bright, when Caroline Ellison arrived in a whirl of chocolate-and-gold-colored silks and a hat reminiscent of a turban.
“Good morning, Mama!” Charlotte said in surprise, both at the hat and at Caroline’s unheralded arrival. It would be quite needless to ask if there were anything wrong; Caroline’s face was shining with well-being.
“Good morning, my dear,” Caroline responded, looking around Charlotte’s bedroom, where they were as Charlotte put the finishing touches to her hair. “You look very well, but I am afraid a little funereal. Could you not put a touch of something brighter, at least around your neck? All this somberness may be fashionable, but it is a little extreme, don’t you think?”
“It’s not in the least fashionable,” Charlotte said with astonishment. “Total black—in April!”
Caroline brushed it aside with a wave of her hand. “I have quite lost touch with fashion lately. Anyway, it still needs a little color. What about something different, unexpected? When I think of it, red is rather ordinary.” She glanced around. “What about—oh, what do people not put with black?” She held up her hand against interruption while she thought. “I know—saffron. I have never seen anyone with black and saffron.”
“Not anyone with a looking glass, anyway,” Charlotte agreed.
“Oh! You don’t like it? I thought it would be rather different.”
“Completely different, Mama. And as I am going to a memorial service, I think the family might well be offended. I hear they are rather conventional anyway.”
Caroline’s face fell. “Oh—I didn’t know. Who is it? Do I know them? I hadn’t heard …”
“You would have read the newspapers.” Charlotte put the last pin in her hair and surveyed the effect.
“I don’t read obituaries anymore.” Caroline perched on the edge of the bed, her skirts draped beautifully.
“No, I expect you read the theater notices and reviews,” Charlotte said with a shade of asperity. She was delighted to see her mother so brimming with life and so obviously happy, but she was never able to banish for long the fear of the misery when it all ended, as it would have to. What about trying to regain the old life then? But she had already said all these things before, as had Emily. This was not the time to pursue it again, especially when she was about to leave in a few moments and could not even try to see the subject to a decent end.
“They are a great deal more uplifting to begin the day than a list of the people one knows who are dead,” Caroline said with a half apology. “And even more so than of those one did not know. Obituaries tend to be rather repetitive.”
“This one wasn’t.” Charlotte enjoyed the drama. “He had his head cut off in Hyde Park.”
Caroline let out her breath in a gasp.
“Captain Winthrop! But you didn’t know him—did you?”
“No, of course not. But Great-Aunt Vespasia’s friend, Mr. Justice Quade, did.”
“You mean Thomas is on the case,” Caroline interpreted.
“I mean that also,” Charlotte admitted, standing up from her dressing table. “It really is very complicated and difficult. I might learn something of use. Anyway, I am going.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
“Why did you call, Mama? Was there some special reason?” She began looking through her top drawer for small things she might need, a lace handkerchief, perfume, a hat pin.
“None at all,” Caroline replied. “I have not seen you for several weeks, and I thought you might care to come to luncheon. I thought we could dine out at Marcello’s.”
“A restaurant?” Charlotte looked around in amazement. “Not at home?”
“Certainly a restaurant. It is very good indeed. You should try Continental cuisine some time, Charlotte. It is most broadening to the mind to experience such things.”
“And to the waist, I imagine,” Charlotte agreed without looking at her mother’s figure. She closed the drawer.
“Rubbish,” Caroline said scornfully. “Not if you take the occasional ride or long walk in the park.”
“You don’t ride,” Charlotte replied with a laugh.
“Yes I do! It is an excellent recreation.”
“But you never …”
“I didn’t while your father was alive. I do now!” Caroline rose to her feet. “Anyway, I can see that you are otherwise engaged today. I am not at all sure that a memorial service will be more entertaining, but you are committed to it and cannot possibly change your mind at this point.” She smiled warmly. “We shall go to luncheon another day, when I am free.” She kissed Charlotte lightly on the cheek. “In any case, my dear, at least put a piece of white lace on that dress, or lavender if you have it. You look as if you were the chief mourner. You must not outshine the widow—she has enough to put up with. She should be the center of attention today. People will forget quickly enough, and the poor soul will have to spend the rest of her life in weeds—unless she is pretty, and fortunate.” And quite forgetting that she herself was a widow, she swept out with a smile on her face and a look of blissful optimism.
Charlotte arrived at the church in Vespasia’s carriage and alighted with the assistance of the footman. She felt more than a little self-conscious, since she had not been invited and knew not a soul among the people milling around, greeting acquaintances, nodding gravely and making dire predictions about the state of society. The sooner she found Vespasia and Thelonius, the better. However, she looked extremely handsome in Emily’s black silk, and she knew it. It gave her more confidence than she would otherwise have had in such surroundings. Even the hat, also Emily’s, was extraordinarily becoming, a sweeping brim, wildly asymmetrical, and decorated with pluming black feathers. She saw several glances towards it, admiring from men, envious from women.
Where on earth was Great-Aunt Vespasia? She could not stand here indefinitely without speaking to someone and inevitably explaining herself. She began to look around curiously, partly out of genuine interest, but mostly to appear as if she were expecting someone. Some of these people would be the friends of the late Captain Winthrop, others would be here as a matter of social duty. Was one of them, dressed decently in black, carrying his hat in his
