servants are discreet as to conversations overheard at dinner, and so on.”
“How exciting!” Emily feigned girlish delight, and pursued the subject until her tea was finished and it was the appropriate time to take her leave. She must make other calls, or it would appear she was too eager. A cultured woman of society never restricted herself to one visit. She would call on at least one other, and leave her card at two more.
She excused herself, her mind whirling to find some assured way of returning to Callander Square, if possible within the week.
“So charming,” she murmured to Lady Augusta. “George has spoken so well of you, it was delightful to meet you,” to remind her that George was a friend of Brandy Balantyne’s and that they were of the same social circle.
“Most gracious of you,” Augusta replied absently. “We are having a small entertainment this Friday afternoon. If you have no previous engagement, perhaps you would care to call in?”
“How very pleasant,” Emily said equally nonchalantly. “I believe I shall.”
She swept out with a feeling of infinite satisfaction.
The following afternoon she put on a plain green dress, took a single unliveried footman, and went straight to Charlotte. It was far easier than waiting for Charlotte to come to her; for one thing, Charlotte did not have the use of a carriage, and had to resort to the hire of a hansom. The other reason, of course, was that she simply could not wait.
She burst in upon Charlotte, who was busy mending linen.
“What on earth are you doing?” she demanded. “Put it down, and listen to me!”
Charlotte held the linen in her hand.
“I thought ladies did not call before three? It is hardly a quarter past two,” she said with a smile.
Emily snatched the linen and threw it on the sofa.
“I have the most exciting news!” she said urgently. “I have been to the Balantynes’ and I have made the acquaintance of Christina and Lady Augusta; and infinitely more interesting, of a Lady Euphemia Carlton, who is peculiarly discomfited by talk of the babies in the square! I truly believe she knows something about it. She is laboring under some burden, I will swear to that! Charlotte, do you think I have solved it already?”
Charlotte looked at her seriously.
“Is Lady Carlton not married?”
“Of course she is married!” Emily said impatiently. “But perhaps she is having an affair. Perhaps the children, the babies, would have betrayed it! Were they of any unusual appearance, such as a dark skin, or red hair, or the like?” Emily drew breath and rushed on before Charlotte had time to consider the question and reply. “Her husband is in the government. Perhaps it is a foreign lover, a Greek or an Indian or something. Maybe there are secrets involved. Charlotte, what do you think? She is very handsome, you know; not beautiful, but warm. She looks as if she might well fall in love and behave quite irresponsibly.”
Charlotte looked back at her, thought deep in her face.
“I shall have to ask, but I doubt Thomas will tell me-”
“Oh, don’t be so feeble!” Emily said exasperatedly. “Don’t tell me you can’t persuade him! The man is besotted on you. Invent some reason! I need to know, else why should she do it? A woman does not kill her own children, or even bury the stillborn, without some overpowering reason.”
“Of course not,” Charlotte agreed reasonably. “But Thomas will not imagine I ask out of idle curiosity. He is not as amiable as George, you know; nor anything like as innocent,” she added.
Emily had never thought of George Ashworth as innocent; but on consideration she realized what Charlotte meant; only perhaps it was not so much lack of guile as lack of concern. He considered he knew what Emily would do in any given situation, and had explicit trust in her good sense. Pitt, on the other hand, had far more perception than to trust anything so erratic as Charlotte’s good sense.
“Nevertheless, you will try,” she persisted.
Charlotte smiled, her thoughts inward.
“Of course. I have always expressed an interest in his work. I shall endeavor to help him.” Her smile broadened. “With a woman’s point of view, which of course he cannot get from his policemen.”
Emily gave a sigh of relief that left Charlotte laughing.
By the time Emily arrived in Callander Square on Friday afternoon she had heard from Charlotte the rather disappointing news that there was nothing remarkable about the appearance of the second baby, but a deformity of the head of the first one, the one buried the deeper. But her heart had lifted when Charlotte pointed out that since the unfortunate bodies had been in the earth for some time, it was impossible to tell if at birth they might indeed have had skin or hair of an unusual color. Emily had not considered the point of putrefaction, and the thought of it distressed her unexpectedly. Of course, the flesh would not remain. In fact, Charlotte pointed out that, according to Pitt, it was only the clay nature of the soil that had preserved them so far. It was an extremely disagreeable consideration.
She had dismissed it from her mind when she presented herself at the Balantynes’ door. She was admitted immediately and was shown from the hall into the great reception room where a small crowd had already gathered, of both men and women. An enormous gleaming grand piano stood in the center, its legs decently masked. At a glance Emily saw Christina, Euphemia Carlton, Lady Augusta, and several others she knew from her own social round. She also recognized Brandy Balantyne, tall, slender, dark like his mother and sister, but with an easier face, outward looking. He turned as Emily entered and his face lit in a smile.
“Lady Ashworth, how delightful,” he came forward to welcome her, ushering her in. “Do you know Alan Ross? No. Alan’s misfortune.”
“Mr. Ross,” she acknowledged him with grace. He bowed a little formally. He was in his thirties, slight of build but with a strong, delicate face of unusual intensity.
“Lady Ashworth, I am honored,” he offered no further compliment, and she was rather pleased. Flattery could become a bore. It was, after all, no more than a formula in the mouth of most men, as automatic as “good morning” or “good-bye.”
They fell to discussing some innocuous subject, none of them paying more than cursory attention. Emily let her eyes stray to Euphemia Carlton. She was piqued to see that today the woman looked uncommonly well, indeed it would hardly be an exaggeration to say she glowed. Could the tension and the guilt Emily had seen before have been no more than an indisposition? Emily dismissed the thought. It was too early to tell.
She accepted a delicate refreshment from a crisp-aproned maid. There was a footman over by the door-a handsome man, in a heavy-lidded, sensuous sort of way. Emily had seen the same features on dandies and spendthrifts leaving George’s clubs, the big winners and losers. That man would have been one of them, had his birth been kinder to him. Now he stood against the wall of a general’s house, dressed in livery and waiting on ladies and the few gentlemen who had nothing better to do with this particular afternoon. She saw Christina Balantyne walk past him, laughing, as oblivious of his humanity as if he had been a piece of furniture, a carving to hold flowers.
The entertainment began, first a rendition of a waltz by Chopin, more precise than lyrical; then a rather wavering contralto sang three ballades. Emily forced a look of rapt attention on her face, and let her mind wander.
She had not been introduced to Sophie Bolsover, but she had overheard her name in a neighboring conversation, and knew that she also lived in Callander Square. Now Emily looked sideways at her, partly from interest, partly because it was easier to keep her face straight when not looking directly into the contralto’s earnest eyes. Sophie Bolsover was a type she had become familiar with over the last couple of years; still very young, pretty enough by nature for art successfully to concentrate on her good features and mask the poor ones. She was born of a good family with enough money to insure a satisfactory marriage. She had never had to fear being left an old maid, dependent; she had not had to fight the way ahead of numerous sisters in a female-ridden house. All this Emily knew from the calm, rather shallow assurance in her face.
As soon as the songs were finished and suitably applauded, Emily made a point of seeking her acquaintance. Emily was charming, skilled, and quite ruthless in such social arts. Within five minutes she was conversing with Sophie about fashion, mutual acquaintances, and speculation as to who might marry whom. Emily guided the considerations toward those resident in the square, beginning with a compliment toward Christina.
“So beautiful,” Sophie agreed with a smile.
