but it’s damn bad form to embarrass the wife, don’t you know. Damn bad.” And without waiting for any further reaction from Fitz he moved away, still shaking his head.
Fitz looked stunned, and indeed Charlotte herself felt as if she had been hit in the face by someone she had entirely trusted.
“I don’t believe it,” Emily gasped. For once she too was at a loss. “What a wicked thing to say.” She swung around, about to speak, then saw Charlotte’s face.
“Charlotte?”
Charlotte’s mind was racing. Pitt had said he had followed Carswell to the south side of the river, and seen him meet with a young woman. He had not said it was Fanny Hilliard. But then why would he? He had not known at that time that she had ever heard of Fanny, let alone knew her.
“Charlotte,” Emily said more sharply. “What is it?”
Charlotte collected herself with difficulty, her mind full of anger for the deception, and fury and pain for Fitz.
“Perhaps it is a matter of mistake,” Charlotte said feebly, fishing for any excuse. “People do sometimes repeat the most witless things and get them wrong.”
But before they could attempt to continue with such hopes, their attention was drawn to the group a few yards away where Fanny herself was standing, almost next to Odelia Morden. Fanny’s cheeks were scarlet, burning with misery and humiliation, but in the terrible silence she made no denial, she said absolutely nothing at all.
“Miss Hilliard?” Odelia said quietly. There was no triumph in her, rather a strange bewilderment, as though already she knew her victory would be bitter.
Fanny’s eyes lifted slowly and she stared at Fitz, as though everyone else’s opinions were trifling things, pinpricks compared with the single great wound of his.
He was stunned, not perhaps by the revelation, the curious and appalled crowd in its glittering dress, but by Fanny’s own silence. Her face was agonized, everyone saw it; but she made no denial, no excuse.
For a moment he stood as if he would go to her. The silence prickled so long it seemed the lights wavered; one could hear the crackle of taffeta as women breathed in and out in tight bodices. Far away a maid’s hard heels tapped on an uncarpeted passageway.
Then Fanny turned and walked away through the other guests and out into the hall.
Emily took a step forward.
“I’ll go,” Charlotte said instantly, and before Emily could protest, she pushed past her, almost bumped into the large woman with the crystals, trod on Ferdy’s foot as he opened his mouth to say something, and made her way into the hall just in time to see the footman hold Fanny’s cloak for her. James Hilliard, white-faced and wretched, stood shifting from one foot to the other a few yards away, obviously shocked and totally at a loss.
Charlotte had no idea what she could possibly say that would redeem any part of the situation, but emotion rather than reason had impelled her out. She went straight to Fanny.
Fanny turned to face her, her cheeks were white and a blinding misery showed in her eyes.
“I apologize,” she said in a husky whisper. “I have abused your hospitality.”
“I didn’t come for an apology,” Charlotte said, brushing it aside. “I don’t understand, but I can see that you are totally wretched, and I wished to find some way to help…”
“You can’t! No one can. Please-just let me go, before anyone else comes out here-especially…” She could not bring herself to say Fitz’s name, but Charlotte knew whom she meant.
“Of course,” she conceded. “But please agree to meet me somewhere else, where we can speak alone.”
“There is nothing you can do.” Fanny’s voice rose in desperation, afraid that any moment Fitz might come, or (what would be every bit as bad) Odelia.
“Tomorrow,” Charlotte insisted. “Meet me-in the park near Rotten Row.”
“I haven’t a horse.”
“Neither have I. Just be there.”
“There is no purpose. There is nothing you can do!”
“Be there. At nine o’clock,” Charlotte insisted. “Or I shall come and find you, and I do know where to find you.” It was not actually true; she would have to ask Pitt where he had followed Carswell over the river.
“There is nothing…” Fanny began again, but James Hilliard was suddenly there, his shock at last melted enough for him to come and defend his sister from what he believed to be harassment.
“Mrs. Pitt-” he began sharply.
“Yes,” Fanny agreed. “Tomorrow.” She swiveled around to her brother. “Thank you, James. Please take me home.”
He glanced quickly at Charlotte with a look of confusion, pain and anger, then put his arm around Fanny’s shoulders and escorted her to the door.
Back in the withdrawing room the music had begun again and everyone was seated. They at least appeared to be listening, although underneath the carefully composed expressions imaginations were seething and words were falling over themselves ready to relay the choice piece of scandal the moment they were able. Pages would be scurrying all through society tomorrow morning, and those with telephone instruments would be feeling a magnificent superiority over their more backward friends.
“What did she say?” Emily demanded as soon as Charlotte sat down beside her.
“Nothing,” Charlotte replied. “I shall see her tomorrow.”
“It’s too bad.” Emily was considerably upset. “I was becoming very fond of her. And I really hoped she would marry Fitz-even if he is Jack’s rival. I know that is not very consistent, but I like him.”
“It is not in the least inconsistent,” Charlotte said with a sudden hard insight. “No matter how much you like Fitz and Fanny, and I accept that you do, it is nothing compared with your love for Jack, and your belief that he will make an excellent member for Parliament. And if Fitz jilts Odelia for Fanny, even if her reputation is immaculate, it will be one of the very few mistakes that could cost him his chance of selection.” She saw Emily’s look of consternation, but continued anyway. “I don’t believe for a moment you would, or could, cause that to happen, but don’t tell me you will grieve if Fitz brings it upon himself.”
Emily looked uncomfortable. “Of course I would not bring it about,” she defended herself, but there was no outrage in her voice. “If I hope for it for Fitz and Fanny, it is because I know that love in a marriage is far more important than this particular opportunity for political candidacy. Really Charlotte, I am not nearly so conniving as you seem to think.”
Charlotte smiled at her without withdrawing a word, then faced forward and gave her attention to the music.
The morning was bright with sunshine and a brisk, clean wind, and Charlotte was glad of a light cloak as she stood at the southern end of Rotten Row, the long earthen track beneath the trees stretching from the Royal Albert Memorial to Hyde Park Corner where ladies of the fashionable world, both of excellent reputation and of the very worst, rode on horseback to parade their skills, their outfits, and their personal charms.
As Charlotte waited a small group passed close to her, all dressed in precisely the clothes required by custom, tight-waisted jackets, some with high necks and beautiful pins of horse heads or stirrups at the collar, one with reveres to her jacket and a silver hunting horn pin in her dazzlingly white cravat.
Of course they all wore long riding gloves and carried crops with ornamented handles; she saw one of carved horn, and the light caught the head of another and shone silver for a bright moment.
Then the riders turned and set off at a canter, passing another group going in the opposite direction. The leader changed hands with her reins and crop in order to touch hands with her acquaintance in greeting, rather a daring maneuver at such a speed. Another leaned forward to pat her horse’s neck, another quite unnecessary gesture performed solely to display the rider’s skill.
Charlotte smiled to herself and walked a few paces to keep warm.
When at last she saw Fanny about twenty yards away, coming from the Kensington Road, she thought for a moment it could not be her. She looked so unlike her previous self; the joy was emptied out of her, the grace gone from her step, all the vividness and life from her face. Whatever she had done, and why she had done it, all Charlotte could feel for her was a wrenching pity.
She went over to her quickly, almost at a run, taking the younger woman’s hand in hers and holding it tightly.
“I don’t know why you’ve come,” Fanny said in a voice so husky Charlotte knew in a moment she had been
