“ACTUALLY, IT’S NOT bad at all,” Adelia said later as she stood in front of the portrait that was attributed to the enigmatic “Lord H”. It was a large piece in oils, and depicted a beautiful young woman in some kind of white robe which was probably supposed to be Roman though Adelia did doubt that the average Roman lady could have gone about her daily business with so much drapery flapping about. It would be endlessly snagging on things and getting trapped in doors. Still, if all one did was recline prettily on couches, it did at least hint at a semblance of modesty, as long as there wasn’t a draught to lift the edges of the fabric.
Charlotte was alongside her. She was watering her wine, Adelia noted with surprise but admiration. That said, watered wine on top of three sherries wasn’t going to drag her daughter back into sober waters any time soon. “I suppose it’s all right,” Charlotte replied, but she wasn’t looking at the painting. “That model gets about a bit. Sally Spencer, I believe.”
“What do you think to Lady Purfleet? Are you of the same mind as your grandmamma?”
“Lady Purfleet is ... good heavens, mama, how can I describe her?” Charlotte shook her head. “Unobtainable and I barely dare speak with her. I think that I admire her. She ...” But she tailed off, still looking around the room.
Adelia continued to gaze at the woman on the canvas. She had skin made warmly olive by a great deal of sun, and pale green eyes that creased slightly at the corners, hinting at a smile. She was striking. Adelia said, “Artists might be a dissolute bunch, on the whole, but they cannot be all bad if they can depict such beauty as this. And you know her, do you?”
Charlotte snorted. “Oh, mama.”
“Oh, mama, what? What is distracting you? Who are you looking for?”
“No one,” Charlotte replied, quite obviously still scanning the crowd in the drawing room. “As for Sally Spencer, I merely know of her.”
They were in a large room with two circular gaming tables set up at one end. Someone was picking out a slightly bawdy tune on a piano until Lady Purfleet stepped in to stop that. There was raucous laughter from a huddle of younger people in one corner, away from the card games. The assembly of thirty guests was nearly doubled again by the profusion of liveried servants on hand at every turn.
“Are you admiring the decorations, then? I admit it’s all very tasteful,” Adelia said.
“I think it’s plain and dowdy and that surprises me, if I am honest. It wouldn’t hurt Lady Purfleet to hang a little more sparkle here and there. Tastes have moved on.” Charlotte spoke distractedly and her sentence tailed off. She gulped in a little intake of breath. “Ah! Oh. Oh, him.”
“Who? Who makes you sound so afraid?” Adelia followed the direction of her daughter’s gaze. She was looking at Robert who was talking to another man.
“I am not afraid,” Charlotte said sharply. Too sharply.
“That’s Mr Nettles, is it not? He has an auction house. I seem to recollect that he deals in fine art for the very wealthiest of collectors.”
“Mr Digby Nettles,” Charlotte repeated, speaking each word slowly and with disgust in her voice. “Oh, I do wish he weren’t talking to Robert. We’ve had enough of him and his ... influence. Can we go over and cause a diversion or distraction, break up that little tête-a-tête? I say we. I mean you, mama. Go and save him, please!”
“Charlotte, whatever is the matter?”
“Mama, you must – oh. No, the danger is passed. Look, he is going away. Good riddance.” As they watched, Digby Nettles turned and walked slowly away from Robert, whose shoulders sagged as if in defeat.
“Charlotte, what on earth is all this about?”
Charlotte chewed her lip. She was very pale.
“Charlotte, if you do not tell me, I shall go over there and speak to Mr Nettles myself. He seems to be an interesting chap. Look, he’s heading for your papa, in fact.”
It was true. Digby Nettles was now heading towards Theodore, who greeted him warmly. Mr Nettles sat down and was hidden from view.
That broke the spell that seemed to hang over Charlotte. She grabbed hold of Adelia’s wrist, and brought herself very close to her mother. “Mama,” she whispered in a broken voice. “I fear we have made a most terrible mistake.”
Two
Theodore had little interest in playing cards but he had seated himself in a comfortable gentleman’s armchair near to one of the gaming tables. He had a glass of brandy in his hand and he felt uncharacteristically convivial. He was not known for his love of company and parties, and in his heart of hearts, he had been dismayed at first when Adelia had told him that they had been invited to spend Christmas in London.
Yet he was ready to admit that he was enjoying himself, at least so far. The year had been a trying one, and he had faced rather more danger than any man in his stage of life was quite comfortable with. He enjoyed his burgeoning career as a detective to the upper classes, of course, but many of the cases had involved threats to his nearest and dearest. The additional strain of the emotional toll was a little much. He longed for a good old-fashioned murder that would involve someone else’s family being harmed for a change. Then he caught his train of thought, and stopped it, shaking his head at himself. What was he doing, wishing for a stranger to be killed just to amuse his intellect! He would not tell Adelia of these idle thoughts.
He was a little concerned about Adelia, in truth. Since the last investigation, she had seemed flatter somehow. It was natural, of course, to have something of
