“How thoughtful of her,” Emily agreed. “It is remarkable at such a time for her to show so much sensitivity to the feelings of someone else. I do admire that”
“So do I,” Charlotte agreed. “I have barely met her, and yet I feel most warmly towards her.”
“I must introduce you more properly,” Thora said quickly. “After the music …” She stopped as a hush fell over the room and everyone turned towards Victor, perhaps more from courtesy than a real desire to listen. However, when he put the bow to the strings and drew it across, a shudder seemed to pass through the air, and a sound of such aching loneliness, that what had begun as good manners simply became total absorption. He did not play from a sheet of music but from memory, and seemed to draw it from the depths of some awful bereavement of his own.
Charlotte looked at the widow and saw a smile touch her lips as she watched him play. It was a heartrending piece, and yet it did not draw tears from her so much as a calm gratitude. Perhaps she had already wept all she could. Or on the other hand, maybe she was still numbed from the shock of her loss, and its manner.
Lord Winthrop stood very pale-faced and seemed to be keeping his emotions in check with difficulty. Lady Winthrop tried and failed. The tears filled her eyes and spilled over. One or two women moved a little closer as if to protect her, or give her some kind of support by sheer physical nearness.
Thora Garrick, next to Charlotte, stood very straight, her face shining with pride as if it were a military funeral. He might have been playing the Last Post, rather than a lyrical lament in solo voice.
“He is very gifted,” Charlotte said when the last note died away. “He plays with true inspiration.”
“I admit I have never heard him play so well before,” Thora said with some surprise. “Although I suppose what I often hear is simply practice. But he was very close to poor Captain Winthrop. Oakley was so like his own dear father, who passed away in the line of duty several years ago.” Her voice was thick with emotion and her gaze was fixed far away.
“Poor Victor was only seventeen. It is terrible for a boy to grow up without a father, Mrs. Pitt.” She shook her head slightly, frowning. “A terrible thing. The power of example is so great, do you not think? And with all the devotion in the world, a mother cannot give that to a boy. The manliness, the honor, selfless dedication to duty, above all the self-mastery.”
Charlotte had not thought of it in that light. She had had no brothers, and her son, Daniel, was too young to think of such qualities.
Thora did not seem to require an answer. “Poor Oakley gave him that, as much as he could. He was always encouraging him, telling him stories of the navy, and of course he would have given him every assistance to obtain a commission, had Victor been willing.” A shadow of hurt and annoyance passed over her face.
“You must have been very fond of Captain Winthrop,” Charlotte murmured.
“Oh, indeed,” Thora said frankly. “I could hardly help it, he was so like my poor Samuel in all his qualities. A woman has to admire such men, don’t you think? And count herself fortunate to have obtained the esteem of two in her life. And Samuel was so devoted to us. I have to remind Victor of that, or I fear in time he will forget.”
In anyone else Charlotte might have taken Thora’s remarks to mean that her relationship with both men had been of a similar nature, but there was such fervid innocence in her eyes she could not believe it to be more than an idealistic admiration.
But did Mina Winthrop know that? Or was it conceivable she mistook this ardent emotion for love? Was she, beneath that cool, fragile exterior, a jealous woman? And what about her brother? Charlotte looked across the room searching for Bart Mitchell. It took only a moment to find him, standing alone almost in the shadows of one of the great pillars which supported a small minstrel gallery at the side of the room. His eyes were unwavering, and as well as she could judge, following the line of his vision, it was Thora Garrick at whom he was staring.
Was she mistaken in reading it as innocence? Had that heady admiration been too intoxicating for Captain Winthrop’s vanity to resist? And had Bart Mitchell seen it?
Her thoughts were interrupted by Thora Garrick touching her very lightly on the arm. “Now I must introduce you to Mina,” she said quietly in the flutter of applause as Victor ceased playing a second piece. “I am sure you will find her most charming. So totally unselfish, you know.”
And indeed Mina was very gracious, and seemed genuinely pleased to meet Charlotte in a less perfunctory fashion than their previous introduction. After only a few moments they were talking intently about furnishings and decor, a subject in which Mina seemed to have a considerable knowledge.
It was half an hour later, when they had partaken of the excellent food which loaded the heavy oak table and sideboard, that Charlotte rejoined Emily.
“Have you learned anything?” Emily asked immediately. “Of value, I mean.”
“I don’t think so,” Charlotte replied. “More a matter of impressions. I could not help liking Mina Winthrop.”
“Being likable, unfortunately, does not make one innocent,” Emily replied. “And some of the most insufferably tedious people, full of humbug, can be as pure as the day. At least of the crime in which one is interested. Of course they may indirectly have brought about all sorts of disasters …”
“I am not begging the issues of guilt and innocence,” Charlotte responded. “Fascinating though they are. And I know perfectly well that she might be guilty, at least vicariously, through a lover. Oakley Winthrop sounds the sort of man from whom one might well have needed a little relief. Something of a hero, according to Mrs. Garrick.” She moved aside to allow an elderly lady to pass, leaning heavily on her husband’s arm. “Her eyes shine when she mentions his name,” she continued. “Although always in conjunction with her dead husband and the fact that Captain Winthrop stood in for him where Victor is concerned. Doesn’t he play the cello beautifully? I can’t see him striding the quarterdeck shouting commands, can you?”
“If he commanded anything at all, I imagine it would be a musical quartet,” Emily replied. “I don’t think we have accomplished much.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Really, I find Mr. Uttley completely odious. He is so certain of himself. I wish I knew a nice juicy piece of scandal about him, something really delicious which people would laugh about and repeat to everyone else.”
“Well just don’t you be the one to do it,” Charlotte warned with alarm. “It will rebound on you!”
“I know. I know. But it is an awful shame. Now if it were Mr. Hurlwood, I know a lovely piece about him, although of course I have no idea if it is true!”
“Is that important? Since he is not running against Jack?”
