Caroline, but there was no one except a footman in livery holding someone’s cloak.
Both of them went forward to greet the old lady, who looked formidable in an old-fashioned dress with a huge bustle and a bodice heavily decorated with jet beading. There were jet earrings at her ears and an expression on her face only relieved from total ill temper by a dominating curiosity.
“How delightful to see you, Grandmama,” Emily said with as much enthusiasm as she could pretend. “I am so glad you were able to come.”
“Of course I came,” the old lady said instantly. “I must see what on earth you are doing now! A member of Parliament.” She snorted. “I’m not sure whether to be pleased or not. I’m not entirely certain if government is something respectable people do.” She looked around the room at the assembly, noting jewelry, the light glittering on the champagne glasses, the gleams of the silver trays and the number of footmen in livery. “A bit showy, isn’t it? Putting yourself forward is not really the act of a gentleman.”
“And whom should we be governed by?” Emily demanded, two spots of pink in her cheeks. “Men who are not gentlemen?”
“That is entirely different,” the old lady said, brushing logic aside. “Real gentlemen of the class to whom government comes naturally do not have to seek election. They have seats in the House of Lords by birth, as they should. Standing on boxes at street corners asking people to vote for you is another matter altogether, and really rather vulgar, if you ask me.”
Emily opened her mouth, then closed it again.
“You are a little old-fashioned, Grandmama,” Charlotte said swiftly. “Mr. Disraeli was elected, and the Queen approved of him.”
“And Mr. Gladstone was elected, and she didn’t!” the old lady snapped with obvious pleasure.
“Which goes to show that being elected has nothing to do with it,” Charlotte replied. “Mr. Disraeli was also very clever.”
“And vulgar,” the old lady said, staring at Charlotte, her eyes glittering. “He wore the most dreadful waistcoats and talked far too much, and too often. No refinement at all. I met him once, you know. No, you didn’t know that, did you?”
“No.”
“As I said. Vulgar. Never knew when to hold his tongue. Thought he was amusing.”
“And wasn’t he?”
“Well—yes, I suppose so. But what has that to do with anything?”
Charlotte shot a look at Emily, and they both gave up on the subject.
“Where is Mama?” Charlotte asked, then immediately wished she had not.
Grandmama’s eyebrows shot up. “Good heavens, girl, how should I know? Tripping the light fantastic somewhere, no doubt She is quite mad.” She gazed at the whirl of color and chatter around them, the women with their more slender skirts and wide shoulders decorated with flounces, bows, frills or feathers, the heads with coils of hair, ornaments of diamante and pearl, plumes, pins, tiaras and flowers. “Who on earth are all these people?” she demanded of Emily. “I don’t know any of them. You had better introduce me. I shall tell you whom I wish to meet.”
She frowned. “And where is that husband of yours anyway? Why is he not by your side? I always said no good would come of marrying a man who is only after your money.” She swept Emily up and down with a derisory glance. “It is not as if you were a proper heiress; then it would be quite different. Your father would pick someone for you with a good family background. No one has ever heard of Jack Radley, indeed!”
“Well they will