cape. They were colors which would have suited Charlotte perfectly. And none of these would be borrowed! She felt a prick of envy.
That was absurd! Who would want a queen’s ransom of clothes at the price of being married to a man like Ainsley Greville?
The boots and shoes were on the rack below the dresses and on shelves to one side. They were as she had thought, all earth colors and warm tones, nothing blue or with blue heels.
She did not know if she was relieved or not. That meant it was either Iona or Justine. She would like it to be Iona.
It was a grubby thing searching through other people’s bedrooms. They were so personal. It was the one place where you were most yourself, when your secrets and pretenses were taken away, where you let down your guard and allowed yourself to be vulnerable, naked in every sense, and asleep. Eudora’s room had a faint odor of lilies and something heavier, spicier. It must be a perfume she liked.
Charlotte went to the door and opened it, looking outside cautiously, which she realized was pointless as soon as she did it. If anyone saw the door move at all, they would see her. She had no possible excuse. There was nothing she could say to justify being in Eudora’s room.
There was no one there.
She slipped out just as Doll came around the corner. She looked prettier than Charlotte had seen her before, and for the first time she was smiling. Her head was high and she moved easily and lightly. Charlotte had no idea what had caused the change, but her start at being seen gave way immediately to a surge of happiness. If anyone in this house deserved a little joy, it was Doll.
“Afternoon, Mrs. Pitt,” Doll said cheerfully. “Can I help you? Do you need something?”
Charlotte was a long way from her own room, and she could hardly claim to be lost. She scrambled for a he which would be credible—and failed to find one.
“No, thank you,” she said simply, and then hurried past Doll towards the end of the corridor and the landing. It was a nuisance. She wanted to search Justine’s room, but Doll would still be around. They might be finishing luncheon, and Emily could not hold them indefinitely. Searching Eudora’s room had already taken some time, long enough for a complete course at least.
She could not afford to hesitate. She had better try Iona’s room.
She glanced around just to make sure there was no other servant in sight, then opened the door and went in. The floral curtains were drawn wide and the room was full of sunlight. Lorcan’s brushes and his personal effects like collar studs and cuff links were gone from the tallboy, but when she went across to the wardrobes his clothes were still hanging there, and his boots beneath. It was an unpleasant sensation, a reminder of the closeness of life and death. An instant and one was changed into the other. Yesterday morning he had been alive. He had been far braver, more selfless than she had imagined him. Now it was too late to get to know him or know anything of the man he had really been behind the rather brittle exterior and the passionate hatreds and ambitions behind which he had hidden his virtues. He had seemed so cold, and yet he could not have been.
How did Iona feel now? Was that part of the beginning of the end of her romance with Fergal Moynihan? And it did seem as if they were feeling a sudden chill, a realization of the differences between them which no amount of fascination could overcome.
She tried the next wardrobe. It held gowns, but not as many as she had expected. There were dark blues, dark greens, a rich, lush purple which she envied. They were dramatic colors, highly flattering to dark hair and blue eyes. Iona knew how to make the best of herself. From the shawls and blouses, she also knew how to make a relatively small wardrobe look much larger.
There were three pairs of boots, brown, black and fawn, and one pair of slippers, mid-green.
She closed the door and took another quick glance around. There was nothing else of interest. Her eye caught the waste-paper basket, a pretty thing of woven wicker with a flower motif on the side. There were pieces of torn paper in it. It was an appalling thing to do, but she went over and picked up two or three of them. She looked at them. It was inexcusable. They were part of a love letter from Fergal. There were only a few words, but it was unmistakable.
She dropped them again quickly, her face hot. Kezia was going to have a lot to be generous over, if she could find it in her. Perhaps Fergal would have learned something about infatuation, and about love and loss, and how easy it is to follow one’s desires, and need the compassion of those you have treated lightly, when your own time of loneliness and defeat comes.
Out on the landing there was nothing left but to go back to Justine’s room. Unless it was Kezia after all, it must be Justine.
She looked very carefully from left to right to see if Doll were still anywhere in sight, but thank heaven she was not.
Charlotte ran along the corridor and, after the very briefest rap on the door, threw it open and slipped inside, closing it behind her as quickly as she could.
It was smaller, prepared in haste for an unexpected guest. The dressing room was barely big enough for the wardrobes, dressing table, and small central table with a lace cloth and a low easy chair beside it, and a pleasant fireplace. She looked in the first wardrobe. There were several dresses, all of very good quality and apparently bought within the last year or two. The colors varied but were suitable for a young, unmarried woman. Justine might lack family; she certainly was not without funds. Her parents, or some other relative, had left her very well provided for.
She looked at the shoes and boots. They too were of very fine make and style. None were blue or had blue heels.
She could not stay there any longer. Anyone could leave the table for a dozen different reasons, and she would be caught here. She would look like a petty thief at worst, or at best an unpleasantly nosy woman who snooped through other people’s clothes and personal belongings.
On second thought, perhaps it was better simply to be thought a thief!
She went out into the corridor and had only just reached the landing when she saw Justine at the head of the stairs.
