The Hyde Park Headsman - Anne Griffin Perry [35]
“It’s not in the least fashionable,” Charlotte said with astonishment. “Total black—in April!”
Caroline brushed it aside with a wave of her hand. “I have quite lost touch with fashion lately. Anyway, it still needs a little color. What about something different, unexpected? When I think of it, red is rather ordinary.” She glanced around. “What about—oh, what do people not put with black?” She held up her hand against interruption while she thought. “I know—saffron. I have never seen anyone with black and saffron.”
“Not anyone with a looking glass, anyway,” Charlotte agreed.
“Oh! You don’t like it? I thought it would be rather different.”
“Completely different, Mama. And as I am going to a memorial service, I think the family might well be offended. I hear they are rather conventional anyway.”
Caroline’s face fell. “Oh—I didn’t know. Who is it? Do I know them? I hadn’t heard …”
“You would have read the newspapers.” Charlotte put the last pin in her hair and surveyed the effect.
“I don’t read obituaries anymore.” Caroline perched on the edge of the bed, her skirts draped beautifully.
“No, I expect you read the theater notices and reviews,” Charlotte said with a shade of asperity. She was delighted to see her mother so brimming with life and so obviously happy, but she was never able to banish for long the fear of the misery when it all ended, as it would have to. What about trying to regain the old life then? But she had already said all these things before, as had Emily. This was not the time to pursue it again, especially when she was about to leave in a few moments and could not even try to see the subject to a decent end.
“They are a great deal more uplifting to begin the day than a list of the people one knows who are dead,” Caroline said with a half apology. “And even more so than of those one did not know. Obituaries tend to be rather repetitive.”
“This one wasn’t.” Charlotte enjoyed the drama. “He had his head cut off in Hyde Park.”
Caroline let out her breath in a gasp.
“Captain Winthrop! But you didn’t know him—did you?”
“No, of course not. But Great-Aunt Vespasia’s friend, Mr. Justice Quade, did.”
“You mean Thomas is on the case,” Caroline interpreted.
“I mean that also,” Charlotte admitted, standing up from her dressing table. “It really is very complicated and difficult. I might learn something of use. Anyway, I am going.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
“Why did you call, Mama? Was there some special reason?” She began looking through her top drawer for small things she might need, a lace handkerchief, perfume, a hat pin.
“None at all,” Caroline replied. “I have not seen you for several weeks, and I thought you might care to come to luncheon. I thought we could dine out at Marcello’s.”
“A restaurant?” Charlotte looked around in amazement. “Not at home?”
“Certainly a restaurant. It is very good indeed. You should try Continental cuisine some time, Charlotte. It is most broadening to the mind to experience such things.”
“And to the waist, I imagine,” Charlotte agreed without looking at her mother’s figure. She closed the drawer.
“Rubbish,” Caroline said scornfully. “Not if you take the occasional ride or long walk in the park.”
“You don’t ride,” Charlotte replied with a laugh.
“Yes I do! It is an excellent recreation.”
“But you never …”
“I didn’t while your father was alive. I do now!” Caroline rose to her feet. “Anyway, I can see that you are otherwise engaged today. I am not at all sure that a memorial service will be more entertaining, but you are committed to it and cannot possibly change your mind at this point.” She smiled warmly. “We shall go to luncheon another day, when I am free.” She kissed Charlotte lightly on the cheek. “In any case, my dear, at least put a piece of white lace on that dress, or lavender if you have it. You look as if you were the chief mourner. You must not outshine