Belgrave Square

say. She forced herself to smile.

“Oh dear. How unfortunate,” she said meaninglessly, aware how inadequate it sounded.

Emily folded her napkin and laid it on the table.

“It has been the most charming afternoon,” she said with a smile at each of them. “It is time we excused ourselves and went home to change for the evening.”

“Of course.” Both Fitz and James Hilliard rose to their feet. Good-byes were said and Emily and Charlotte departed to their carriage.

Charlotte reached her own home at nearly six o’clock and swept in to find Gracie preparing dinner and giving Jemima and Daniel their supper at the same time. She looked tired and harassed, her hair falling out of her cap, her sleeves rolled up, her face flushed.

Charlotte was smitten with instant guilt, aware how long she had been away, and that she had neglected her duties. It did not help at all when Pitt came home shortly afterwards and, on seeing the state of the kitchen, Charlotte’s gloriously piled hair and flushed face, and Gracie looking weary and untidy, he lost his temper.

“What the devil is going on?” he demanded, staring at Gracie then at Charlotte. “Where have you been?”

There was no point in lying. He would find out, and she was no good at it anyway, not to him.

“At the Royal Academy exhibition-”

His face was bleak, the warmth and tenderness vanished. His eyebrows rose.

“Indeed? And for what purpose did you go there?”

For a wild moment she thought of saying “To look at the pictures,” then saw his eyes and knew it was not the moment for levity.

“Just to accompany Emily,” she said very quietly.

“And left Gracie here to do your work!” he snapped. “I don’t admire your selfishness, Charlotte.”

It was the most cutting thing he could have said, and she had no answer to it. The only way she could defend her dignity was to force herself into sufficient anger to stop herself from crying.

Supper was eaten in miserable silence. Gracie had gone upstairs, sniffing with unhappiness at the unusual conflict in what she regarded as her own home, and in a curious sense, her family.

Afterwards, Charlotte sat in her chair in the parlor opposite Pitt and pretended to be sewing, but she had no pleasure in it, and accomplished nothing. She knew she had been selfish, thinking only of the glamour and the excitement, not of her children and house, where she should have been, or at the very least of her responsibility.

Pitt sat quietly reading a newspaper, without once looking over it at her.

At bedtime she went upstairs alone, more crushingly miserable than she could remember being for a year or more.

She took off her dress and hung it up, then extricated the pins from her hair and let it fall over her shoulders without the usual sensual pleasure, knowing that Pitt loved it. Strange how all the warmth and light could go out of everything just because she felt such a gulf between them. Odelia Morden’s face kept coming back into her mind as she climbed into bed, feeling the sheets chill on her skin. She could see her so clearly, the look of sudden, wounded surprise as she saw Fitz’s eyes on Fanny Hilliard, heard them laugh together, and realized that something was slipping away from her and she was powerless to cling onto it. There was a warmth between Fitz and Fanny Hilliard, an ease of understanding, laughter at the same things. Odelia would never be part of it. Today Charlotte had seen the first wing of loneliness touch her, and a premonition of loss. Whatever happened in the future, Odelia had become aware that something precious was beyond her reach.

And Charlotte had thought her so complacent. She was just at the beginning of pain.

Aunt Vespasia had said it was Charlotte who was too satisfied, not nurturing what was precious.

Pitt came to bed in the dark, lying next to her but apart, his back towards her.

She had no idea whether he was asleep or not, or what he was thinking. Did he really feel she was totally selfish? Surely he knew her better than that-after all these years. Could he not understand how much the opera had meant to her, and that she had gone to the exhibition only to keep Emily company?

No. He knew how it had thrilled her. She had seen that in his face. And he knew how long she had waited-until Emily took them.

Emily took them-not Pitt.

She reached out her hand and touched him.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I should have thought-and I didn’t.”

For seconds nothing happened. She began to think he was asleep. Then slowly he moved over and touched her fingertips, saying nothing.

Tears of relief filled her eyes and she wriggled down to be comfortable, and at last composed herself to go to sleep.

6

PITT LEFT THE HOUSE the following day still feeling depressed in spirit. He and Charlotte had been civil over the breakfast table, but the old warmth was not there. The episode of the exhibition could not easily be repaired. Some of the sweetness had gone out of his life lately, the lift in his spirits as he turned towards home at the end of the day, no matter how ragged or disappointing it had been. It was not that Charlotte was not always there. That he understood and accepted. She had often spent time with Emily, or even very occasionally with her mother. And goodness knows he had long ago stopped fighting against her joining in his cases because it was unseemly, or even dangerous. In fact he was proud of her abilities to judge people he would never know except from an outside view.

It was not that. As he trudged along the dusty pavement towards the main street where he could get an omnibus, he was honest enough to admit it was because she was stepping into Emily’s world, and enjoying it. And it had been her world until she married him. It would have remained hers, had she chosen someone suited to her own social position, and her family’s expectations.

That was it. He felt guilty-and shut out. He had been invited to the opera as well, of course. Emily would never have excluded him. And he had enjoyed it-at least some of it. He did not care for the music a great deal. But then neither had most of the people who were there. It was a social event for them, not an artistic one. Everyone knew everyone else, if not in person then by repute.

The omnibus drew to a halt and he stepped on, choosing to climb the open spiral steps at the back up onto the top deck. There were plenty of seats available and he sat alone, still deep in thought.

He had looked at Charlotte more than at the stage. He had never seen her more beautiful, her hair shining and coiled, dressed by Emily’s maid, her face flushed with excitement, her eyes bright. She had loved it. That was what hurt. He would love to have been the one who took her. But all he could ever manage would be once, and it would be a great occasion. Now she had already been, and if Emily chose, would go again, as often as she wished. The top of the omnibus was open and the sun was warm on his face.

He wanted Jack Radley to succeed in Parliament, not only for Jack’s own sake, because he liked him, and for Emily, but for the good he might do. But it was not the same as when Charlotte and Emily were meddling in one of his cases and he felt as if he had a part in it. There was no way he could help Jack. In fact his relationship would more likely be a hindrance, were it known.

That was it, not very attractive, not easy to admit, but he was jealous.

The omnibus halted again for a few moments, then jerked forward as the horses began up a slight gradient, pulling hard.

On the other hand, he was justified in being angry. Charlotte had no business to go off in the afternoon simply to look at an exhibition of pictures, leaving poor Gracie to do the housework and prepare the dinner.

Which did nothing to make him feel better. Being justified was a cold thing.

He arrived at the Clerkenwell police station in a poor mood and went straight through to the small back office. Innes’s sharp, intelligent face was little cheer. This case was every bit as unpleasant and intractable as he had feared at the outset. There were too many elements in it that worried him. How had Byam heard of the murder so quickly? What was there in it that distressed Micah Drummond, and yet he could not speak of it and kept on through