compassion for the poor and the dispossessed, which she could not help but admire.
When they arrived, the crowds were already beginning to gather, and they were obliged to find their seats if they wished to be well placed toward the front. Charlotte was pleased to do so, in order to be as far from Narraway as possible, so no one might think they were with each other—except McDaid, of course, and she had to trust in his discretion.
The other ladies were dressed very fashionably, and in the bronze-and-black-striped blouse she felt the equal of any of them. It still gave her a twinge of guilt that Narraway had paid for it, and she had no idea what words she would use to explain it to Pitt. But for the moment she indulged the pleasure of seeing both men and women glance at her, then look a second time with appreciation, or envy. She smiled a little, not too much, in case it looked like self-satisfaction, just enough to lift the corners of her mouth into a pleasant expression and return the nods of greeting from those she had met before.
She chose a chair, then sat as straight-backed as she could and affected an interest in the arrangements of the seats where the musicians were to play.
She noticed Dolina Pearse and only just avoided meeting her eyes. Next to her, Talulla Lawless was discreetly surveying the room, apparently looking for someone. Charlotte tried to follow her direction, and felt her breath catch in her throat as she saw Narraway arrive. The light was bright for a moment on the silver at his temples as he leaned forward to listen to someone. Talulla stiffened, her face set rigid. Then she smiled and turned back to the man beside her. It was a moment before Charlotte recognized him as Phelim O’Conor. He moved away and took his seat, and Talulla returned to hers.
The master of ceremonies appeared, and the babble of talk died away. The performance had begun.
For just over an hour they sat absorbed in the sound and the emotion of the music. It had a sweetness and a lilt that made Charlotte smile, and it was no effort at all to appear as if she were totally happy.
But the moment it ceased and the applause was finished, her mind returned to the reason she was here—and, more urgently, why Narraway was. She remembered the look on Talulla’s face. Perhaps the greatest purpose Charlotte would serve would not be anything to do with Cormac O’Neil, but to support Narraway if Talulla should begin to create a scene.
Giving McDaid no more than a quick smile, she rose to her feet and headed for Talulla, trying to think of something reasonable to say, true or not. She reached her just as Talulla turned to walk away, and only just managed to save her balance. She looked instantly amazed.
“Oh, I am sorry,” Charlotte apologized, although actually it had been Talulla who had nearly bumped into her. “I am afraid my enthusiasm rather got the better of me.”
“Enthusiasm?” Talulla said coldly, her face reflecting complete disbelief.
“For the harpist,” Charlotte said quickly. “I have never heard more delightful music.” She was fishing desperately for anything to say.
“Then don’t let me stop you from speaking to her,” Talulla retorted. “I’m sure you’ll find her agreeable.”
“Do you know her?” Charlotte asked eagerly.
“Only by repute, and I shouldn’t wish to trouble her,” Talulla responded sharply. “There must be so many people eager to speak with her.”
“I would be so grateful if you would introduce me,” Charlotte asked, ignoring the rebuff.
“I’m afraid I cannot help you,” Talulla was making it impossible to conceal her impatience. “I am not acquainted with her. Now, if you don’t—”
“Oh!” Charlotte assumed an expression of dismay. “But you said she was most agreeable.” She made it a challenge, not daring to look toward where she had seen Narraway talking to Ardal Barralet.
“It was the polite thing to say,” Talulla snapped. “Now really, Mrs. Pitt, there is someone I wish to speak to, and I must hurry or he may leave. Excuse me.” And she all but pushed Charlotte out of the way, obliging her to step aside.
Charlotte could see Narraway still talking to Barralet at the far end of the room. Talulla was heading directly toward them. Charlotte went after her, but several steps behind. They were halfway down the aisle between the chairs when Talulla stopped abruptly.
Then Charlotte saw why. A little knot of people had gathered around where Narraway had turned from Ardal Barralet and was facing Cormac O’Neil across a short open space of floor. Phelim O’Conor was looking from one to the other of them and Bridget Tyrone was just to his right.
For seconds they stood frozen. Then Cormac drew in his breath. “I never thought you’d dare show your face in Ireland again,” he said between his teeth, staring at Narraway. “Who’ve you come back to betray this time? Mulhare is dead, or didn’t you know that?” The hatred trembled in his voice; his whole body shook and his words were slurred.
A ripple of emotion ran through the gathering crowd like the passage of a storm through a field of barley.
“Yes, I know Mulhare is dead,” Narraway replied, not moving backward despite Cormac’s closeness to him. “Someone embezzled the money he should have had so he could go abroad and start a new life.”
“Someone?” Cormac sneered. “And I suppose you have no idea who?”
“I hadn’t,” Narraway answered, still not moving, although Cormac was within two feet of him now. “I’m beginning to find out.”
Cormac rolled his eyes. “If I didn’t know you, I’d believe that. You stole the money yourself. You betrayed Mulhare just as you betrayed all of us.”
Narraway was white-faced, eyes brilliant. “It was a war, Cormac. You lost, that’s all—”
“All!” Cormac’s face was now contorted with hate. “I lost my brother, and my sister-in-law, and my country, and you stand here and say
There was a mutter from everyone around the group closest to him. Charlotte winced. She knew what Narraway meant, but he was rattled and being clumsy. He knew they were against him, and he could prove nothing. He had no backing from London now; he was alone, and losing.
