“Any poets?”
“I believe that Mr Willibrand dabbles. But his stuff is actually rather good though he refuses to seek publication as he believes that the introduction of money into his work would lower the tone of his words and affect his relationship with his muse. To be honest, mama, it’s best not to mention that. He gets a little enthusiastic when he speaks of his muse, and it makes his wife feel strange.”
The gas lamps were turned down and many candles lit to give the dining room a mysterious air. The very best cut glass and the polished silver was all displayed to reflect and refract the light from the candles, sparkling in the shadows like jewels. There was one of Bell’s Graphophones in the corner, fully wound up and constantly attended to by one designated maid, filling the room with cheerful orchestral music from its turning wax cylinder. Grace found the thing rather crass but Adelia hushed her, pointing out that it was certainly cheaper than having to feed a string quartet for the night.
Everyone had arrived on time except for Octavia Dymchurch, who came in so late that Adelia had begun to wonder if she was going to turn up at all.
As soon as she had come in, walking slowly and serenely as if everyone else had got the time wrong, the dinner commenced, and the conversation was directed with admirable competence by Charlotte, once again proving her pre-eminence in the new social structures of the London ton. She had considered her seating arrangements very well, and Adelia enjoyed her companions on both sides. Indeed, there was nothing at all remarkable about the meal at all, and it all went along rather swimmingly.
But things changed when they retired to the drawing room. The seven ladies outnumbered the men and when they took themselves off there were a few alcohol-fuelled ribald comments from the others which they all tried to ignore while giggling anyway. They got themselves comfortable on various chairs in the drawing room, falling naturally into a circle around the fire, adjusting the screens to keep the worst of the heat off their faces and delicate dress fabrics. Mrs Willibrand dominated, talking loudly about an indiscretion which a rather famous writer had committed with a married woman who was also something of a literary firebrand herself. She was doggedly penning pamphlets that were constantly being seized by the police due to their subject matter, which was the shocking discussion of reproduction and how women might be happier in their married life if certain things changed in the bedroom. Adelia watched Mrs Dymchurch, who kept her face passively calm, not showing any awkwardness at the gossip of other people’s affairs. Yet surely it must have reminded her that she, too, was the object of similar gossip.
The men joined them very quickly and the atmosphere changed again. The circle around the fire was broken up as people began to mingle, walking around the room to admire the ornaments, chatting in little knots, hunting out more drink, and altogether enjoying the general ebb and flow of a very small party.
It quickly became a game of cat and mouse.
Adelia was momentarily alone, standing by the bookcase, when Octavia Dymchurch seized her chance and approached. Adelia didn’t want to be grilled by her again; she was wary of Mrs Dymchurch’s need to find out if she were under suspicion, so she cast around, looking for someone else to bring into the conversation. She spotted Charlotte not too far away, walking towards a manservant with a tray of drinks, so she put up her hand as if to hail her daughter and headed to intercept her.
But Charlotte must have grown tired of her mother’s games throughout the day, for she turned her head away as if she hadn’t seen Adelia, and walked on even more briskly, slipping behind one of the other guests to cut off Adelia’s attack.
“I say, Lady Calaway...” called Mrs Dymchurch from behind her.
Adelia had no choice but to turn and smile. It was awfully difficult to evade someone politely in such a small gathering, though Charlotte was clearly an adept. “Mrs Dymchurch, how delightful to see you again. Have you already been introduced to Mrs Heape? Please do come with me – Mrs Heape!”
“Yes, of course, we have met many times and...”
“Mrs Heape, Mrs Dymchurch. Oh, you do know one another,” Adelia burbled, perfectly aware of their previous connection but acting innocent of the whole thing. “How marvellous. I have to say, Mrs Heape, that your necklace is perfectly exquisite.”
“Thank you...”
Mrs Dymchurch said, in a lower voice, “Lady Calaway, might I have a word?”
“Oh! This is not my house! Any queries or comments about the evening ought to be directed to my daughter.”
“No, I don’t think...”
“I’ll go and fetch her now.”
“No, it’s not...”
“Don’t worry! It’s no bother at all!” Adelia strode away, smiling with a fixed expression, wondering how bonkers she looked. She still could not get close to Charlotte so she seized hold of Theodore and whispered in his ear, “Do not leave me alone for one more second.”
“How marvellous. I feel like a perfect knight-protector.”
“The injured knight, how wonderfully Arthurian. Listen. Nothing is going to plan. I had wanted to pursue Mrs Dymchurch but instead she is set upon pursuing me, which will not do. I know that she knows I want to ask her questions; she knows that I know that she is under suspicion. We are at a stalemate. Furthermore, I had been plagued Charlotte by all day for an audience and I escaped from her but now she has turned the tables at exactly the wrong time when I want to speak with her. Whatever are we to do?”
“It is Christmas. Give up your games. I cannot understand it at all. Let us eat, drink and be merry.”
“For tomorrow...?”
“Well, tomorrow we shall stay in
