“I don’t know. She was very distressed on the occasion they were seen together. It is possible.”
“What about the bus conductor?”
“No idea. There seems to be no reason for him, whoever it was.”
“He saw something,” Emily said reasonably. “From his omnibus.”
“It didn’t run anywhere near Hyde Park.”
“Oh.”
More people were arriving, among them a man of most distinguished appearance. He was in his middle years, with a handsome head, thick hair, graying at the temples, and a fine mustache. He was dressed immaculately in the latest cut of suit and silk shirt. He walked with shoulders back and a casual confidence which drew many people’s eyes towards him. Apparently he was accustomed to such attention, because it did not seem to cause him any concern, in fact he seemed hardly to be aware of it.
“Who is he?” Charlotte asked curiously. “Is he a cabinet minister, or something of that sort?”
“I don’t recognize him.” Pitt shook his head. Emily stifled a giggle with her black-gloved hand over her mouth.
“Don’t be absurd. It’s Sullivan.”
“Who is Sullivan?” Charlotte asked tartly.
“Sir Arthur Sullivan!” Emily hissed. “Gilbert and Sullivan!”
“Oh! Oh, I see. Yes of course. Mr. Arledge was a composer and conductor, wasn’t he? I wonder if Mr. Gilbert will come.”
“Oh no,” Emily replied quickly. “Not if he knows Sir Arthur is here. They’ve quarreled, you know.”
“Have they?” Charlotte was surprised and disappointed. “I didn’t know that. How on earth do they write such gorgeous operas together, then?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they don’t do it anymore.”
Charlotte felt unreasonably disappointed. She could still remember the color and excitement, the gaiety and irrepressible melody, of the few evenings she had spent at the Savoy Opera. Now just as Pitt was promoted and they might begin to afford such things more often, there were to be no more.
Her disappointment was interrupted by a second wave of interest from the rapidly expanding group by the church door. People moved aside, nudged each other and, without intending to, turned to stare.
“That’s him!” Emily said with unconcealed delight.
“Who? Gilbert?” Charlotte whispered back.
“Yes, of course. W. S. Gilbert,” Emily said urgently.
“Did they really quarrel?” Charlotte watched as Mr. Gilbert moved inexorably closer to where Sir Arthur Sullivan was standing at the top of the steps by the church door, apparently oblivious of new arrivals. “What about?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I heard.” Emily took Charlotte’s arm and propelled her closer to the church steps. “I am sure it is time we went in. It would be most inconsiderate to keep people waiting, don’t you think? And ridiculous, after having come here early, to enter the church late.”
Charlotte accepted without demur.
At the top of the steps Sir Arthur Sullivan became aware of a considerable stir in the crowd and turned to see W. S. Gilbert a few yards from him, mounting the stairs at a steady pace, talking to those on either side of him with earnestness, and they were listening with such apparently total attention that they did not look or slow their stride until it appeared as if they were going to bump into each other.
Sir Arthur stood his ground, continuing his own conversation as though it were the most important thing in the world.
Mr. Gilbert was forced to come to a halt on the top step.
“Sir, you are blocking the way,” he said clearly, his voice carrying to all the assembled people.
A hush fell over them. One by one they turned to stare. Someone cleared his throat nervously. Someone else giggled and instantly stifled it.
Sir Arthur stopped his conversation with a large man with white hair, and very slowly turned to face Gilbert.
“Are you addressing me, sir?”
Gilbert looked around carefully to see if there were anyone else in his immediate path, then faced Sir Arthur again.
“You have an excellent grasp of the obvious, sir,” he replied. “I see you have reduced the matter to its core in one leap of deduction. I am addressing you, sir. You are blocking the entrance to the church. Would you be so kind as to make way?”
“Can’t you abide your turn, sir, like a civilized man?” Sir Arthur’s eyebrows rose in an expression of disdain. “Must the whole of society stop its business and move aside so you may pass the instant you wish to?”
“I like a man with self-esteem, sir, but to regard yourself as the whole of society is to verge upon the ridiculous,” Gilbert replied.
Sir Arthur flushed a dull pink. The exchange had now made it impossible for him to move aside without losing face. He remained precisely where he was, right in Gilbert’s path.
It was Lady Lismore who saved the situation. She emerged from the shadow of the church doorway and
