her work, a great many people will suffer.”
“Thomas said nothing of any work.” Charlotte was acutely interested herself now. “Perhaps he doesn’t know. What work was it?”
Emily sat forward in her chair, waiting eagerly.
“It may not be the same person,” Vespasia warned.
“But if it is?”
“Then she has begun a fight to get certain laws changed regarding the ownership of slum housing,” Vespasia answered gravely, her face expressing what she knew from her own experience of the near impossibility of overcoming such vested interests. “Many of the worst, where there is appalling overcrowding and no sanitation at all, are owned by people of wealth and social standing. If it were more readily known, some minimal standards might be enforced.”
“And who is in its way?” Emily was practical as always.
“I cannot give you a detailed answer,” Vespasia replied. “But if you are determined to pursue it, then we should go and visit Somerset Carlisle, who will be able to tell us.” Even as she spoke she was already rising to her feet and preparing to leave.
Charlotte caught Emily’s eye with a flash of amusement, and they also rose.
“What an excellent idea,” Charlotte agreed.
Emily hesitated only a moment. “Is it not an unsuitable time to call upon anyone, Aunt Vespasia?”
“Most unsuitable,” Vespasia agreed. “That is why it will do very well. We shall be highly unlikely to find anyone else there.” And without continuing the discussion she rang the bell for her maid to call Emily’s carriage so they might travel together.
Charlotte had a moment’s hesitation; she was not dressed well enough to call upon a member of Parliament. Usually for anything approaching such formality in the past she had borrowed a gown from Emily, or Aunt Vespasia herself, suitably made over to fit her, even if by strategic pins here and there. But she had known Somerset Carlisle for several years, and always in connection with some passionate cause when there was little thought of social niceties, only the matter in hand. Anyway, neither Emily nor Vespasia were taking the slightest notice of protests and if she did not catch them up she would be left behind, and she would have gone in her kitchen pinafore rather than that.
Somerset Carlisle was at home in his study working on papers of some political importance, and for anyone less than Vespasia his footman would politely have refused them entrance. However, he had an appreciation for the dramatic and a knowledge of his master’s past crusades in one cause or another, and he was quite aware that Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould had frequently been involved in them one way or another; indeed she was an effective ally for whom he had great regard.
Accordingly he conducted all three ladies to the study door and knocked before opening it and announcing their presence.
Somerset Carlisle was not young, nor yet middle-aged; quite possibly he never would be, but would pass directly from where he was now into a wiry and unmellowed old age. He was full of nervous energy, his winged eyebrows and thin, mercurial face never seemed completely in repose.
His study reflected his nature. It was full of books on all manner of subjects, both for his work and for his wide personal interests. The few spaces on the walls were crammed with paintings and curios, beautiful, and probably of financial value. The deep Georgian windows shed excellent light, and for winter or evening work there were several gas brackets both on the walls and pendant from the ceiling. A long-legged marmalade cat was stretched out in ecstatic sleep in the best chair in front of the fire. The desk itself was piled with papers in no imaginable sort of order.
Somerset Carlisle put his pen into the stand and rose to greet them with obvious delight, coming around the desk, knocking off a pile of letters and ignoring them completely as they cascaded to the floor. The cat did not stir.
He took the immaculately gloved hand that Vespasia offered him.
“Lady Cumming-Gould. How very nice to see you.” He met her eyes with a spark of humor. “No doubt you have some urgent injustice to fight, or you would not have come without warning. Lady Ashworth-and Mrs. Pitt-now I know something is afoot! Please sit down. I-” He looked around for some place of comfort to offer them, and failed. Gently he removed the cat and placed it on the seat of his own chair behind the desk. It stretched luxuriously and resettled itself.
Vespasia took the chair and Charlotte and Emily sat on the upright chairs opposite. Carlisle remained standing. No one bothered to correct him that Emily was now plain Mrs. Jack Radley. There was time enough for that later.
Vespasia came to the point quickly.
“A woman has died in a fire which was not accidental. We know little other than that, except that her name was Clemency Shaw-” She stopped, seeing the look of distress that had touched his face the moment she said the name. “You knew her?”
“Yes-mostly by repute,” he answered, his voice low, his eyes searching their faces, seeing the surprise and the heightened tension as he spoke. “I only met her twice. She was a quiet woman, still uncertain of how best to achieve her aims and unused to battling the intricacies of civil law, but there was an intense dedication in her and an honesty I admired very much. I believe she cared for the reforms she desired more than her own dignity or the opinions of her friends or acquaintances. I am truly grieved that she is dead. Have you no idea how it happened?” The last question he addressed to Charlotte. He had known Pitt for many years, in fact since he himself had been involved in a bizarre murder.
“It was arson,” she replied. “She was at home because a trip into town had been unexpectedly canceled, and her husband was out on a medical emergency. Otherwise he would have died, and not she.”
“So her death was accidental.” He made it almost a question, but not quite.
“Someone might have been watching and known.” Charlotte would not leave it so quickly. “What was she fighting for-what reforms? Who would want her to fail?”
Carlisle smiled bitterly. “Almost anyone who has invested in slum property and raked in exorbitant rents for letting it to whole families a room at a time, sometimes even two or three families.” He winced. “Or for sweatshops, gin mills, brothels, even opium dens. Very profitable indeed. You’d be surprised by some of the people who make money that way.”
“How did Mrs. Shaw threaten them?” Vespasia asked. “Precisely what did she wish to do about it? Or should I say, what did she have the slightest realistic prospect of doing?”
“She wanted to change the law so that owners could be easily traced, instead of hiding behind companies and lawyers so they are virtually anonymous.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to make some law as to occupancy and sanitation?” Emily asked reasonably.
Carlisle laughed. “If you limit occupancy all you would do is put even more people out into the street. And how would you police it?”
“Oh-”
“And you’d never get a law passed on sanitation.” His voice hardened. “People in power tend to believe that the poor have the sanitation they deserve, and if you gave them better, within a month they would have it back to its present state. It is easier for them to take their own luxury with a quiet conscience. Even so, to do anything about it would cost millions of pounds-”
“But each individual owner-” Emily argued. “They would have millions. At least over time-”
“Such a law would never be passed through Parliament.” He smiled as he said it, but there was anger in his eyes and his hands by his sides were tight. “You forget who votes for them.”
Again Emily said nothing. There were only two political parties with any chance of forming a government, and neither of them would espouse such a law easily, and no women had the franchise, the poor were ill organized and largely illiterate. The implication was too obvious.
Carlisle gave a little grunt that was almost a laugh. “That is why Mrs. Shaw was attempting to make it possible to discover without difficulty who owned such places. If it were public, social pressure would do a great deal that the law cannot.”
“But don’t social pressures come from the same people who vote?” Charlotte asked; then knew the moment she had said it that it was not so. Women did not vote, and subtle though it was, a very great deal of society was
