She spent the day working in the house, talking to herself as she went, tidying, rearranging, straightening, polishing. She sent Gracie out for flowers and fresh meat to make Pitt's favorite, steak and kidney pudding with a rich suet crust on top as light as a feather. She set the table in the parlor with linen and had the children washed and in their nightshirts when he came home.
She permitted them to run to the door to greet him and be hugged and kissed and sent to bed; then she threw her arms
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round his neck and held him tightly, saying nothing, just glad to have him there.
Pitt saw the linen and the flowers, saw that Emily had taken special care over every detail. He saw the golden pudding and the fresh vegetables and smelled the delicious steam rising from them, and he misunderstood it all. He thought of Micah Drummond's office and of the promotion, of Emily's letters, which he had not read, and all the new things a little more money would mean for Charlotte.
The more he thought of desk work, the more he hated the idea, but looking at Charlotte's smiling face across the table, at the feminine touches in his home-the flowers, the hand-painted lamp shades, the embroidered linen, the sewing box piled with fabric for the children's clothes-he felt it was a small price to pay for her happiness. He would do it, and he would try hard to see she never knew the cost. Smiling back, he began to share with her the events of the day, little as they had yielded about Cuthbert Sheridan or his family.
Charlotte went with Great-aunt Vespasia and Zenobia Gunne to attend the funeral of Cuthbert Sheridan, M.P. The weather had changed, and the mild winds and sun were replaced by sharp squalls which brought swords of soaking rain one moment, and a cold, glittering light gleaming on wet surfaces, running gutters, and dripping leaves the next.
The three of them traveled in Vespasia's carriage, for convenience and so they might compare observations, if any, although none of them held any strong hope of learning anything useful. The whole investigation seemed to have come to a standstill. According to Pitt, Charlotte informed them, even the police had progressed no further. If Florence Ivory had killed Sheridan, they had discovered no motive for it, nor any witness who even knew of a connection between them, let alone could place her at the scene with means or opportunity.
Vespasia sat upright in the carriage, dressed in lavender 239
and black lace; Zenobia faced her, riding backwards. She wore a very fine, highly fashionable gown of dark slate blue overlaid with black in a fleur-de-lis design, stitched at the bosom with jet beads, the sleeves gathered at the shoulder. She wore with it a black hat which tilted alarmingly and threatened to take
As had become her habit, Charlotte had borrowed an old dress of Vespasia's, of dark gray, and a black hat and cloak, and with her rich hair and honey warm skin the effect was remarkably becoming. Vespasia's lady's maid had done a few last-minute alterations, which removed from the gown the marks of five-year-old fashion, and now it was merely a very fine gown in which to attend a funeral and be distinguished but not ostentatious.
They arrived opportunely, after the mourners of duty, other members of Parliament and their wives, and immediately behind Charles Verdun, whom Vespasia knew and drew Charlotte's attention to in a whisper as they alighted and slowly walked the short distance from Prince's Road to the vestry of St. Mary's Church.
They were seated in their pew and able to observe Amethyst Hamilton when she arrived, walking straight and tall herself and a step in front of her brother, Sir Garnet Royce, refusing to accept the arm he offered her. Two paces behind them, holding a silk hat in his hand and looking suitably sad and more than a little harassed, came their younger brother Jasper, with a fair-haired woman who was presumably his wife. Charlotte identified them to Vespasia, and watched them discreetly as they were ushered to a pew in the far side three rows forward, which denied her the opportunity of seeing their faces. Sir Garnet was very striking with his high forehead and aquiline nose. The light from the south windows shone briefly on his silver head before the clouds blew across the sky again and the sunlight vanished. Charlotte noticed many eyes on him, and now and again he nodded in
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acknowledgment of some acquaintance, but his main attention seemed to be for his sister and her welfare, for which she appeared unaccountably ungrateful.
Jasper sat next to them in silence, fingering through his hymnal.
There was something of a stir as a well-known Cabinet figure arrived, representing the Prime Minister;
