Emily contrived to look puzzled, although inside herself she was seething with alarm. “I cannot imagine why anyone should show themselves in society in such a garb.”
“At the Gaiety Theatre,” Lady Malmsbury said. “Really most peculiar.”
“Most indeed,” Emily agreed. She had nothing left to lose now, so she said exactly what came into her mind. “I hope you had a thoroughly enjoyable evening beforehand? A good dinner—an excellent dinner?” She lifted her eyebrows. “And convivial …” She pronounced the word carefully, and looked at Lady Malmsbury with an unwavering gaze.
Another tide of color swept up Lady Malmsbury’s face. The suggestion was delicate, but not so subtle that she had missed it. “Pleasant, but not indulgent,” she said between her teeth.
Emily smiled as if she did not believe a word.
“So nice to have seen you, Lady Malmsbury, and looking so … robust.”
Lady Malmsbury let out her breath sharply, searched for something to say that was equally cutting, failed to find it, and swirled away in a rustle of black-and-green taffeta.
Emily had won the verbal victory, but she was nevertheless seriously worried. She did not doubt for an instant that it had been Caroline whom Lady Malmsbury had seen, dressed bizarrely and in the company of Joshua Fielding and his friends. She was going to have to do something about it, but for the time being it eluded her as to what.
For the moment she must be charming and give everyone the impression she had not a worry in the world, except how best to be a help and support to Jack while he won his parliamentary seat, even though she was not at all sure that he would win. The Tories were strongly supported in the area, Jack was very new to politics, and Nigel Uttley had many friends with power and, no doubt at all, the secret and pervasive help of the Inner Circle.
She assumed an expression of intelligent interest and sailed forth to do battle.
The following day she prepared for conflict of a completely different kind. There was no need to dress especially, this time; the armament was entirely mental and emotional. Accordingly she was in a very casual spotted muslin gown when she alighted from her carriage and presented herself at her mother’s front door in Cater Street.
“Good morning, Maddock,” she said briskly when the butler answered. She had known him since childhood and stood on no formalities with him. “Is Mama in? Good. I wish to see her.”
“I am afraid she is not down yet, Miss Emily.” Maddock did not refuse to let her in, but he effectively blocked her way to the foot of the stairs.
“Then perhaps you would tell her I am here and ask if I may come up?” Then a sudden and totally appalling thought seized her. Caroline must be alone! Surely? She could not have so far lost her wits as to—Oh, dear Heaven. Emily was cold all through, and her legs were weak.
“Are you all right, Miss Emily?” Maddock said with some concern. “May I bring you a little tea? Or a cool lemonade, perhaps?”
“No. No thank you, Maddock.” She took a deep breath. This must be faced, whatever the truth. “Just tell Mama I wish to see her urgently.”
“Is anything wrong, Miss Emily?”
“That remains to be seen. But yes, I fear there is at least one problem.”
“Very well, if you care to be seated, I shall tell Mrs. Ellison you are here.” And without further argument he went up the stairs and disappeared around the corner of the landing.
It seemed like a quite wretched age while Emily paced the hall waiting for him to return. Could Caroline really be having a full-blown affair with Joshua Fielding? It did not bear thinking of. She must have taken total leave of her wits. That was it. Papa’s death had driven her mad. It was the only answer. Dependable, predictable, ordinary Mama had become unhinged.
“Miss Emily.”
“Oh …” She whirled around.
Maddock had come down the stairs and she had not even heard him.
“Mrs. Ellison will see you, if you care to go up to the bedroom,” Maddock said calmly.
“Thank you.” Emily picked up her skirts by the fistful in hasty and unladylike manner and raced up the stairs, clattering her heels on the wood, whirled around the corner at the top of the landing, and with hardly a knock flung open the door to her mother’s bedroom.
Then she stopped abruptly. It was all quite different. The old, sober coffee and cream tones were gone, as was the dark wood furniture. In its place was a riot of pinks and wines and peaches mixed together in florals, a brass bedstead with gleaming knobs and pale furniture made of who knew what. The room looked twice the size, and as if it had been bodily transported out of the house and set up in the middle of a garden. As if the rose floral curtains and bedspread and canopy were not enough, there was a huge crystal bowl full of roses on the dressing table, and since it was still only early May, they must have been grown in someone’s hothouse.
Caroline was sitting up in bed in an apricot silk peignoir, her hair trailing over her shoulders, and looking very happy indeed.
“Do you like it?” she asked, regarding Emily’s startled face.
Emily was horrified at the utter change, the unfamiliarity of it, but honesty compelled her to admit that she did find it pleasing. “It’s—it’s lovely,” she said reluctantly. “But why? And it must have cost—I don’t know—a fortune.”
“Not really,” Caroline said with a smile. “But anyway, I spend a great deal of time in here, probably almost half my life.”
“Asleep,” Emily protested with a sinking horror in her stomach.
“All the same, I like it like this.” Caroline looked around with obvious happiness. “It is my room. I’ve always wanted one full of flowers. And it feels warm, even in the middle of winter.”
