“Well, you will need to do better than that in the hustings, or you will confuse the voters as much as you have Mrs. Pitt,” he observed lightly. “I’m sure you don’t want anyone thinking you are advocating a sort of secret society.”
The color spread up Uttley’s broad cheeks and his mouth hardened into a thin line. Vespasia stared at him. Thelonius drew in his breath sharply. Emily waited in anticipation, looking from one to another.
At the far side of the room someone dropped a glass.
“Nonsense, Jack!” Charlotte said in ringing tones. “How can you possibly advocate a secret society in an electoral address? It would hardly be very secret, would it?” She turned to Uttley. “Isn’t that true?”
“Yes,” he said grudgingly. “Of course it is. This whole conversation has become absurd. I was simply saying that with the right people in charge in the police we would get greater respect from certain persons—and with it, cooperation. Surely even the most … naive … can understand that?”
“I can,” Charlotte said with self-mockery, looking at Uttley.
He had the grace to blush, stammer for words to deny his intention, and then fall silent.
“What sort of person would do?” She was relentless. “The disadvantage of gentlemen is that they might not know how to detect, especially ordinary crimes like robbery and forgery and so on.” She turned to Thelonius, Vespasia, and finally back to Uttley. “Or should we have two types of policeman, one for the ordinary criminals, another for the special ones? The difficulty is, how do we tell which crime has been committed by which sort?”
Uttley’s face was tight and hard.
“If you will forgive me, ma’am, this is an excellent subject to illustrate why women are so naturally suited to making home the beautiful place both of art and of spirit, which raises fine children and gives a man the resources from which to fight the world’s battles and deal with the spiritually draining matters of trade and finance. You have a different sort of brain, and that is as nature, and God, intended, for the good and the happiness of humanity.” He smiled without a shred of humor, an automatic wrinkling of the lips. “And if you will excuse me, I must speak to one or two other people. I see Landon Hurlwood over there. It has been charming to meet you, Lady Cumming-Gould, Mr. Quade, Mrs. Pitt.” And without giving any of them a chance to reply, he bowed and turned on his heel.
Charlotte let out her breath in a little grunt of fury.
“There you are, dear,” Emily said gratingly. “Go home and sew a fine seam, bake your bread and don’t think too much. It is unwomanly, and your brain is not built for it.”
“It most certainly is!” Jack said, giving Charlotte an impulsive hug. “Listening to you it is quite obvious that political debate is one of your natural gifts. If I do half as well I shall have him destroyed entirely.”
“You will have made a powerful enemy of him,” Thelonius said very quietly. “He is not a man who will be mocked lightly. But beating him at the polls will be a different matter. People will laugh with you, but not necessarily because they understand what you mean. And believe me, his threat was not idle. He is assuredly a member of the Inner Circle, and will call on it to defeat you if he thinks it necessary.”
The smile died on Jack’s face, and he moved away from Charlotte again.
“I know. But I wouldn’t be Prime Minister if it were at the cost of joining them.”
“You may not be anything without,” Thelonius warned. “That is not to advocate that you do, simply realism.” His eyes became suddenly very intent. “But I give you my word on this, if you do not, I will give you every assistance within my power, for whatever that is worth.”
“Thank you, sir. I accept.”
Emily clasped his arm and squeezed it tightly.
Vespasia moved a step closer to Thelonius, and there was a brilliance in her eyes which might have been pride, or possibly merely affection.
Charlotte turned to watch Nigel Uttley walk towards the tall elegant figure of Landon Hurlwood, who swung around and smiled as he recognized him, as if seeing an old friend. Uttley spoke, but of course she could not hear his words. Hurlwood smiled and nodded. They both greeted a passerby, then resumed their conversation. Uttley laughed, and Hurlwood put his hand on the other man’s shoulder.
Further private speech was prevented by Lord Winthrop requesting silence and then giving a brief address of gratitude to those who had come to honor the memory of his son, and praise of that most excellent man and an expression of the deep loss his passing was to his family, his friends, and indeed he was not unwilling to say, to the country.
There were murmurs of assent, nodded heads, and several distinct looks of embarrassment.
Charlotte looked, as discreetly as she was able to, at the widow, now unveiled and standing white-faced, chin high, next to her brother. Her features were calm, almost beautiful in their repose, and quite devoid of expression. Was she still numbed by shock or grief? Was she a passionless woman, not moved even by this appalling death so intimately close to her? Did she have the most superb, almost superhuman mastery of the outward show of her inner self? Or was it that there were other emotions conflicting within her and canceling each other, frightening her so she dared not show anything at all for fear it betrayed her?
The only flicker Charlotte could see that indicated she had even heard her father-in-law was a slow movement of her pale hand against her black skirt where she reached to clasp Bart Mitchell’s stronger, larger hand, and held it.
His face too was beyond Charlotte’s skill to read. His eyes were very blue and clear on Lord Winthrop’s, but there was no softness in them at all, and certainly nothing that could be taken for grief. His hand still held Mina’s.
Then another very different woman caught Charlotte’s eye; her smooth fair hair shone in the light and the expression on her handsome face was one of rapt attention. Lord Winthrop could not have desired a more admiring audience, or one who seemed more totally at one with him.
“Who is she?” Charlotte whispered to Emily.
“I’ve no idea,” Emily whispered back. “I saw her with the widow earlier on and they seemed very affectionate and definitely quite familiar. I suppose she is a family friend.”
