Eudora’s need for comfort was real, and Pitt was responding to it as he always did. It was part of the reason Charlotte loved him so much. Were he to lose that quality it would be as if a coldness had entered her life, a darkness that would shadow everything and take the heart from the happiness she possessed.
Pitt needed to give, to support and help and protect. Charlotte sat on the settle and looked across the dust- clouded hall and saw Pitt’s concern as he looked at Eudora. It was so much of what was best in him. And yet she wished it was she he was comforting, not Eudora. But he did not see Charlotte as in need of him. And in truth she was not. Wanting was different.
Should she pretend to need? Would he be happier, love her more, if she pretended to be more fragile, more dependent than she was? Was she pushing him away by her independence? Was Eudora weaker or only cleverer— and more lovable?
But it was dishonest to pretend. Would Pitt not hate her if she affected to need him when she really could have managed and been useful, instead of an additional burden to him?
Perhaps she could do both if she were only a little subtler? Emily always seemed to manage it … which was a humbling thought.
But she had to be herself, at least for the time being. She was too uncertain to try anything else yet. If she could only help solve this wretched crime, then things could return to something like normal. Eudora Greville would go away. Pitt would have helped her, and that would be the end of her need of him.
Charlotte wished there was someone she could talk to, but Emily had walked past her without even seeming to see her. She had no time to give attention to Charlotte or be bothered with her emotions. All her thoughts were centered on Jack. In her place Charlotte would have been the same.
No one was threatening Pitt’s life, but this miserable failure would not help his career. He would be held responsible for not preventing Greville’s death. Never mind that nobody could have. No policeman in the world, no matter how brilliant, would have followed Greville into the bath to stop someone from coming in and drowning him. It was hopelessly unfair!
She wished Great-Aunt Vespasia were there. But of course she was in London.
Pitt had been to London yesterday on the train. There was no reason why she should not go on the train today. She stood up and walked towards the library and the telephone.
9
H
“Now?” he said incredulously.
“Yes. There are things with which I think she may be able to help.” She could not tell him what. If he pressed her, she would have to invent something.
“What about Emily?” he argued. “She needs you here. She’s terrified for Jack. And with reason.” He stopped suddenly. “I think you should be here.”
“I’ll come straight back.” She would not be persuaded out of it. The scene with Eudora was sharp in her mind. If she were going to fight, she needed to talk with someone first, and Vespasia was the only person who might understand. She felt just as vulnerable as Eudora or Emily, although for entirely different reasons. “I won’t be long,” she promised, then kissed him quickly on the cheek and turned and left.
Emily was occupied, which was excellent. Charlotte left a message with Gwen. Then, after having spoken briefly to Gracie, she requested Emily’s second-best carriage to take her to the railway station for the next train. At the station she made enquiries as to the hour of the return trains in the evening and arranged to have the carriage meet her from the one which arrived in Ashworth at three minutes before ten.
* * *
“Well, my dear,” Vespasia said with interest, regarding her carefully. Charlotte was very smart in her deep hunting green traveling suit and cape with fur trim, borrowed from Emily. Although the chill wind had stung some color into her cheeks, Vespasia was quite capable of seeing the anxiety beneath the surface well-being.
“How are you, Aunt Vespasia?” Charlotte enquired, going forward into the withdrawing room with its warm, delicate colors and old-fashioned, almost Georgian lines. There was far more light in it, more simplicity, than the modern design fashionable ever since the Queen came to the throne fifty-three years before.
“I am as well as I was when you spoke to me on the telephone this morning,” Vespasia replied. “Sit down and warm yourself. Daisy can bring us tea, and you can tell me what concerns you so much you are prepared to leave Ashworth Hall and return to London for a day.” Her eyes narrowed a little and she regarded Charlotte with some gravity. “You do not look at all yourself. I can see that something exceedingly unpleasant has happened. You had better tell me about it.”
Charlotte realized she was still trembling very slightly at the memory of it, even though she had exercised her mind on other things for the entire duration of the journey on the train, but the effort had been immense. Now it was all as vivid as the moment after it happened. She even found her voice a little high.
“Someone exploded a bomb at Ashworth Hall this morning, in Jack’s study ….”
Vespasia went very pale.
“Oh, my dear, how dreadful!”
Charlotte should have been more thoughtful. She should never have told Vespasia like this. She clasped her quickly.
“It’s all right! Jack isn’t hurt! He wasn’t there at the time.”
“Thank you,” Vespasia said with some dignity. “You may let go of me, my dear. I am not going to faint. I presume if Jack were hurt, you would have told me so immediately and not in this roundabout fashion. Was anyone else injured? Who was it who did such a fearful thing, and why?”
“Someone was killed, an Irishman named Lorcan McGinley.” She took a deep breath, steadying herself with an
