“Well now, that’ll depend on whether you want paper stucco, which is very light, like, and very cheap, and comes at anything from three shillings for one what’s nineteen inches across, to one what’s forty-nine inches across, and it’d be too big for this room, at thirty-two and seven pence ha’penny.” He sucked in his breath noisily and continued. “Or you could have plaster, plain or perforated, which comes at one and sixpence or thereabouts for twelve inches across, right up to four and sixpence for thirty inches across. It all depends upon what you want.”
“I see. Well, I’ll think about it. Now what about the lamp in the hall?”
“Ah well now, that’s different. You could have a real plain twisted-’eart pendant which comes at about four and sixpence each, or the bigger ones at seven and sixpence each.” He shook his head. “That don’t include the globe, o’ course.”
“But that won’t be the one I wanted. I like the one with the engraved glass.”
“Ah—well that’d be a great deal more, ma’am; that’d be fifty-one shillings each, bronzed or lacquered. And now if you want it polished, it’d be fifty-seven shillings.” He sucked at what was apparently a hollow tooth and stared at her.
“I don’t like the other one,” she said adamantly. “It’s vulgar.”
“I just fitted one like that for the lady what lives opposite,” he said with satisfaction. “Very nice it is too. Very nice lady. Her cousin is married to Lady Winslow’s brother-in-law.” He imparted this last piece of information as if it clinched the argument.
“Then she won’t thank me for doing the same,” Charlotte retorted. “What about the finial for the west gable? Can you match the others?”
“I don’t know about that.” He shook his head doubtfully. “You’d be better to replace them all—”
“Balderdash!” said a brisk voice from the doorway. “You find a finial that matches, young man, or my niece will employ somebody who will.”
Charlotte spun around with surprise and delight to see Great-Aunt Vespasia advancing across the room. More strictly speaking, she was Emily’s Great-Aunt-in-law from her first marriage. However, George’s death had made no difference to the closeness of their affection, indeed they grew in each other’s regard with each new turn in their relationship. Now she felt a sharp sense of pleasure that Vespasia had spoken of her as a niece, even though she had no claim to that title.
“Aunt Vespasia,” she said immediately. “How very nice to see you! You have come at the very best moment to give me your advice. I cannot offer you any refreshment. I am so sorry. I can barely offer you a seat.” She felt acutely apologetic, even though she had not invited Vespasia and therefore was not responsible for the situation.
Vespasia ignored her and looked at the builder, who had little idea who she was but had worked on enough houses of the quality to know that in this instance he was now totally out of his depth. This was a lady of a quite different order. She was tall, slender verging on gaunt, but with a face of exquisite bones which still retained much of the marvelous beauty which had made her famous throughout England in her youth. She looked at him as if he himself had been the offending piece of plaster.
“What are you doing about that?” she asked, staring up at the broken cornice.
“Repairing that side,” Charlotte said quickly. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Robinson?”
“If you say so, ma’am,” he replied sullenly.
“Quite right,” Vespasia approved. “And I’m sure if you look hard enough, you will discover a rose that will fit with it quite satisfactorily. What about the dado rail? That is in an awful state. You will need to replace all of it.” She looked at Robinson. “You had better set about finding something suitable. Now be off with you and begin.” She dismissed him without further thought and turned to Charlotte. “Now, my dear, where may we go to leave this man to his business? What about the garden? It looks charming.”
“By all means,” Charlotte agreed hastily, leading the way, opening the French door for Vespasia and then closing it behind her. Outside on the paved terrace the air was soft and there was a scent of bruised grass on the breeze and the smell of hyacinths somewhere just beyond sight.
Vespasia stood very straight, her hair brilliant in the light, her black silver-topped cane in her right hand, not leaning on it so much as resting her hand over it.
“You will need a gardener,” she observed. “At least twice a week. Thomas will never have time to attend to it. How is he taking to his new position? It was past time he was promoted.”
It would not have occurred to Charlotte to tell her anything but the truth.
“Very well, for the most part,” she replied. “But some of his men can be trying. They resent the fact that he was preferred over others who consider themselves just as good. Micah Drummond they could understand. He was a gentleman and it was to be expected, but they find it hard to take orders from Thomas.” She smiled briefly. “Not that he says a great deal to me, I just know it from the odd remark here and there, and sometimes from what he doesn’t say. But no doubt it will mend … in time.”
“Indeed.” Vespasia took a few steps forward over the grass. “What of this latest matter—the wretched man who was beheaded in the park? The newspapers did not say so, but I assume Thomas is in charge of it?”
“Yes, yes he is.” Charlotte looked at her questioningly, waiting for the explanation of her interest.
Vespasia continued to stare at the trees at the far end of the lawn.
“I daresay you remember Judge Quade?” She began quite casually, as if the matter were of no consequence.
“Yes,” Charlotte replied equally nonchalantly. The judge’s sensitive, ascetic face leapt to her mind, and all her emotions crowding in on her, the fierceness of his integrity in the Farriers’ Lane case, the memories he brought with him of a past Charlotte had not even guessed at, and above all the change in Vespasia, her sudden vulnerability, the way she blushed (a thing Charlotte had never seen before), and the laughter and shadows in her eyes.
“Yes, of course I remember him,” she said again. She was about to ask how he was, then stopped just before the words were out. Vespasia was not one with whom she could play such trivial games. It was better to wait in silence for her to say what it was she wished.
