Charlotte was something less than honest over the dinner invitation to the Rosses’ on Tuesday. Pitt was working, as she had trusted he would be. She mentioned that they had been invited to dine with Emily and George, and would he mind very much if she went, even though he was unable to? She knew he would not refuse her. After all, he had not been able to take her anywhere himself, or even to offer her much companionship, since the case began. And so far as it went, what she said was true; she would be with Emily and George! Even if it was not in their home, as she allowed Pitt to presume.
Emily lent her a gown, as usual, and Charlotte dressed for the occasion at Paragon Walk, with Emily’s maid to dress her hair. She felt not the least qualm about that, for the whole idea had been engineered by Emily’s connivance, with Alan Ross!
The gown was of apricot silk, with the most delicate lace a shade or two deeper, and appeared to be quite new. In fact, it crossed her mind to wonder if Emily had obtained it for the purpose. It was a color Emily herself should never have worn, with her fair hair and clear blue eyes. The shade was ideal for a warmer complexion and darker, heavier hair with gleams of red in it.
She felt a sudden gratitude for Emily’s generosity, both in providing the gown, which flattered her so much, and for doing it in such a discreet manner. She decided to say nothing, and thus let the gift reach the fullest measure. Instead she swept down the stairs from the spare dressing room like a duchess entering her own ballroom, and swirled to a grand curtsy in the hallway at Emily’s feet. The sense of excitement inside her was as vivid as the light on the chandeliers.
“Your dress is perfect,” she said, rising with a little less grace than she had intended. “I feel fit to dazzle everyone and make Christina quite sickly with envy! Thank you very much.”
Emily was in the palest aquamarine, with diamonds at her ears and throat sparkling like sunlight upon clear water. They were as different as could be, which of course had been the intention-although possibly Emily had not expected Charlotte to look quite so splendid. But if she hadn’t, she rapidly adjusted her thought, and smiled back with unclouded approval.
“Now, just remember not to say anything too candid,” she warned. “Society adores mirrors to its face and its attire, but has no love whatsoever for a reflection of its morals or its soul. I shall be obliged if you bear that in mind before you express your opinions!”
“Yes, Emily.” She did owe her something for the dress.
Emily had obviously taken some care in forewarning George of the purpose of their visit. He had agreed to accompany them, and to refrain from enlightening their hosts about Charlotte’s marriage and thus her current social status, although Charlotte did not know if Emily had also told him the reason for this!
Christina Ross received them distinctly coolly. Obviously the invitation had come from her husband, and she had been obliged to go along with it, since it could hardly be withdrawn. “How kind of you to come, Lord Ashworth, Lady Ashworth,” she said, with a very small smile.
George bowed and passed some civil remark, vaguely complimentary.
“And Miss Ellison.” Christina’s eyes swept over Charlotte’s gown with slight surprise. She allowed it to show, as a delicate insult to what she considered to be Charlotte’s station, and therefore the unsuitability of the gown-let alone how she might have come by it! “I hope you are in good health?” There was a lift in her voice, which was wasted. Charlotte too obviously glowed with an abundance of well-being of every sort.
Christina abandoned the inquiry without waiting for an answer, and indicated where they were welcome to seat themselves.
George did not believe that they should interfere in the solving of the crimes, and he had in fact barely known Bertie Astley. But he was generally good-natured, as long as he was not unduly criticized or robbed of his habitual pleasures. Emily had proved an excellent wife. She was neither extravagant nor indiscreet, she rarely lost her temper, she never sulked or rebuffed him, and she was far too subtle in her dealings with him to need to nag.
He was aware, in afterthought, of having changed one or two of his amusements-maybe even three or four-in order to please her. But it had proved less painful than he had anticipated, and one had to be prepared to make some adjustments. He therefore did not really object to humoring her with regard to cultivating Christina Ross, if she felt it was useful. Of course he knew quite well it was absolutely pointless, but if it entertained her, what matter? And he could see no reason why it should not be pleasant.
Charlotte he had never understood, nor had he tried to. He liked her well enough; in fact, to be honest, he even liked Pitt!
Accordingly, he put himself out to be charming to Christina and, without any great effort, was devastatingly effective. His face was handsome, especially his eyes, and generations of privilege and money had given him an assurance so easy it required no attention at all. He could sit and stare at Christina with appreciation, and flatter her merely by giving her his undivided concern.
There was little enough time, and Emily wasted none of it, but began immediately on the subject that had brought her. “It is so pleasant to see you again,” she said to Alan Ross, with a smile. “George was delighted when I gave him your invitation. We spend so much time with those in society who are not of the most attractive. I confess, I am not as clever at judging people as I had imagined I was. I have been somewhat naive, and have found myself in the company of persons I would not have chosen had I been wiser. But one so often learns these things too late. Even now I do not fully understand.” She dropped her voice as if imparting a confidence. “But I have heard whispers that some ladies of what one would have thought to be impeccable family have been behaving in ways too appalling to speak of!”
“Indeed?” A shadow crossed Alan Ross’s face, so brief Charlotte was not sure if she had imagined it, but it left her with an impression of pain. Had the unintended clumsiness of Emily’s remark disturbed some memory of the past? The murder in Callander Square?
“Emily,” she said quickly. “Perhaps it is a subject indelicate to discuss!”
Emily gave her a blue stare of amazement, then turned back quickly to Alan Ross. “I do hope I have not offended you by speaking my feelings too candidly?” She looked wounded, anxious, but underneath the wide swirls of her skirt she gave Charlotte a sharp kick. Charlotte winced, but was obliged to keep her face expressionless.
“Of course not!” Ross said with a slight movement of his hand, the smallest gesture of dismissal-it was too trivial to require more. “I quite agree with you. There is only one thing more boring and more unpleasant than debauchery, and that is to hear of it interminably and at second hand.” He smiled very slightly, and Charlotte could only guess at the thoughts that had prompted the remark.
“How I agree with you!” Emily’s foot gave Charlotte a warning tap-painful, since it caught exactly the spot where she had landed the first kick. “I find it most embarrassing when women speak of such things. I hardly know what to say.”
Charlotte moved her feet discreetly out of Emily’s reach. “And that is a mark of how deeply she is affected,” she put in. “It quite robs her of a response-and what a remarkable instance that is you may judge!”
Emily’s foot came out sharply and met only piles of skirt. She looked at Charlotte with acute suspicion out of the corner of her eye. Charlotte smiled ravishingly at Alan Ross.
At that moment the door opened and the footman ushered in General Balantyne and Lady Augusta. George and Alan Ross both rose to their feet, and the rest of the party remained perfectly still. Balantyne stared at Charlotte until she could feel the color burn in her face. She wished desperately that Emily had not lied and introduced her as Miss Ellison.
Christina broke the pattern. She stood up and sailed forward, arms stretched in a theatrical gesture stopping just short of embracing her father. “Papa, how delightful to see you!” She half turned and held out a cool cheek to Lady Augusta. “Mama! You know Lord Ashworth, of course.”
Formal acknowledgments were made, George bowing gracefully.
“And Lady Ashworth.” Her voice dropped to a tone distinctly chillier.
Emily had risen, as was fitting for a younger woman to an elder when they both possessed titles. Again the acknowledgments were made.
Christina turned at last to Charlotte, also, of course, now standing. “And perhaps you recall Miss Ellison, who was so kind as to assist Papa with some clerical work a few years ago?”
“Indeed.” Augusta did not wish to be reminded of that time, or of anything to do with it. “Good evening, Miss Ellison.” Her incomprehension that Charlotte should be included in the company at all clearly showed.
“Good evening, Lady Augusta.” Suddenly, Charlotte’s guilt vanished, and she stared back as coldly as she imagined Augusta herself might have if confronted with a debutante who did not know her place.
