certainly murder.”
“Of course,” she agreed with a sigh. “They would hardly use you for anything less.”
His answer was lost in the sound of carriage wheels, but apparently Vespasia did not require to hear it.
“Who has been murdered?” Her voice brooked no evasion.
“A particularly disagreeable usurer,” he replied.
Charlotte settled further down into the seat, putting her cloak around her, and listened, hoping to learn some new scraps.
“Who do usurers blackmail, for heaven’s sake?” Vespasia said with disgust. “I cannot imagine their even having the acquaintance of anyone to interest you. It is hardly a political matter-or is it?”
He smiled, his teeth white in a sudden flash of light from the lamps of a passing brougham.
“It may well be.”
“Indeed? Well if I may be of assistance to you, I trust you will let me know.” It was said as a polite offer, but there was something of the imperiousness of an order in it also.
“Of course I will,” he agreed sincerely. “I would be both ungrateful and unwise not to.”
Vespasia snorted delicately, and said nothing.
The following day Pitt left early and Charlotte was busy trying to catch up with some of the domestic chores she should have done the day before, had she not been trying to dress at Emily’s and preparing for the opera. She had done a large laundry of different items which all required special care, instructing Gracie in the finer arts of preserving colors, textures and shape, all the while retelling the events of the evening before, the opera, the clothes, the people, and something of Pitt’s present case.
She washed a lilac dress which needed a pinch of soda in the rinse, exactly the right amount was necessary or it faded the color, and a green cloth gown for which she used two tablespoons of vinegar in a quart of rinse. She had been keeping her best floral dress and two of Jemima’s to wash until she had time to make the recommended mixture she had recently heard of: new ivy leaves added to a quart of bran and a quarter of a pound of yellow household soap.
Gracie observed her as carefully as the continuing story of the evening would allow.
And then there was the starching to do, or more correctly the stiffening, Fine muslin was treated with isinglass, of which she had three half sheets. She broke them up carefully and dissolved the pieces in water, and dipped the lawns and muslins and hung them up to dry, before ironing them. The chintzes would have to wait for another day. She was certainly not boiling rice water as well.
When all the laundry was finished, in the middle of the afternoon, she set about cleaning the smoothing irons by melting fresh mutton suet and spreading it over the still-warm irons, then dusting them with unslaked lime tied in muslin. For some time now they had had a woman come in to take the household linen, and return it two days later clean and ironed.
By evening she was exhausted, and thoroughly complacent with virtue.
The following day she was sitting at the kitchen table trying to decide whether to have a little fish roe on toast for luncheon, or a boiled egg, when Gracie came tripping down the hall to say that Mrs. Radley was here. Emily herself followed hard on her heels in a swirl of floral muslin and lace, with an exquisite parasol decorated with blush-pink roses.
“I’m going to the Royal Academy exhibition,” she announced, sitting down on one of the other chairs and leaning her elbows on the scrubbed wooden table. “I really don’t want to go alone, and Jack is off to see someone about factories and new housing. Please come with me? It will be entertaining if we go together, and a terrible bore alone. Do come.”
Charlotte wrestled with temptation for a moment or two, then with additional encouragement from Gracie, gave in to it. She ran upstairs and changed as quickly as she could into a spotted muslin gown trimmed with green, took up the best hat she had, decorated with silk roses Emily had brought back with her from her honeymoon, and came downstairs again. She was not quite as immaculate as if dressed by a ladies’ maid, but nonetheless very handsome.
The Royal Academy exhibition was every bit as formal and hidebound as Emily had said. Elegant ladies with sweeping hats and flowered parasols moved from one painting to another, looking at them through lorgnettes, standing back and looking again and then passing their instant opinions. Gowns were gorgeous, etiquette absolutely precise and the social hierarchy unyielding.
“Oh, I don’t care for that. Much too modern. I don’t know what the world is coming to.”
“Quite vulgar, my dear. And talking of vulgarity, did you see Martha Wolcott at the theater last evening? What an extraordinary shade to wear. So unflattering!”
“Of course she’s fifty if she’s a day.”
“Really? I would have sworn she said she was thirty-nine.”
“I don’t doubt she did. She’s been saying that for as long as I’ve known her. Presumably in the beginning it was quite true, but that was a dozen years ago. Well I declare, did you ever see anything like that? Whatever do you suppose it means?”
“I’m sure I have not the faintest notion!”
Charlotte and Emily overheard many such snatches of conversations as they passed between the crowds, speaking to someone here, passing a compliment there, exchanging small politenesses, but above all being seen.
They were at least halfway around the exhibition, and they felt compelled to see all of it, when they ran into Fitz and Odelia looking charming, courteous, and most of the time interested.
Emily made a little growling noise in the back of her throat.
“There are times when I loathe that man,” she whispered, forcing a brilliant smile to her face as Odelia caught her eye. “And her,” she added, inclining her head graciously. “She is so terribly certain of everything.”
“
Emily’s eyebrows shot up. “And you weren’t? My dear, I am sensible of your sisterly loyalty. I shall tell Jack; he will be overcome.”
“You will spoil it if you tell him I only overheard the conversation, so I was not in a position to say anything at all.”
“You always ruin a good story by being overheard, Charlotte. Is that Miss Hilliard over there? I was so tired by suppertime I don’t remember what she looked like.”
“Yes it is. I liked her spirit. She gave as good as she got, I thought, and she was at a definite disadvantage.”
“Good. They are about to encounter Fitz and Odelia again. This time I shall be there-and you hold your tongue.” And so saying she hastened towards Fitz and Odelia as if their simple smile of acknowledgment had been an urgent invitation.
They arrived precisely as James and Fanny Hilliard stepped back from a picture the better to consider it, and were so close Emily could very easily bump into James and apologize with devastating sweetness. A moment later they were all exchanging greetings.
“How charming you look, Miss Hilliard.” Odelia smiled. “Such a lovely hat. I meant to compliment you on it last time, and somehow it slipped my mind.”
Fanny colored faintly, quite aware that the meaning of the remark was not that it was especially handsome, but that she had worn the same hat on the previous occasion also.
“Thank you,” she said simply. “How kind of you to say so.”
“Such an attractive quality, don’t you agree?” Emily said quickly, turning to Odelia. “I admire it above all others!”
“Remembering hats?” Odelia’s eyebrows shot up incredulously. “Really, Mrs. Radley. I cannot think why?”
“Kindness,” Emily corrected. “I admire kindness, Miss Morden. The ability not to take advantage, to find generous pleasure in someone else’s success, even when you are not finding particular success yourself. That takes a truly fine spirit, don’t you think?”
“I was not aware that I was being particularly kind.” Odelia frowned, a spark of suspicion in her eyes.
Emily’s hand flew to her mouth in a delicate gesture of embarrassment.
“Oh-your own hat is charming. I simply meant your generosity in admiring Miss Hilliard’s hat with such
