unjust. She was such a child, so innocent. She did not even know how to flirt! Why her, of all people?” Her eyelids lowered slightly over her wide, cool eyes, and she did not quite look at Selena, but some minute gesture of her shoulder, an arch in her body, seemed addressed to her. “There are other people so-so much more-likely!”
Charlotte stared at her. The hatred between the two women was so tangible she could not believe Paul Alaric was unaware of it. He stood elegantly, with a slight smile, and made some innocuous answer, but surely he must feel as uncomfortable as she did? Or did he enjoy it? Was he flattered, excited to be fought over? The thought hurt her; she wanted him to be above such a demeaning vanity, to be embarrassed by it, as she was.
Then another thought occurred to her as Jessamyn’s words sank in, “… other people so much more likely.” That was a dig at Selena, of course, but could it have been precisely Fanny’s innocence that had attracted the rapist? Perhaps he was tired and bored with sophisticated women who were only too available. He wanted a virgin, frightened and unwilling, so he could dominate her. Maybe that was what excited, sent his blood racing, the touch and the smell of terror!
It was an ugly thought, but then the intimate violence in the dark, the humiliation, the symbolic, stabbing knife, the blood, the pain, life gushing away-they were all ugly. She shut her eyes. Please, dear God, it had nothing to do with Emily! Don’t let George be anything worse than easygoing, a little foolish, a little vain!
They were talking across her, and she had not heard them. She was conscious only of the prickling hostility and of Alaric’s elegant black head as he half listened to one, then the other. Somehow it seemed to Charlotte as if his eyes were on her, and there was an understanding in them which was uncomfortable and at the same time stirring.
Emily found her again. She was looking very tired, and Charlotte thought she had already been standing too long. She was about to make some suggestion of returning home when she saw, behind Emily, Hallam Cayley, the only man she had observed to be moved by Fanny’s death beyond the usual trappings of observance. He was facing toward Jessamyn, but his expression was vacant, as if he were unaware of her. Indeed, the whole room, with its shafts of sunlight under the half drawn blinds, its glittering table spread with the debris of food, its clusters of murmuring figures in black, seemed to make no impression on his senses at all.
Jessamyn caught sight of him. Her face changed, the full lower lip came forward and the skin tightened fractionally across her cheeks. For a moment it was frozen. Then Selena spoke to Alaric, smiling, and Jessamyn turned back.
Charlotte looked at Emily.
“Haven’t we paid all respects necessary now? I mean, surely we could decently go home? The heat in here is oppressive, and you must be tired.”
“Do I look it?” Emily asked.
Charlotte lied immediately and without thought.
“Not at all, but surely better to leave before we do. I know I feel it!”
“I expected you would be enjoying yourself, trying to solve the mystery.” There was a faint cutting edge in Emily’s voice. Indeed, she was tired. The skin under her eyes looked papery.
Charlotte pretended not to notice.
“I don’t think I have learned a thing, except what you had already told me-that Jessamyn and Selena hate each other over Monsieur Alaric, that Lord Dilbridge has very liberal tastes, and Lady Dilbridge enjoys being put upon because of them. And that none of the Nashes are very pleasant. Oh, and that Algernon is behaving himself with great dignity.”
“Did I tell you all that?” Emily smiled faintly. “I thought it was Aunt Vespasia. But I suppose we may as well go home. I admit, I have had enough. I find myself much more affected by it than I had thought to be. I didn’t care much for Fanny when she was alive, but now I can’t help thinking of her. This is her funeral, and do you know, hardly anybody has really spoken of her!”
It was a sad and pathetic observation; yet it was true. They had spoken of the effect of her death, its manner and their own feelings, but no one had spoken of Fanny herself. Lost, and a little sick, Charlotte followed Emily to where George was half waiting for them. He, too, seemed eager to leave. Aunt Vespasia was deep in conversation with a man about her own age, and since it was only a few hundred yards, they left her to come when she chose.
They found Afton and Phoebe in desultory expression of mutual sympathies with Algernon. They all three stopped as George approached.
“Leaving?” Afton enquired. His eyes flickered over Emily and then Charlotte.
Charlotte felt her stomach curl up and instantly longed to be outside. She must control herself and leave with courtesy. After all, the man must be under great strain.
George was muttering something to Phoebe, a ritual politeness about the hospitality.
“How kind of you,” she replied automatically, her voice high and tight. Charlotte saw that her hands were clenched across the billows of her skirt.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Afton snapped. “A few are here out of courtesy, but most are no more than inquisitive. Rape is a better scandal than mere adultery any day. Besides, adultery has become so common that, unless there is something ludicrous attached to it, it is hardly worth recounting anymore.”
Phoebe colored uncomfortably, but she seemed incapable of finding an answer.
“I came out of affection for Fanny.” Emily looked up at him coldly. “And for Phoebe!”
Afton inclined his head a little.
“I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. If you are able to call upon her some afternoon, she will no doubt regale you with her feelings in the matter. She is quite convinced there is some madman lurking around, just waiting for the chance to leap upon her and ravish her next.”
“Please!” Phoebe tugged at his sleeve, her face painfully red. “I do not think so at all.”
“Did I misunderstand you?” he inquired, not lowering his voice, but staring at George. “I thought from the way you disported yourself that you suspected his presence on the upstairs landing last night. You had your gown so wrapped around you I feared you might strangle yourself if you were to turn carelessly. What on earth did you call the footman for, my dear? Or should I not ask you such a thing in front of others?”
“I didn’t call the footman. I–I merely-well, the curtain blew in the wind. I was startled, and I suppose-,” her face was scarlet now, and Charlotte could imagine the foolishness she was feeling, almost as if the whole company could see her frightened and disheveled in her nightclothes. She burned to think of something crushing to say for her, to cut at Afton with equally lacerating words, but nothing came.
It was Fulbert who spoke, lazily, a slow smile on his face. He put his arm around Phoebe, but his eyes were on Afton.
“There’s no need for you to be afraid, my dear. What you were doing is quite your own affair.” His face softened into amusement, some secret laughter inside him. “I really doubt it is one of your footmen, but, if it were, he would hardly be reckless enough to attack you in your own house. And you are more fortunate than any other woman in the Walk-at least you know perfectly well it wasn’t Afton. We all do!” He smiled across at George. “Would God the rest of us could be as far beyond suspicion?”
George blinked, unsure of his meaning, but knowing it held cruelty somewhere.
Charlotte instinctively turned to Afton. She had no idea what occasioned it, but cold, irrevocable hatred flared up in his eyes, and the shock of it rippled through her, leaving her feeling sick. She wanted to grip hold of Emily’s arm, touch something warm, human, and then run out of the glittering black-crepe room into the air, into the green summer, and keep on running until she was home in her own narrow, dusty little street with its whited steps, shoulder-to-shoulder houses, and women who worked all day.
Five
Charlotte could hardly wait until Pitt came home. She rehearsed a dozen times in her mind what she meant to tell him, and each time it came out differently. She completely missed the bookshelves in her dusting and forgot to salt the vegetables. She gave Jemima two lots of pudding, much to the child’s delight, but at least she did have her changed and sound asleep when Pitt finally came.
He looked tired, and the first thing he did was to take his boots off and empty his pockets of the enormous
