without pretensions, but they were to naval office and personal power rather than social distinction. The Winthrops are not really …” He stopped, uncertain what word to use without a certain crassness.
“Out of the top drawer?” Charlotte suggested.
“Not even out of the second,” he conceded with humor. “But aren’t they supposed to be related to all sorts of people?”
“My dear, if a distinguished person has a dozen children, one will find, in a generation or two, that half the Home Counties are related to him,” Vespasia pointed out. She turned again to Thelonius. “But you used the term ‘realism.’ Was it a fortunate marriage? Are there children?”
“I believe there are two or three, all daughters. One died young, the other two are recently married.”
“Married!” Charlotte was amazed. “But she looks—so …”
“She was seventeen when she married Oakley, and her daughters also married at about that age.”
“I see.” She pictured a man disappointed without sons, although perhaps the judgment was unjust. Why had the daughters both married so young? Love? Or a desire to grasp the first opportunity that was remotely acceptable? What had that family been like when the doors were closed and the polite faces set aside?
There was no more time for speculation because they had arrived at the house of Lord and Lady Winthrop. They alighted and were welcomed in by servants in full mourning and shown into a large reception room with a table laden with rich food set out on exquisite linen. Silver gleamed discreetly under the chandeliers, fully lit even though the day was bright, because the curtains were half closed and the blinds lowered as a sign of death in the house. The most conspicuous ornamentation in the room were bowls and sheafs of white lilies, and the cloying perfume of them was redolent of the hothouse.
“Good heavens, it looks like an undertaker’s,” Vespasia said under her breath, at the same time smiling as she saw Emily and Jack Radley only a few yards away. “Heaven knows what the funeral must have been like! Hello, Emily, my dear. You look quite charming, and obviously in excellent health. How is Evangeline?”
“Growing, and really quite well behaved,” Emily replied with pride. “She is very pretty.”
“What a surprise!” Vespasia did not try to conceal her humor. “Jack, how is your campaign progressing? How long is it until the by-election?”
Jack gave her his entire attention. He had made his way in society on his good looks and very considerable charm before marrying Emily, but Vespasia was one person with whom he would never have dared anything but the utmost honesty. He knew she had been George’s great-aunt, and although he entertained no doubts that Emily loved him, in his darker moments he still walked in George’s shadow. George had been handsome too, and his charm was that of a man who was born to wealth, title and effortless grace. That he had achieved nothing personal was canceled by his early death.
“A little under five weeks, Lady Cumming-Gould,” he replied gravely. “I think the government will announce it very soon. As for the campaign, I am still very uncertain about that. I have an extremely strong opponent.”
“Indeed? I know little of him.”
“Nigel Uttley,” he replied, watching her face to see if she wished further information or if she was merely making polite conversation. He must have judged the former, because he went on to describe him. “A little over forty, younger son of a wealthy family, but not socially prominent. He has been a strong supporter of the government for a long time, and quite honestly they fully expect him to win.” He pulled a rueful face. “I think they gave him the opportunity as a reward for loyalty in the past.”
“What does he believe in?” she asked perfectly seriously.
He laughed, a spontaneous, infectious sound. “Himself!”
“Then upon what platform is he campaigning?” she amended with a smile.
“Restoring the old values which made us great, in general,” he replied. “More specifically, on imposing law and order in the cities, altering the police force to make them more efficient, harsher sentences for crime …”
“The Irish question?” she interposed.
His amusement was quick again. “Oh no, he is not foolish enough to tackle that one! It brought Gladstone down, and it will probably ruin anyone else who advocates Home Rule, which is the only real solution.”
They were passed by a group of elderly gentlemen murmuring in low voices who glanced at Thelonius and nodded, then proceeded on their way. A naval officer in uniform spoke overloudly in a sudden silence and blushed.
“You won’t catch Uttley committing himself to any grand statements,” Jack continued. “He’d execute a few Fenians with pleasure, and make speeches against anarchy in general, but we can all do that.”
“He is very critical of the police,” Emily said with a glance at Charlotte. “I loathe him for it,” she added cheerfully.
“My darling, you would have to loathe him for something.” Jack put his arm around her. “But I agree, that is an excellent cause. And it gives me some solid foundation on which to oppose him.” He sighed. “Although this latest murder doesn’t help. It appears to be the second grisly lunatic loose in London in two years, and they didn’t catch the first one.”
Emily looked at Charlotte, a question in her eyes.
“Yes,” Charlotte acknowledged. “He is.”
“Thomas is on the case?” Jack said quickly. “Is there any progress? One can hardly ask the family, although Lord Winthrop keeps making dark noises about what he will have done and who he knows.”
“I don’t think it’s a madman at all,” Charlotte replied, her voice sinking lower and lower. “From all that we know, it seems undeniable it was a personal crime. That is why we are here—to help Thomas.”
“Does he know that?” Jack asked.
“Don’t be foolish,” Emily said quickly. “We’ll tell him when we can offer something useful. That will be quite soon enough.” In a single sentence she had included herself in whatever was to be done. Vespasia noted it with dry
