“Once an idea is published, Lady Tamworth, its originator does not need to survive,” Alaric pointed out. “Anymore than the seed need the sower in order to flourish.”
She looked at him with distaste.
“Of course you are not English, Monsieur Alaric. You could not be expected to understand the English people. We will not take seriously such blasphemies.”
Alaric affected innocence.
“Was not Mr. Darwin an Englishman, then?”
Lady Tamworth shrugged her shoulder sharply.
“I know nothing about him, nor do I wish to. Such men are not a fit subject for the interest of decent people.”
Alaric followed the line of her eye.
“I’m sure Mr. Isaacs would agree with you,” he said with a faint smile, and Charlotte was forced to stifle a giggle by pretending to sneeze. “Being a Jew,” Alaric continued, avoiding her eye, “he would not countenance Mr. Darwin’s revolutionary theories.”
Hallem Cayley drifted up, his face heavy, another glass in his hand.
“No,” he looked at Alaric with dislike. “The poor sod believes man is made in the image of God. I think the ape far more likely, myself.”
“You are surely not saying now that Mr. Isaacs is a Christian?” Lady Tamworth bridled.
“A Jew,” Hallam answered carefully and distinctly, then took another drink. “The Creation belongs to the Old Testament. Or haven’t you read it?”
“I am of the Church of England,” she said stiffly. “I don’t read foreign teachings. That is primarily what is wrong with society these days: a great deal of new foreign blood. These are names now that I never heard of when I was a girl! No breeding. Heaven only knows where they come from!”
“Hardly new, ma’am.” Alaric was standing so close to Charlotte, she fancied she could feel the warmth of him through the thick satin of her gown. “Mr. Isaacs can trace his ancestry back to Abraham, and he back to Noah, and so back to Adam.”
“And so back to God!” Hallam drained his glass and dropped it on the floor. “Impeccable!” He glared triumphantly at Lady Tamworth. “Makes the rest of us look like yesterday’s bastards, doesn’t it?” He grinned broadly and turned away.
Lady Tamworth shook with rage. Her teeth clicked quite audibly. Charlotte felt a pity for her, because her world was changing, and she did not understand it; it had no place for her. She was like one of Mr. Darwin’s dinosaurs, dangerous and ridiculous, beyond its time.
“I think he has had too much to drink,” she said to her. “You must excuse him. I don’t suppose he meant to be so offensive.”
But Lady Tamworth was not mollified. She could not forgive.
“He is appalling! It must have been associating with men like that that gave Mr. Darwin his ideas. If he does not leave, then I shall.”
“Would you care for me to escort you home?” Alaric asked instantly. “I doubt Mr. Cayley will leave.”
She looked at him with loathing, but forced herself to refuse civilly.
Charlotte burst into giggles, covering her face with her hands.
“You were quite dreadful!” she said to him, furious with herself for laughing. She knew it was the pressure of fear and excitement as much as humor, and she was ashamed. “You do not have the sole prerogative to be outrageous, Charlotte,” he said quietly. “You must allow me a little fun as well.’
A few days later Charlotte received a note from Emily, written in haste and some excitement. From something that Phoebe had said, Emily was now perfectly convinced that, in spite of her self-righteous prying, Miss Lucinda was right, and there was something going on in the Walk. She herself had certain more practical ideas as to how its nature could be uncovered, especially if it had something to do with Fanny and with Fulbert’s disappearance. And it was hard to believe it had not.
Of course, Charlotte made immediate arrangements for Jemima, and by eleven o’clock in the morning she was at Emily’s door. Emily was there as soon as the maid. She almost scurried Charlotte into the morning room.
“Lucinda’s right,” she said urgently. “She is dreadful, of course, and all she wants is to discover some piece of scandal she can tell everyone else and feel thoroughly superior about. She’ll dine out on it for the rest of the Season. But she won’t find out anything, because she’s going about it all the wrong way!”
“Emily!” Charlotte took hold of her, gripping her arm. She could only think of Fulbert. “For heaven’s sake, don’t! Look what happened to Fulbert!”
“We don’t know what happened to Fulbert,” Emily said reasonably. She shook Charlotte’s arm off with impatience. “But I want to find out-don’t you?”
Charlotte wavered.
“How?”
Emily scented victory. She did not push. She tried a little honest flattery.
“Your suggestion-I suddenly realized that was the way. Thomas can’t do it. It would have to be casual-”
“Who?” Charlotte demanded. “Explain yourself, Emily, before I explode!”
“Maids!” Emily was leaning forward now, her face shining. “Maids notice everything, between them. Maybe they don’t know what all the different pieces mean, but we might!”
“But Thomas-” Charlotte started, although she knew Emily was right.
“Nonsense!” Emily brushed it aside. “No maid is going to talk to the police.”
“But we can’t just go questioning other people’s maids!”
Emily was exasperated.
“For goodness’ sake, I shan’t be so obvious! I shall go for some quite different reason, a recipe I admire, or I could take some old dresses I have for Jessamyn’s maid-”
“You can’t do that!” Charlotte said in horror. “Jessamyn will give her her own old things. She must have dozens! You couldn’t explain any reason-”
“Yes, I could. Jessamyn never gives her old dresses away. She never gives anything away. Once it has been hers, she keeps it or burns it. She doesn’t allow anyone else to have her things. Besides, her lady’s maid is about the same size as I am. I have looked out a muslin from last year that will be perfect. She can wear it on her afternoon off. We shall go when I know that Jessamyn is out.”
Charlotte was very dubious about the idea and feared it might prove embarrassing, but since Emily patently intended going regardless, her curiosity obliged her to go as well.
She had misjudged Emily. They learned nothing that seemed of any value at Jessamyn’s, but the maid was delighted with the dress and the whole interview appeared as natural as a chance conversation with no purpose at all but pleasantry.
They proceeded to Phoebe’s, arriving at the only time of the day when she was to be absent, and learned of an excellent mixture for making furniture wax with a most pleasing smell. It seemed Phoebe had taken to visiting the local church at odd hours, lately as often as every other day.
“Poor creature,” Emily said as they left. “I think all these tragedies have quite turned her mind. I don’t know whether she is praying for Fanny’s soul, or what.”
Charlotte did not understand the idea of praying for the dead, but there was nothing difficult in sympathizing with the need for comfort, a quiet place where faith and simplicity had found refuge over the generations. She was glad that Phoebe had discovered it, and, if it gave her calm, helped hold at bay the terrors that crowded in on her, so much the better.
“I’m going to see Hallam Cayley’s cook,” Emily announced. “You know the weather is quite different today. I am thoroughly cold, even though I put on a warmer dress. I do hope we aren’t going to have a wretched spell, the Season isn’t nearly over!”
It was true, here was an east wind, and it was definitely chill, but Charlotte was not interested in the weather. She pulled her shawl tighter and kept up with Emily.
“You can’t just walk in and ask to speak to his cook! What on earth excuse have you? You’ll make him suspicious, or else he will just think you ill-mannered.”
“He won’t be in!” Emily said impatiently. “I told you, I have chosen my times with great care. She cannot
