Actually as she sailed down the stairs, several minutes later than she had said she would (having mislaid a packet of hairpins which were vital to the whole effect), Gracie was awestruck. Her eyes were enormous, and both children crouched, wide-eyed, on the landing. Even Pitt was a little startled. He had been pacing the hall with impatience, and when he had heard her step, he swung around, then saw her.
“Oh,” he said, uncharacteristically lost for words. He had forgotten what a very handsome woman she was with her rich dark auburn hair and warm, honey skin. Tonight the excitement had given her a color and a brilliance to her eyes that made her close to truly beautiful. “That …” Then he became self-conscious, and changed his mind. This was not the time to indulge in compliments, however merited. “It becomes you very well,” he finished. It was immeasurably less than he meant. Actually it awoke in him an awareness of her physical presence, and a strangeness, a frisson of excitement as if she had been someone he had newly met.
She looked at him a trifle uncertainly, and said nothing.
He had hired a carriage for the evening. It was not an event for which one could arrive in a hansom cab. For one thing, its cramped space would have crushed Charlotte’s dress, or more accurately Vespasia’s dress, and for another, and more importantly, it would mark him out as different, and inferior.
There was a considerable jostle of carriages in the driveway, and indeed in the street beyond, as dozens of people arrived at what Vespasia had said would be the optimum time. They were almost swept along up the stairs and into the great foyer and the hall beyond. On all sides they were surrounded by swirling skirts, nervous laughter, just a little loud, and voices high-pitched, too obviously intent upon immediate companions and affecting to ignore everyone else. The lights of the chandeliers were thrown back in tiaras, brooches, necklaces, earrings, bracelets and rings. The men were girded by scarlet and purple sashes of orders of merit, and chests gleamed with medals against the sober black and stark white of formal dress.
Up the great staircase and into the reception rooms they were announced by a majordomo whose face remained entirely expressionless, regardless of the name or rank of the personage he introduced. If he had never heard of Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Pitt, there was nothing in his features to register it, not a flicker of his eyes or intonation of his voice.
Pitt was far more nervous than Charlotte. She was bred to conduct herself at social events of this nature, even if not of this status. Pitt felt suddenly as if his stiff collar were cutting into his chin and he hardly dared turn his head. Charlotte had insisted on cutting his hair, and he was self-consciously aware now that he had not seen a respectable barber in years. His evening boots were excellent, a gift from Jack, but his black suit was of nothing like the quality of those around him, and he was certain they would be as aware of it as he was the first time they looked closely enough at him to conduct any sort of a conversation.
For the first fifteen minutes they drifted from one group to another, making the most superficial remarks, and feeling increasingly ridiculous and as if they were wasting time which could easily be better spent, even if only in bed asleep, ready for the next day and its duties.
Then at last Pitt saw Linus Chancellor, and beside him a uniquely striking woman. She was unusually tall, very nearly of a height with Chancellor himself. She was slender but well proportioned with handsome shoulders and arms, and awareness of her height had not made her stoop or try to hide it. She stood with head high and back straight. Her gown was palest oyster shading to pink and it flattered her dusky coloring and rather long, wide-eyed face.
“Who is she?” Charlotte whispered quickly. “Isn’t she interesting, quite unlike most of the women here. There is nothing predictable about her at all!”
“I don’t know, but perhaps she is Chancellor’s wife,” he replied under his breath, conscious of those close to him and possibly overhearing.
“Oh! Is that Linus Chancellor beside her? He’s rather handsome, isn’t he!”
Pitt looked at her with interest. He had not considered whether Chancellor was handsome or not, or indeed whether his looks might be appealing to women. He had only seen the strength and the imagination in his face, the unusual angle of nose and jaw and the power of will it suggested, the fine eyes and the total confidence of his bearing. He had seen him as a politician, and tried to estimate his skill and his ability to judge men.
“Yes, I suppose he is,” he said with growing conviction.
Charlotte looked at the woman again, and at that moment saw her place her hand on Chancellor’s arm, not obtrusively-it was not a statement of ownership-but discreetly, a gesture of pride and affection. She was moving herself closer to him, not drawing him to her.
“If he is married, then she must be his wife,” Charlotte said with absolute certainty. “She would never do that in public were she not now, or about to become so.”
“Do what?”
Charlotte smiled and did exactly the same, slipping her hand through Pitt’s arm and moving half a step closer.
“She is still in love with him,” she said a little above a whisper.
Pitt knew he had missed something, but also that it had been in some way a compliment.
Further discussion of the subject was circumvented by the approach of one of the most homely men Charlotte had ever seen. The most charitable description of him possible could only have said there was no malice in his face, and no ill temper. He was barely Charlotte’s height, although she was admittedly rather tall for a woman. He was very heavily set, with plump arms and shoulders and a massive series of chins which gave his face a most odd shape, as if it were dominated by the excellent hair and brown eyes under inadequate brows, and then it all faded away into his shoulders. Nevertheless, it was not in the least displeasing, and when he spoke his voice was beautiful and quite individual.
“Good evening, Mr. Pitt. How pleasant to see you at such a gathering.” He waited politely to be introduced to Charlotte.
“Good evening, Mr. Aylmer,” Pitt responded, and turned to Charlotte. “May I present Mr. Garston Aylmer, of the Colonial Office?” He completed the introduction.
“How do you do, Mrs. Pitt.” Aylmer bowed very slightly, an elegant gesture which seemed to come to him quite naturally. He regarded her with interest. “I hope you will enjoy yourself, although these functions can become tedious if one remains too long. Everybody says the same thing each time, and seldom means it anyway.” He smiled suddenly and it illuminated his face. “But since we have not met before, perhaps we shall have something new and quite different to say, and be enthralled.”
“I should love to be enthralled,” Charlotte answered instantly. “I am not in the slightest interested in the weather, or in gossip as to who has dined with whom, or been seen in whose company.”
“Nor I,” Aylmer agreed. “It will all be different next week anyway, and then no doubt back to the same the week after. What shall we discuss?”
Pitt was more than happy to be ignored. He took a step backwards, excusing himself inaudibly, and drifted towards Linus Chancellor and the woman at his side.
Charlotte thought hastily. It was an opportunity too precious to miss.
“Something I know nothing about,” she said with a smile. “Then you can tell me whatever you please, and I shall not find fault with any of it, because I shall have no idea if you are right or wrong.”
“What an original and superb idea,” he agreed, entering the spirit of it with enthusiasm. “What do you know nothing about, Mrs. Pitt?” He offered her his arm.
“Oh, countless things,” she said, taking it. “But many of them are of no interest anyway, which is why I have not bothered with them. But some must be engrossing,” she added as they walked up towards the steps to the terrace. “What about Africa? If you are in the Colonial Office, you must know immeasurably more than I do about it.”
“Oh certainly,” he agreed with a broad smile. “Although I warn you, a great deal of it is either violent or tragic, or of course both.”
“But everything that people fight over is worth something,” she reasoned. “Or they wouldn’t be fighting. I expect it is terribly different from England, isn’t it? I have seen pictures, engravings and so on, of jungles, and endless plains with every kind of animal imaginable. And curious trees that look as if they have all been sawn off at the top, sort of … level.”
“Acacias,” he replied. “Yes, undoubtedly it is different from England. I hate to confess it, Mrs. Pitt, because probably it robs me instantly of all real interest, but I have never been there. I know an enormous amount of facts about it, but I have them all secondhand. Isn’t it a shame?”
