There was another answer: either Julian, or Garrard, was a traitor, and the woman in cerise was the spy who had turned the man’s loyalty. It was simply coincidence that she had not been seen since Robert York’s death—she had been more careful, that was all.
No, that was silly too. If the woman in cerise had had nothing to do with Robert York’s death, why bother to think about her at all? She was just what she seemed, a paramour being indiscreet. Perhaps Julian had tired of her—or Garrard, at a stretch of the imagination—and she had become desperate and foolish enough to pursue him to his house.
Or again, maybe Harriet was leading a double life—possibly even keeping an assignation with Felix. And in such flamboyant clothes, so different from her usual attire that Aunt Adeline had failed to recognize her. In the middle of the night, when Aunt Adeline had presumably woken from sleep, that seemed more than likely. She sounded like a quaint old lady, at the best.
Would Emily herself grow into a quaint, lonely old lady, visiting relatives too often and so bored she lived other people’s lives vicariously, misunderstanding everyone and seeing things that were not there?
With this wretched thought Emily decided to get up, even though it was still only five minutes to seven. If the servants were startled, let them be. It would do them good.
She rang for her maid and had to wait several minutes for her to come. Then she had a bath and dressed carefully, as if she were to entertain someone of great importance—it was good for her morale—and went downstairs. Of course, her lady’s maid had warned the rest of the house, so she took no one by surprise. Whatever they felt, there was nothing in their faces but bland good-mornings. Carrying in the poached eggs, Wainwright looked like a church warden with a collection plate, and he put it down in front of her with the same reverence. She would have loved to startle him enough to make him drop it!
When she had finished breakfast and had taken three cups of tea she went to the kitchen. She thoroughly irritated the cook by interfering with the week’s menus, and then tried the patience of her own maid by checking on the mending and ironing of her gowns. When she finally realized how unfair she was being, she went into her boudoir, closed the door, and began to write a letter to Great-aunt Vespasia, simply because she would have liked to talk to her. She was on the fourth page of her letter when the footman knocked and came in to tell her that her mother, Mrs. Ellison, was in the morning room.
“Oh, ask her in here,” she answered. “It’s much brighter.” She covered the letter and with mixed feelings prepared to welcome her mother.
Caroline came in a moment later, dressed in a fashionable wine-colored barathea trimmed with black fur and a rakish hat which made her look more elegant than Emily could remember. There was a flush in her cheeks, doubtless the bitter weather, and she was full of good spirits.
“How are you, my dear?” She kissed Emily delicately and sat in one of the most comfortable chairs. “You look peaked,” she observed with maternal candor. “I hope you are eating well. You must look after your health, for Edward’s sake and your own. Of course, this first year is terribly difficult, I know, but another six months and it will be past. You must prepare for the future. By midsummer it will be acceptable for you to start mixing in a few suitable gatherings.”
Emily’s heart sank. The word
“I think I’ll take up good works,” she said aloud.
“Very commendable,” Caroline agreed with a little nod. “As long as you do it in moderation. You might speak to your vicar about it, or if you prefer, I will speak to mine. I am sure there are committees of ladies who would welcome your contributions in time, when it is appropriate for you to begin going out of your home to such meetings.”
Sitting on committees of women was the last thing Emily had in mind. She was thinking of the sort of work Great-aunt Vespasia did—visiting workhouses and campaigning for better conditions and agitating for changes in the employment laws for children, trying to increase the number and scope of “ragged schools” for pauper children, perhaps even fighting for the political franchise for women. Now that she had the money, there might be quite a lot she could do, Emily decided. “You don’t look dressed for good works,” she said critically. “In fact, I’ve never seen you look so well.”
Caroline was startled. “There is no need to dress like a dowd or to look wretched in order to do good works, Emily. I know this has been tragic for you, but you must not allow yourself to become eccentric, my dear.”
Emily could feel her temper boil up inside her, mixed with frustration and despair. Imprisoning walls seemed to be closing in around her. It was as if someone were padlocking a gate and she could hear her mother’s calm, reasonable voice like the swish of closing curtains shutting out everything that was spontaneous, bright, and exhilarating.
“Why not?” she demanded. “Why shouldn’t I become eccentric?”
“Don’t be foolish, Emily.” Caroline’s tone was still gentle, but overly patient, as if she were speaking to a sickly child who would not eat her rice pudding. “In due course you will want to marry again. You are far too young to remain a widow, and you are extremely eligible. If you behave circumspectly during the next two or three years you may quite easily marry at least as well as you did before and be most comfortable and happy. But this next short time is crucial. It could make or mar everything.”
Emily raised her eyebrows high. “You mean if I do something immodest or unseemly, no duke will have me, and if I am seen to be eccentric I may not even manage a baronet!”
“You are in a very trying mood this morning,” Caroline said, struggling to remain patient. “You know the rules of Society quite as well as I do. Really, Emily, you used to be the most sensible of the three of you, but you seem to be getting more like Charlotte every time I see you. Perhaps I should have counseled you against spending Christmas with her, but I thought it would be nice for Edward to have some other children to play with. And to be quite frank, I know Charlotte must have been grateful for all the financial assistance you were able to give her— discreetly.”
“Charlotte is perfectly happy!” Emily said far more waspishly than she had wished to. She was being unfair, and she knew it even as she was unable to prevent herself from going on. “And I enjoyed Christmas with her and Thomas— in fact, I loved it.”
Caroline’s face eased into a smile and she quickly put her hand over Emily’s. “I’m sure you did, my dear. Your affection for each other is one of the nicest things in my life.”
