Pitt, a little taller than the average and outlined against the pink stone of the pillar. A flicker of recognition crossed his face, then puzzlement, a small furrow between his brows as he struggled to place him in his mind.
It was all over in a few moments. Byam passed and his attention was taken by someone else. Pitt smiled with a dark, wry amusement.
“That’s Lord Byam,” Charlotte whispered. “Do you know him?” Pitt’s smile became softer, reflective. He came to some decision within himself. He turned to face her and exclude the party of laughing people behind him.
“Yes. Yes I do. The usurer whose murder I am investigating was blackmailing Byam over Lady Anstiss’s death.”
“What?” she gasped, looking at him in amazement. “Laura Anstiss. But what had he to do with that? It was an accident, wasn’t it?”
“No,” he said very quietly. “She fell passionately in love with Byam, who was Anstiss’s closest friend, and when he did not return it, she took her own life. They covered it up to make it look like an accident, to protect her-and of course the family reputation.”
“Oh.” She was stunned. Thoughts whirled around in her mind, passion and tragedy, a beautiful woman lonely, rejected and in despair. She could hardly imagine Anstiss’s grief, his sense of betrayal by a man he had believed his friend. Byam’s guilt. All that was twenty years ago, Vespasia had said. But what did they feel now? What had the years healed? Was that the strange emotion she had seen in Byam’s face as he looked out of the shadows of his box across at Anstiss?
The bell rang for them to return to their seats, and Charlotte took Pitt’s arm and sailed, head high, back up the stairs, jostling with the crowd, the chatter and laughter, the rustle of taffeta and scrape of heels. Fortunately he was looking where they were going, so it was unnecessary for her to.
The last act was the dramatic and musical climax and Charlotte gave it her attention, at least outwardly. Inwardly her mind was still thinking of the sharper, more immediate drama in the faces of Byam and of Fitz, and in the bright eyes of Fanny Hilliard.
After the final curtain, when the applause had died away, they joined the queue to leave, going very slowly down the stairs, pretending indifference to the crush and the waiting. There was no point in pushing their way through; they might so easily become separated, and then their carriage would not be there yet anyway.
It was nearly an hour later that they were sitting at a small, elegant supper table swapping gossip. Anstiss and Jack were talking quietly, sipping champagne, and Emily was telling Pitt all she could remember about Eleanor Byam.
“Did you enjoy the opera?” Vespasia asked Charlotte, looking at her flushed face and smiling.
“Yes,” Charlotte replied more or less honestly. Then she was compelled to add, “But I am not sure that I understood the story, and I don’t think I shall remember any of the music. I shall remember the way it looked, though. It was splendid, wasn’t it!”
“The best I’ve seen, I think,” Vespasia agreed, the smile still hovering about her lips.
Charlotte frowned. “Doesn’t opera ever have songs you can remember, like the music halls?”
Vespasia’s silver eyebrows rose. “My dear girl, I have no idea.”
Charlotte was disappointed. “But you come to the opera often, don’t you?”
Vespasia’s lips quivered. “Certainly. It is the music halls I do not frequent.”
“Ah!” Charlotte was filled with confusion. “I’m sorry.”
Vespasia started to laugh. “I have heard that Vesta Tilley has a song or two that are memorable.” And very quietly, in a sweet contralto, she began a racy, lilting song. She stopped after about eight bars. “I’m sorry I don’t know any more. Isn’t it a shame?”
Charlotte began to laugh as well, and found the hilarity bubbling up inside her till she could not stop.
It was nearly two in the morning and they were all tired, beginning to yawn, the women to become aware of tight shoes and even tighter stays, when Lord and Lady Byam came towards them, passing close by the table in order to leave. Beside Jack, Lord Anstiss was facing towards them and it was unavoidable they should acknowledge each other.
“Good evening.” Byam spoke first, being the one who had entered the circle. His face had a curious expression, his wide eyes were restless. Had it not seemed ridiculous Charlotte would have said he was seeking something, some answering emotion which he did not find, and the lack of it did not surprise him, and yet it still hurt. Or perhaps it was not ridiculous, if what Pitt had said was true and the old tragedy of Laura Anstiss had involved Byam. Anstiss was still alone; he had never remarried. Perhaps under his wit and outward composure the wound was still new. He had loved Laura, and even now no other woman could take her place. It was guilt and hope for forgiveness she had seen in Byam’s eyes, and in Anstiss’s face a continued courtesy, the outward show of a decent man trying to do what he believed was Christian.
Byam had stopped by their table.
Aiistiss leaned back a trifle in his chair and looked up at him. “Good evening, Byam,” he said agreeably, but without warmth. He smiled very slightly. “Good evening, Lady Byam. How pleasant to see you. Did you enjoy the opera?”
She smiled back at him, though with a shadow in her eyes, an uncertainty beneath the social ease which was inbred in years of polite trivia. “It was delightful,” she replied meaninglessly. One did not own to any other feeling, unless one wished to enter into a discussion. “It was most beautifully staged, don’t you think?”
“The best I can recall,” he agreed, equally as a matter of form. His eyes moved to Byam with an unflinching gaze. Had he been a less exquisitely civilized man Charlotte would have thought it almost aggressive.
Byam moved as if to continue his journey towards the door, then glanced back at Anstiss, who was still staring at him.
Eleanor Byam stood with a frown puckering her face, for once not sure what to say, or even whether to speak or not.
Beneath the superficial inquiries and answers Charlotte could feel a tension so powerful it was like a heat in the room. She glanced at Emily, then at Pitt, and saw Pitt’s face intent in concentration. Jack was lost, uncertain whether to intrude or not. Charlotte could bear it no longer.
“Is Wagnerian opera always like this?” she said, rushing into the silence, not caring how much ignorance she betrayed.
The moment was broken. Eleanor let out her breath in an inaudible sigh. Byam relaxed his tight shoulders.
Anstiss turned to Charlotte with a charming smile, his back to Byam. “My dear, most of it is far more unreal than anything you have seen tonight, believe me. This was eminently worldly and sensible compared with the
“You are too English,” Byam said from behind him. “Wagner would say your imagination is pedestrian. We make fun of the grand design because we do not understand it, and cannot sustain an intellectual passion because at that level we are still children.”
Anstiss swung back to him. “Would he?” he said coldly. “Where did you hear that?”
“I did not hear it,” Byam replied with a touch of asperity. “I deduced it. Now if you will excuse me, it has been a superb evening, but it is now extremely late and I am quite ready to find my carriage and go home.”
“Of course.” Anstiss was smiling again. “Such a comparison of philosophy will keep until another time. We must not keep you. Good night, Lady Byam.”
Byam hesitated as if for a moment he would have pursued the discussion.
“Good night, my lord,” Eleanor said with an unsuccessful attempt to keep the relief out of her voice, and taking Byam’s arm she turned him away and together they went out between the other tables towards the door, without glancing backwards.
Charlotte looked at Pitt, but he was staring into some place in the distance, his brows puckered and his eyes dark with thought.
“How much was said that had nothing to do with what was meant?” Vespasia said so softly under her breath
