“What are you going ter do, ma’am?” Gracie asked, wide-eyed and husky. Even she had never seen such wretchedness.
“We are going to discover who owns these abominable places,” Charlotte replied grimly.
“An’ one of ’em murdered Miss Clemency,” Gracie added, passing over her clothes and wrapping herself in Charlotte’s old gown. The waist of it was around her hips and the skirt trailed on the floor. She looked such a child Charlotte had a moment of guilt for involving her in this fearful pursuit.
“I believe so. Are you afraid?”
“Yes ma’am.” Gracie’s thin little face hardened. “But I in’t stoppin’ ’ere. I’m going’ ter ’elp yer, never doubt that, an’ nob’dy in’t going’ ter stop me. Nor I in’t going’ ter let yer go there on yer own, neither.”
Charlotte gave her a great hug, taking her utterly by surprise so she blushed fiercely with pleasure.
“I wouldn’t dream of going without you,” Charlotte said candidly.
While Charlotte and Gracie were following the path of Clemency Shaw, Jack Radley looked up one of his less reputable friends from his gambling days, before he had met Emily, and persuaded him that it would be both interesting and profitable to take a turn around some of the worst rented accommodation in London. Anton was very dubious about the interest it would afford, but since Jack promised him his silver cigar cutter-he had given up the habit anyway-he understood the profit readily enough, and agreed to do it.
Jack absolutely forbade Emily to go with them, and for the first time in their relationship he brooked no argument whatsoever.
“You may not come,” he said with a charming smile and completely steady eyes.
“But-” she began, smiling back at him, searching for a lightness in him, a softness in his expression which would allow her to win him over. To her surprise she found none. “But-” she began again, looking for an argument in her favor.
“You may not come, Emily.” There was not a flicker in his eyes and no yielding in his mouth. “It will be dangerous, if we have any success, and you would be in the way. Remember the reason we are doing this, and don’t argue the toss. It is a waste of time, because whatever you say, you are not coming.”
She drew in a deep breath. “Very well,” she conceded with as much grace as she could muster. “If that is what you wish.”
“It is better than that, my love,” he said with the first edge of a smile. “It is an order.”
When he and Anton had departed, leaving her on the doorstep, she felt completely betrayed. Then as she gave the matter more reasoned consideration, she realized that he had done it to protect her from both the unpleasantness of the journey and the distress of what she would inevitably see; and she was pleased that he showed such concern. She had no desire to be taken for granted. And while she did not like being denied or countermanded, she also did not like being able to prevail over his wishes. Getting your own way too often can be singularly unsatisfying.
With an idle afternoon on her hands, and a mind teeming with questions, she ordered the other carriage. After dressing extremely carefully in a new gown from Salon Worth in Paris, a deep thunder blue which flattered her fair coloring, and embroidered lavishly in blouse front and around the hem, she set out to visit a certain lady whose wealth and family interests were greater than her scruples. This she knew from high society friends she had met in the past, at places where breeding and money were of far more account than personal affection or any form of regard.
Emily alighted and climbed the steps at the Park Lane address. When the door was opened, she presented her card and stood her ground while a slightly disconcerted parlormaid read it. It was one of Emily’s old ones from before her remarriage, and still read “The Viscountess Ashworth,” which was very much more impressive than “Mrs. Jack Radley.”
Normally a lady would have left her card so the lady of the house might in turn leave hers and they would agree on a future time to meet, but Emily was clearly not going to depart. The parlormaid was obliged either to ask her to go or to invite her in. The title left her only one choice.
“Please come in, my lady, and I will see if Lady Priscilla will receive you.”
Emily accepted graciously, and head high, walked through the large hallway decked with family portraits, even a suit of armor on a stand. She took her place in the morning room in front of the fire, until the maid returned and ushered her upstairs into the first-story boudoir, the sitting room specially reserved for ladies.
It was an exquisite room, decorated in the Oriental style, which had become popular lately, and full of chinoiserie of every sort: lacquer boxes, an embroidered silk screen, landscape paintings where mountains floated above mists and waterfalls and tiny figures like black dots traveled on interminable roads. There was a glass- shelved cupboard containing at least twenty jade and ivory figures, and two carved ivory fans like frozen white lace.
Lady Priscilla herself was perhaps fifty, thin and with black hair of an unnatural depth that only her fondest friends imagined to be her own. She was wearing magenta and rose, also embroidered, but perfectly symmetrical. She knew it was a mistake as soon as she saw Emily.
“Lady Ashworth!” she exclaimed with courteous surprise. “How charming of you to have called upon me-and how unexpected.”
Emily knew perfectly well she meant “how uncouth and without the appropriate warning,” but she had come with a highly practical purpose in mind, and had no intention of jeopardizing it with impulsive words.
“I wished to find you alone,” Emily replied with a slight inclining of her head. “I would like some confidential advice, and it suddenly occurred to me that no one in London would be better able to give it than you.”
“Good gracious. How you flatter me!” Lady Priscilla exclaimed, but her overriding expression was not vain so much as curious. “Whatever do I know that you do not know quite as well yourself?” She smiled. “A little scandal, perhaps-but surely you have not come alone at this time of day for that.”
“I am not averse to it.” Emily sat down on the chair indicated. “But that is not why I am here. It is counsel I want, in certain matters in which I now have the freedom to be my own mistress-” She let it hang in the air, and saw Priscilla’s sharp face quicken with interest.
“Your own mistress? Of course I heard of Lord Ashworth’s death-” She composed her features to the appropriate solicitude. “My dear, how awful. I am so sorry.”
“It was some time ago now.” Emily brushed it aside. “I have remarried, you know-”
“But your card.”
“Oh-did I give you one of the old ones? How careless of me. I do apologize. I am getting so shortsighted these days.”
It was on Priscilla’s tongue to say “A small pair of spectacles, perhaps?” but she did not wish to be too offensive in case she did not learn the cause for Emily’s consulting her, and then how could she relate it to others?
“It is of no consequence,” she murmured.
Emily smiled dazzlingly. “How gracious of you.”
“If I can help?” Priscilla offered intenuy.
“Oh I’m sure.” Emily settled a little farther into her seat. This could have been quite entertaining, but she must not lose sight of her reason for coming. Clemency Shaw’s death was enough to sober any amusement. “I have a certain amount of money at my disposal, and I should like to invest it profitably, and if possible where it is both safe and reasonably discreet.”
“Oh-” Priscilla let out her breath slowly, a dawn of comprehension in her face. “You would like it to return you some profit, but be inaccessible to your family. And you are married again?”
“I am.” Silently Emily thought of Jack, and apologized to him. “Hence the need for the utmost … discretion.”
“Absolute secrecy,” Priscilla assured her, her eyes alight. “I can advise you very well; you certainly came to the right person.”
“I knew it,” Emily said with triumph in her voice, not for investment, but because she was on the brink of discovering exactly what she sought. “I knew you were the very best person. What should I do with it? I have quite a substantial amount, you understand?”
“Property,” Priscilla replied without hesitation.
Emily schooled her face very carefully into disappointment.
“Property? But then anyone who wished could ascertain exactly what I owned, and what income it brought
