She came forward with her hands out, frowning a little.
“My dear Charlotte, you look very pale. Are you well, my dear?”
“Oh yes, thank you, Mrs. Prebble.” Then she thought she had better explain herself, if she looked anything like she felt. “A little tired perhaps. I didn’t sleep very well last night. Nothing to be concerned about. Please sit down?” she indicated the overstuffed chair. She knew it was comfortable.
Martha sat. “You must take care of yourself. You have been such a help to poor Mrs. Lessing. Don’t now wear yourself out.”
Charlotte forced a smile. “You should be the last person to offer such advice. You seem to be everywhere, helping everyone.” A thought occurred to her. “And now you are here alone! Did you walk through the streets alone? You really shouldn’t do that! I shall send Maddock back with you. It will be growing darker by the time you leave. It could be quite dangerous!”
“That is most kind of you, but I fear I cannot become accustomed to having an escort wherever I go.”
“Then you must stay at home, at least. . at least as long-”
Martha leaned forward, a faint smile on her strong face. “As long as what, my dear? Until the police catch this man? And how long do you imagine that will be? I cannot stop my parish work. There are many who need me. We are not all equally fortunate, you know. There are those who are alone, old, perhaps sick. Women whose husbands are dead or have abandoned them, women who have children to bring up without any help. The comfortable in the parish do not wish to know about them, but they are here.”
“In this area?” Charlotte was surprised. She thought everyone near Cater Street was at least satisfactorily placed, had the necessities of life, even a few comforts. She had never seen any poor, not that lived here.
“Oh, very respectable.” Martha’s eyes looked out of the window. “The poverty is underneath; the clothes are patched, sewed over and over. Perhaps there is only one pair of shoes, perhaps only one meal a day. Appearance, self-respect are everything.”
“Oh, how dreadful,” Charlotte did not mean it as tritely as it sounded. It was dreadful. It hurt. It was not like the grinding, starving poverty Inspector Pitt had told her about, but it was still painful, a constant, wearing pain. She had never in her life been hungry, or even had to wonder if something could be afforded. True, she had admired clothes she knew she could not have, but she had more than she could possibly claim to need.
“I’m sorry. Can I help?”
Martha smiled, putting her hand out to touch Charlotte’s knee.
“You are a very good girl, Charlotte. You take after your mother. I’m sure there will be things you can do, things you already have done. It is a great tragedy not all the young women in the parish conduct themselves as you do.”
She was interrupted by Dora bringing in tea. After Dora had gone, and Charlotte had poured and handed her her cup, she continued.
“There is so much lightmindedness, seeking one’s own pleasure.”
Charlotte reluctantly thought of Emily. Dearly as she loved her, she could not recall Emily ever having pursued any ends but her own.
“I’m afraid so,” she agreed. “Perhaps it is only lack of understanding?”
“Ignorance is something of an excuse, but not entirely. So often we do not look because if we looked we should feel obliged to do something.”
It was undeniably true, and it struck a note of guilt in Charlotte. Inadvertently she thought of Pitt. He had obliged her to see things she would have preferred not to, things that disturbed her, destroyed her peace of mind, her comfort. And she had disliked him intensely for it.
“I tried to make Verity see it the same way,” Martha was saying, her eyes on Charlotte’s face. “She had so many good qualities, poor Verity.”
“And I understand you knew Chloe fairly well, too.” The minute Charlotte had said it she wished she had not. It was a cruel reminder, a wakening of pain. She saw Martha’s face tighten and a spasm pass through the muscles round her mouth.
“Poor Chloe,” she said with a tone Charlotte could not understand. “So frivolous, so light. Laughing when she should not have. Pursuing society. I’m afraid there were sometimes sinful things on her mind, things of the-,” she caught her breath. “But let us not speak ill of the dead. She has paid for her sin and everything that was corrupting and corruptible in her is gone.”
Charlotte stared at her. The strong, fair face was full of confusion and unhappiness.
“Let us talk of something else,” Charlotte said firmly. “I have been copying out some recipes. I am sure you would be interested in at least one of them, because I remember Sarah saying you had enquired after a recipe for fricandeau of veal with spinach. I hear Mrs. Hilton has an extremely good cook? Or so Mrs. Dunphy was saying to Mama.”
“Yes, indeed. And so willing,” Martha agreed. “She does so much for church fetes and so forth, an excellent hand with pastry. It is not every cook who can make a good puff pastry, you know. Put their fingers in it too much. Light and quick, one needs to be. And also very clever with preserves and candied fruits. She was always sending her maid round with-” she stopped, her face pale, eyes distressed again.
Charlotte put out her hand instinctively.
“I know. Let us not think of it. We cannot alter it now. I’ll find you the recipe for the fricandeau.” She pulled her hand away quickly and stood up. Martha followed her and Charlotte moved round the other side of the table. She wanted the interview to end. It was embarrassing. She had handled it badly. She was deeply sorry for Martha, both particularly because of her distress for the dead girls, and generally because of her life with the vicar, a fate which right now seemed quite as bad as anything Pitt had spoken of.
“Here,” she held out a slip of paper. “I have already copied the fricandeau. I can easily do another one. Please? And I insist that Maddock walk home with you.”
“It’s not necessary.” Martha took the recipe without looking at it. “I assure you!”
“I refuse to permit you to leave my house alone,” Charlotte said firmly. She reached for the bell rope. “I should be guilty all evening. I should worry myself sick!”
And so Martha had no choice but to accept, and ten minutes later she took her departure with Maddock trailing dutifully behind.
Charlotte was not permitted to have a peaceful evening in which to sort out her chaotic feelings. Emily arrived home from visiting with the bombshell that she had invited Lord George Ashworth to dinner, and would be expecting him a little after seven o’clock.
Emily’s news drove the entire household into immediate panic. Only Grandmama seemed to derive any unalloyed pleasure from it. She was delighted to observe the frenzy, and gave a running monologue on the proper way to order a house in such a fashion that even an unexpected visit from royalty itself could be managed with dignity and at least an adequate table. Emily was too excited and Caroline too worried-and Charlotte too overwhelmed by her own problems to reply to her. It was eventually Sarah who told her sharply to hold her tongue, and thus sent Grandmama into a paroxysm of righteous rage so severe she had to go upstairs and lie down.
“Well done,” Charlotte said laconically. Sarah gave her the first real smile she had offered in weeks.
Everything was calm, at least on the surface, a full five minutes before George Ashworth arrived. They were all sitting in the withdrawing room, Emily dressed in rose pink which suited her very well, even if the extravagance of another new gown had not suited Papa. Sarah was dressed in green, also very becoming, and Charlotte in dull slate blue, a colour she had disliked until she caught sight of herself in the glass and saw how it flattered her eyes and the warm tones of her skin and hair.
She blushed uncomfortably when Ashworth bowed over her hand and his eyes lingered on her with approval. She disliked him, and thought him to be trifling with Emily. She replied to him formally with no more warmth than courtesy demanded.
Throughout the evening, however, she was obliged to revise her opinion to some extent. He behaved without appreciable fault; in fact, if he had not been in danger of hurting Emily, both publicly and privately, she could have quite sincerely liked him. He had wit and a certain outspokenness, although, no doubt, in his social position he could afford to say what he chose without fearing the consequences. He even flattered Grandmama, which was not difficult since she loved a handsome man, and loved a title even more.
Charlotte looked across and saw Emily’s face pucker in a little smile. Apparently she knew perfectly well what he was doing, and it suited her. Once again Charlotte’s anger rose. Damn the man for hurting Emily. She was a
