Bethlehem Road

all suitable for the errands they proposed. Zenobia's very casual attire, with little matching anything else, would be an immediate insult to anyone of Lady Mary Carfax's social susceptibilities, therefore she left to go home and change into the very latest fashion she possessed, which was last year's and very plain, but a great improvement on her present garb nevertheless. It was not that she lacked means, simply that she considered clothes only for their practicality, not their appearance beyond the requirements of decency.

She asked Charlotte if there was anything in particular she should say to Lady Mary, but Charlotte, fearing the meeting was going to be hazardous enough anyway, advised that simply to reopen the acquaintance would be sufficient for now.

Vespasia changed from her light gown, suitable for the house, into something warmer in sky blue wool and with a matching jacket, so she might walk outside without chill. She added something of glamor because she loved beauty

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and could not abandon it whatever the circumstances. Had she contemplated anything so extraordinary as rowing up the Congo, she would have done so with her hair arranged and in a gown that was both fashionable and individual. Also, she was fond of Somerset Carlisle and retained enough vanity to wish to appear well before him. He might be thirty-five years her junior, but he was still a man.

And for Charlotte, Vespasia looked out an anthracite gray gown with a delicious bustle, which was both sober enough in which to express condolences, and sufficiently fashionable to proclaim the wearer a lady. It needed no attention now, because Vespasia had indulged in detecting before, and she had known what some of the requirements would be before she had dispatched the footman to collect Charlotte. Vespasia's lady's maid had been busy most of the morning.

Therefore Charlotte rode with Vespasia in her carriage, setting her down at the residence of Somerset Carlisle before proceeding on to Royal Street.

Her courage was high to begin with, but when she saw Vespasia, her back ramrod straight and wearing her hat at a superbly rakish angle, disappear through the doorway, suddenly she was overcome by the recklessness and the sheer folly of the entire scheme. She had been flattered because Great-aunt Vespasia had turned to her, and she had led both her aunt and Zenobia Gunne to believe she was capable of far more than in truth she was. She was going to end up making a fool of herself, and worse than that, she was going to insult a woman recently bereaved in the most appalling circumstances, and even more painful, she was misleading and offering false hope to two elderly women who had trusted her, when they would so much better have placed their faith in the police, or a good lawyer, which they could certainly afford.

The carriage bowled down Whitehall at an excellent pace; there were few afternoon callers with the necessity to pass this way and traffic was very light. They would be under the

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shadow of Big Ben any minute. She would scarcely have time to compose herself before they reached the Westminster Bridge and crossed it to Royal Street less than a mile on the other side. What on earth was she going to say? It had seemed an adventure over luncheon; now it was merely ridiculous, and very ill-mannered!

Should she tell the coachman to drive twice round the block while she scrambled to devise some believable account she might give of herself? Such as what? 'Good afternoon, Lady Hamilton, you don't know me, but my husband is a policeman-actually he is working on your husband's murder-and I have delusions that I can detect. I am going to discover who did it, and why-and I mean to begin by scraping an acquaintance with you! Tell me everything about yourself!'

Should she try to be subtle? Or was some degree of frankness the only way?

The carriage stopped and a moment later the door opened and she was obliged to take the footman's hand and climb out. There was no more time!

Her legs felt weak, as if her knees had no bones in them. She stood on the pavement, knowing the footman and the coachman were both looking at her.

'Please wait,' she said breathlessly, and picked up her skirts and walked up to the front door. She did not even have a calling card to present! There was nothing in the world she could do about it now.

The door opened and a parlormaid hi black appeared, too well trained to show her surprise.

'Yes ma'am?'

There was nothing to do but plunge ahead.

'Good afternoon. My name is Charlotte Ellison,' she said-they might know or remember the name Pitt. 'I hope I do not intrude, but I had such an admiration for Sir Lock-wood that I wished to call in person to express my condolences to Lady