candor.”
Charlotte stifled a giggle with difficulty, and avoided meeting anyone’s eyes.
Both James Hilliard and Fitz looked a trifle puzzled.
“Are you enjoying the exhibition?” Fitz asked quickly. “Have you seen anything you would buy?”
“I like the roses over there,” Charlotte answered instantly, struggling for anything that would fill the silence. “And I thought some of the portraits were very fine, although I am not sure who they are.”
“The woman in the white gown with the lace is Lillie Langtry,” Fitz said with a broad smile.
“Oh is it?” Charlotte was interested in spite of herself, and the pucker of disapproval between Odelia’s brows did nothing to discourage her. “If it is a good likeness, then she is very lovely. Have you met her?”
“One meets everyone sooner or later. Society is very small, you know.”
“Do you not find that, Mrs. Pitt?” Odelia asked with a spark of interest.
There was no purpose in lying; she would only be caught in it and look even more foolish. And she did not hunger for social rank enough to pretend to it.
“I did before I was married,” she said with a candid stare. “But since then I have spent far more time at home with my family. I only departed from it this season to be what help I can to Emily, in the circumstances.”
“Very generous of you,” Odelia said politely, having established a certain superiority. She linked her arm in Fitz’s and leaned a fraction closer to him. “I am sure she will feel greatly eased in her mind for your company. It is something of a disadvantage that the selection of a candidate should occur just now, however I am sure it will not influence a decision.” She lifted one slender shoulder slightly. “You have met many of the most important people. I saw you with Lord Anstiss at the opera. Such a fine man. Most of us will never know how much he gives away to all manner of deserving causes. Some of the artists here are only able to exhibit at all because of his patronage, you know.”
And the conversation moved to the much safer subject of Lord Anstiss’s benefactions in many fields, Fanny and James Hilliard joining in where a pleasant but uninformed opinion was acceptable.
Charlotte glanced at Emily and saw with a flash of understanding that she was equally bored. Fitz caught the look.
“Who cares?” he agreed with a laugh. He turned to Fanny, and her face flooded with relief and humor. “Let’s talk of something more fun,” he said quickly. “What is the latest scandal? There must be something entertaining?”
“I don’t know of anything,” Odelia said with regret. “It is all a matter of who may marry whom, and unless you know them it is all very tedious, and probably quite predictable anyway.”
They moved a few steps to the next picture without looking at it.
“There is the matter of Mr. Horatio Osmar,” James said tentatively. “That seems to have elements of the ludicrous about it.”
“Horatio Osmar?” Fitz seized on it. “Isn’t he a minister in the government? Do tell us: what has he done? Or, to be more accurate, what do they say he has done?”
“He used to be a junior minister of sorts,” James corrected.
“Oh dear-I should know that, shouldn’t I?” Fitz said ruefully. “What about him? Is it money?”
“Nothing so dry.” James smiled. It was a gentle, diffident and very warm expression which lit his face, giving him a charm he had lacked before. “He was arrested for indecent behavior with a young woman-on a park bench!”
They all burst into laughter, making several heads turn and causing a few elderly ladies to frown and mutter to themselves on the indelicacy of the young, and their increasing lack of decorum. One lady dressed in gray with a stuffed bird on her hat glared fiercely, and held her head so high the bird wobbled violently and appeared as if it were attempting to fly, and she was obliged to reach up with her hand to make sure it did not overbalance.
“Very out of date,” Fanny whispered a trifle too loudly.
“What is?” Charlotte asked.
“Stuffed animals on your clothes,” Fanny replied. “Don’t you remember-it was all the rage a couple of years ago. My mother’s cousin had a hat with flowers with all the beetles and spiders in them.”
“You are twitting us!” Fitz said with wide eyes.
“Not at all! And I have a friend whose aunt had a gown with stuffed mice on the hem and up the outer fold of the skirt.”
“Ugh!” He was staring at her with delight. “Really?”
“I swear it.”
“How disgusting!”
“Worse than that. We have a domestic cat-” She was giggling as she said it. “She was an excellent mouser. It was a disaster.”
“A mouser,” Fitz said quickly. “Oh do tell us.”
Odelia pulled a face of distaste but Fanny was looking at Fitz and was totally unaware of her.
“Aunt Dorabella had been asked to favor us with a song, which she did with some enthusiasm. It was the Kashmiri Love Song, you know?”
“Pale hands I love,” Fitz said quickly.
“Yes, that’s right. Well she swept across the space we had cleared for her, swirling her skirts behind her, raising her hands to illustrate the song-and Pansy, the cat, shot out from under the drapes ’round the piano legs and bolted up Dorabella’s skirt after the mouse. Dorabella hit a high note very much higher than she had intended-and louder-”
Fitz was having trouble keeping his composure, and Charlotte and Emily were not even trying.
“Pansy took fright and ran down again,” Fanny went on, “with the mouse between her teeth, and a sizable piece of the skirt with it. Dorabella tripped over the rest and fell against the pianist, who shrieked and overbalanced off the stool.”
Fanny shrugged her shoulders and dissolved into giggles. “We disgraced ourselves so utterly,” she finished, “that my friend was cut out of Uncle Arthur’s will. I’ve never laughed so hard in my life. I was so sorry, but if it had been my fortune at stake, I could not have helped myself. Fortunately, it would have been only two rather ordinary chairs-and Uncle Arthur lived to be ninety-three anyway! Of course I apologized profoundly, but Aunt Dorabella did not believe a word, and neither of them ever forgave us.”
“How marvelous,” Fitz said sincerely. “I’m sure it was worth it.” He looked around to each of them. “Is there a great deal more you wish to see here?”
“Not I.” Emily shook her head, still smiling, but Charlotte had a good idea she had had enough of standing for a while anyway.
“Nor I,” she agreed quickly.
“Then let us find some refreshment,” Fitz suggested. “Come, James, I shall take you all to tea, and you shall tell us what befell poor Mr. Osmar.” And he offered his arm to Fanny, who accepted it with a quick smile. James escorted Odelia, and Charlotte and Emily were left to bring up the rear.
They took both carriages, and met up again inside the hotel, where they were served a most delicious tea in a large, softly lit room with the most flattering pinks and apricots. They began with thinly sliced cucumber sandwiches on brown bread, cream cheese beaten with a few chopped chives, then smoked salmon mousse. There were white bread sandwiches with smoked ham, egg mayonnaise with mustard and cress, and finely grated cheese. When these had blunted the edge of appetite, they were served scones so fresh they were still warm, with plenty of jam and cream, then lastly cakes and exquisite French pastries, choux and puff pastries filled with whipped cream, lacelike icing and thin slices of fruit.
During all this James Hilliard entertained them with the story of Horatio Osmar, his trial and unaccountable acquittal, without mentioning the name of the magistrate, which apparently he did not know.
“What did the young woman say?” Charlotte asked.
“Nothing,” James replied, setting his cup down on its saucer. “She was not asked.”
“But that’s absurd!” Charlotte protested.
“The whole thing is absurd,” he answered. “And now I hear they are talking of police perjury-”
“Oh! Which station did you say it was?”
“Bow Street.”
She drew in a deep breath. Under the table Emily reached out and touched her. There was nothing she could
