Traitors Gate - Anne Perry [26]
Christabel’s high eyebrows rose even higher, her face full of interest. “Yes?”
Charlotte still hesitated.
“You were going to say?” Christabel prompted. There was nothing unfriendly in her stare, simply a consuming interest.
Charlotte gave up. She knew already Christabel would not forgive a lie, or even half of one, and naturally since Thorne knew Pitt’s profession, she assumed Christabel did too. “A little meddling in my husband’s cases,” she finished with a slight smile. “There are sometimes places which as a member of the police—”
“How perfectly marvelous!” Christabel interrupted her. “But of course. You have no need to explain, my dear. It is all quite clear, and completely justified. This time you are here because he has been invited on this wretched business of African information going missing.” A look of contempt crossed her face. “Greed can make people do the grubbiest of things … at least some people.” She caught sight of Charlotte’s face. “Don’t look so upset, my dear. I overheard my husband speaking about it just now. One was always aware of the possibility. Wherever there is a fortune to be made, there will be those who cheat to get advantage. It is simply unusual that they have had the courage and openness to bring in the police. I applaud it. But you will still find this evening growing dull, because very few people say anything they really mean.”
A footman stopped by them with another tray of champagne glasses. Christabel declined with a wave of her hand, and Charlotte followed suit.
“If you wish to meet someone interesting,” Christabel went on, “and I cannot think what she is doing here, of all places—come and meet Nobby Gunne.” She turned as if to lead the way, assuming assent. “She’s a marvelous woman. Been up the Congo River in a canoe, or something equally unlikely. Maybe it was the Niger, or the Limpopo. Somewhere in Africa where nobody had ever been before.”
“Did you say Nobby Gunne?” Charlotte asked with surprise.
“Yes—extraordinary name, isn’t it? I believe it is actually short for Zenobia … which is even more odd.”
“I know her!” Charlotte said quickly. “She’s about fifty or so, isn’t she? Dark hair and a most unusual face, not at all conventionally pretty, but full of character, and not in the least displeasing.”
A group of young women passed them, giggling and looking over their fans.
“Yes, that’s right! What a generous description of her.” Christabel’s face was filled with amusement. “You must have liked her.”
“I did.”
“If it is not an impertinent question, how did a policeman’s wife come to meet an African explorer like Nobby Gunne?”
“She is a friend of my sister’s great-aunt by marriage,” Charlotte began, then was obliged to smile at the convolution of it. “I am also very fond indeed of Great-Aunt Vespasia, and see her whenever I am able.”
They were at the foot of the stair and brushed by an urn filled with flowers. Christabel whisked her skirt out of the way absentmindedly.
“Vespasia?” she said with interest. “Now there is another remarkable name. Your aunt could not by any chance be Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould?”
“Yes, she is. You know her also?”
“Only by repute, unfortunately. But that has been sufficient for me to form a great respect for her.” The banter and air of mockery drained out of her face. “She has been concerned in some very fine work to bring about social reform, most particularly the poor laws, and those regarding education.”
“Yes, I remember. My sister did what she could to assist. We tried our hardest.”
“Don’t tell me you gave up!” It was more of a challenge than a question.
“We gave up on that approach.” Charlotte met her gaze squarely. “Now Emily’s husband has just become a member of Parliament. I am concerned with my husband’s cases which fight injustice of various sorts, which I am not at liberty