As it turned out, fate played directly into Emily’s hands. Three days later she changed her earlier decision to decline, and instead accompanied Jack to a formal party with several other people in Government. Previously she said she would not go, afraid that she would appear clinging and a trifle possessive. Now her purpose regarding Ailsa changed everything. She was determined to support Jack not just tacitly, but positively, and oblige him to be aware of her and happy that she was present.
She dressed carefully in her favourite shade: palish green, more delicate than the earliest leaves, and known as ‘waters of the Nile’, but in the far more sophisticated French ‘
She was satisfied as she swept down the stairs towards Jack, who was waiting for her at the bottom, that she had achieved the result she wished. He said nothing, but his eyes widened and he gave a little sigh of satisfaction. So far, she was succeeding.
The effect of her entrance at the party was also gratifying. However, it took only a few minutes to realise that she certainly had no monopoly on beauty or attention. Moments later Ailsa Kynaston arrived, sufficiently late to be sure of everyone being aware of her, but not enough to be discourteous.
She was dressed in cream and gold. It was a daring combination for a woman of such pale colouring, but she carried it superbly, with a confidence that challenged anyone to find fault with her.
However, what took Emily’s attention was the fact that she was on the arm of Edom Talbot, whom she knew to be one of the men closest to the Prime Minister, even though he held no specific government position. But Emily knew from Charlotte that Talbot had taken a dislike to Pitt, and made his investigation of the Kynaston affair more difficult than it needed to have been. Or perhaps it was not Talbot’s intention, rather his necessity, because of the sensitivity of Kynaston’s position with the navy.
Looking at him very carefully now, Emily saw a man striking in appearance because of his height and casual strength. He carried himself as if he had tested and proved his physical superiority many times. There was a kind of unspoken arrogance in his posture, slightly intimidating.
Did Ailsa find that pleasing? To Emily it seemed slightly ill-bred. A gentleman did not ever intentionally make others feel uncomfortable, and to threaten, however tacitly, would do that.
Some women found dangerous men attractive. Emily considered their taste, conversely, to be a sign of some kind of inner weakness. And weakness was dangerous. It was those aware of their own disadvantage who attacked.
Someone spoke to her and she made a light and meaningless reply, smiling with the charm she had always known how to use.
Jack said something to her that she did not hear. She was busy watching Edom Talbot and Ailsa Kynaston, studying the way they moved together, who spoke and who listened, how often they met each other’s eyes, or smiled. Who was leading?
At first it seemed to be Talbot. He knew more people, and introduced them to her. She was gracious, but not eager. Nothing in their conversation was so very interesting. He clearly admired her striking appearance, but then so did at least half the men in the room, and the women both envied and resented it.
Emily had not been paying attention to her own duties. She gave Jack a dazzling smile and joined in the conversation.
It was over half an hour before she could watch Ailsa and Talbot again. Now she was leaning towards him, smiling. Then she spoke to someone else, the moment after back to Talbot. He did not take his eyes from her, almost as if he could not. She was flirting with him, but so subtly only Emily, an expert at such things herself, was aware of it. Others walked by, made some passing observation, smiled, laughed, and moved on.
Talbot put his hand on Ailsa’s arm, high, near the shoulder, as if to pull her a little closer to him. It was an oddly proprietorial gesture, almost intimate. Her face was turned away from him as she had been speaking momentarily to someone else. Emily saw the flash of more than distaste, it was almost hatred. Then deliberately she allowed herself to be drawn towards him before finding an excuse to move in a different direction.
Was she holding back through the memory of Bennett, the lost husband she could never forget? Or something else entirely? Perhaps something she knew of Dudley Kynaston and the adopted family whose loyalty to her she was repaying with a kind of protection now?
But protection from what? Could it be the same knowledge that Kitty Ryder had run away from? Or was killed for?
Perhaps Emily had been completely wrong in her estimation of Ailsa. That was something she had to find out. She must force herself to know her better, in spite of her instinctive dislike of her. Emily knew scores of people, perhaps hundreds. At least two or three of them must know Ailsa. She would begin looking for the best way forward tomorrow.
Chapter Ten
‘You bring ’er back ’ere by ’alf-past five, you ’ear me, young man? I don’t care ’oo you are, special police or not,’ the cook said fiercely, staring at Stoker as if he were an errant bootboy.
Stoker smiled, but Maisie got the answer in before he could speak.
‘Yes, Cook. Mr Stoker’s a Special Branch policeman. ’E wouldn’t never do nothing wrong.’ She lifted her chin up even higher and met Cook’s eyes directly, something she would not normally dare to do. But today she was in her best dress, the only one that she never used for work. The footman had polished her boots for her until the cat could see its face reflected in them. Mrs Kynaston’s new lady’s maid had put her hair up so that it was tidy, even at the back where she couldn’t see it herself. She was going out to tea with Mr Stoker, to be asked some important questions, so important they couldn’t be asked where other people might overhear them.
Stoker became serious again. ‘We shall have tea, and then I shall bring her back,’ he promised.
Cook gave Maisie a stern warning. ‘You be’ave, Maisie. Don’t you go gettin’ ideas above yourself or givin’ no cheek, you understand? And if you go repeating gossip what’s none o’ your business, you’ll find yourself out on the street with no place. You watch your tongue, and that imagination o’ yours.’
‘Yes, Cook. I won’t say nothin’ at all but the truth.’ Then, without waiting for the Cook to add anything more, she turned and walked away, her chin high, her back as straight as if she had been carrying books on her head.
Suddenly Stoker wished he had had a daughter. An old love of his had wanted to marry and settle down. She had been pretty, with dark eyes like this odd little scullery maid’s. Stoker had been frightened by the idea of such responsibility. He had hesitated too long. By the time he had come back from the voyage Mary had found someone else. It had hurt for a long time.
He caught up with Maisie and they walked together, he being careful not to outpace her. They went down Shooters Hill Road towards Blackheath until they came to the tea shop, where he had already reserved a table for them.
‘This yours, then?’ she asked as he pulled out the chair and she sat down, more than a little self-consciously arranging her skirts.
‘For now it is,’ he told her. ‘Would you like tea? And some cakes?’
She was too impressed to speak as the waitress stood ready to take their order. She had never been waited on before, or called ‘Miss’.
‘Tea for two, and your best cakes, please,’ Stoker requested. He was loath to admit it, but he was enjoying himself. But time was short, and he had a lot to ask her. He could not afford to wait until they began tea.
‘We found a hat up at the gravel pit we thought was Kitty’s,’ he began. ‘But then we learned that it wasn’t. Some stupid man put it there on purpose, just to get himself noticed.’
Maisie frowned. ‘That’s wicked. ’E just wanted ter make us all scared and sad, so’s ’e’d be talked about? Is ’e daft, or summink?’
‘I’d say so. But we found the receipt for the hat, and for the red feather, so we know it wasn’t hers.’
Her eyes were bright. ‘So mebbe she in’t dead, then?’
