as a poor little creature who sits at home painting when I am not going out doing good works among the unfortunates!”
“I quite understand your disliking Christina.” Emily changed tactics and assumed elaborate patience instead. “I do myself-and she was certainly very rude to you. But that is not the point! We were there to pursue the investigation, not to enjoy ourselves!”
Charlotte had no answer for that. She had learned nothing whatsoever, and, if she were even remotely honest, she had enjoyed herself indecently much. At least she had at times; there were moments that had been perfectly ghastly. She had forgotten how very crushing Society could be.
“Did you learn anything?” she asked.
“I have no idea,” Emily replied in the darkness. “Perhaps.”
7
Emily had thought about all the murders and the many different tragedies that might lie behind them. She was perfectly aware that a great many marriages were made quite as much for practical reasons as for romantic ones, attempts either to improve positions in Society or to maintain ones that were endangered. Sometimes such alliances worked out quite as well as those embarked upon in the heat of infatuation, but where the difference of age or temperament was too great, they became prisonlike.
She also knew the morally numbing effect of boredom. That she did not suffer from it herself was due to her periodic adventures into the stimulating, frightening, and turbulent world of criminal tragedy. But the long, arid intervals of social trivia in the meantime were the more pronounced because of the contrast. It was a world enclosed upon itself, where the most superficial flirtations assumed the proportions of great love, mere insults in etiquette or precedence became wounds, and matters of dress-the cut, the color, the trimming-were noticed and discussed as if they were of immense importance.
As Christina Ross had said, idle men might occupy themselves with all manner of sport, healthy or otherwise, even finding excitement in risking money or broken limbs. Industrious or morally minded men might seek power in Parliament or trade, or might travel abroad upon missions to benighted nations somewhere, or join the army, or follow the White Nile to discover its source in the heart of the Dark Continent!
But a woman had only the outlet of charitable works. Her home was cared for by servants, her children by a nursery maid, a nanny, and then a governess. For those who were neither artistic nor gifted with any particular intelligence, there was little else but to entertain and be entertained. Small wonder that spirited young women, like some of Christina’s set, trapped in marriages without passion, laughter, or even companionship, could be lured away by someone as raw and dangerous as Max Burton.
And of course Emily had never hidden from herself the other side of the argument, the fact that a number of men do not find all their appetites satisfied at home. Many abstained for one reason or another, but of course there were those who did not. One did not discuss “houses of pleasure”-or the “fallen doves” who occupied them. God! — that was a euphemism she hated! And only with the most intimate friends did one speak of the various affairs that were conducted at country houses over long shooting weekends, in croquet games on summer lawns, at great balls in the hunting season, or any other of a dozen times and places. None of which was to excuse it, but to understand it.
Therefore, in considering murder, Emily took into account the names and situations, such as she knew them, of Christina’s social circle and those who might conceivably have been involved with Max. There were about seven or eight she found likely, and another half dozen possible, though she believed they lacked the courage, or the indifference to values of modesty or loyalty, to have taken such a step. But if nothing better presented itself, she would bear in mind to suggest their names to Pitt, so that he might discover where their husbands had been at the relevant times.
And there was always the possibility of an unfortunate recognition to consider-a little betrayal-or blackmail. What of a man who took his pleasures in a whorehouse and found he had bought his own wife! The permutations were legion, all of them painful and desperately foolish.
It could be that one such woman had been used by Max, that one of her customers had been Bertie Astley and, for some reason, a fear or hatred had arisen that resulted in the murder not only of Max but of Astley also. How Hubert Pinchin was involved, however, she did not yet have any suggestion.
The other most obvious possibility was even less pleasant to her: that Beau Astley had read of the startling murders of Max and Dr. Pinchin, and had seized the opportunity to imitate these crimes and get rid of his elder brother. It would not be the first murder to ape another-and so saddle a man guilty of two murders with the blame for one more.
Beau Astley had enough to gain from his brother’s death, that was certain. But how much had he wanted it? Was he in financial straits, or did he manage very well upon whatever resources he had? Was he in love with May Woolmer? In fact, what kind of a person was he in general?
At the breakfast table, Emily sipped her tea. George was not at his best. He was hiding behind the newspaper, not to read it but to avoid having to think of something to say.
“I called upon poor May Woolmer recently,” Emily remarked cheerfully.
“Did you?” George’s voice was absentminded, and Emily realized he had forgotten who May Woolmer was.
“She is still in mourning, of course,” she continued. An outright request for information would be unlikely to produce it. George did not like curiosity-it was vulgar, and likely to offend people. He did not care if people took offense when it was unwarranted, but he disliked the thought of being oafish, or anything that might appear ignorant of courtesy. He knew very well the value of acceptance.
“I beg your pardon?” He had not been paying attention, and now put the paper down reluctantly as he realized that she had no intention of allowing the matter to drop.
“She is still in mourning for Bertie Astley,” Emily repeated.
His face cleared a little. “Oh, yes, she would be. Pity about that. Nice enough fellow.”
“Oh, George!” She contrived to look shocked.
“What?” He clearly failed to understand. It was a harmless remark, and surely Astley had been perfectly amiable.
“George!” She let her voice slide down, and lowered her eyes. “I do know where he was found, you know!”
“What?”
She wished she could blush to order. Some women could, and it was a most useful accomplishment. She avoided looking at him, in case he read curiosity in her eyes instead of modest horror.
“He was found on the doorstep of a house of pleasure.” She voiced the euphemism as if it came to her tongue with some embarrassment. “Where the ‘occupants’ are men as well!”
“Oh, God! How did you know that?” This time he needed no pretense whatever to show interest. His face was startled, his dark eyes very wide. “Emily?”
For a moment Emily could think of nothing to say. The conversation had taken a turn she should have foreseen, but had not. Should she admit to having read the newspapers? Or should she blame Charlotte? No, that was not a good idea-it might have unfortunate repercussions. George might even take it into his head that she should not associate with Charlotte quite so much, especially during the investigation of scandalous murders like these.
She had a sudden inspiration. “May told me. Goodness knows where she heard it. But you know how these whispers spread. Why? Is it not true, after all?” She met his eyes squarely and with total innocence this time. She had no qualms about deceiving George in trivial matters-it was for his own good. She was never less than honest in things of importance, like loyalty, or money. But sometimes George needed a little managing.
His shoulders eased and he sat back in his chair again, but his expression was still full of confusion. Two things troubled him: the extremely unsavory facts concerning Bertie Astley, and quite how much of them it was proper to tell Emily.
She understood him very well, and rescued the situation before she lost the initiative and was obliged to
