“I don’t know, but she’s extremely pretty.”
“That also is totally immaterial. Who are her family? Has she any breeding, any manners, any money? Does she know how to behave? Has she any relations worth mentioning?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t suppose Mr. Aylmer cares. He is in love with her, not her relatives,” Charlotte pointed out. “He will make quite sufficient money of his own. He is a senior official in the Colonial Office, and much is expected of him.”
“Then you have answered your own question, you stupid girl. What on earth does it matter what he looks like? He has good breeding and excellent prospects. He is a very good catch for the Penny-whatever girl, and she has enough sense to see it. Is he of agreeable temperament?” Her small, black eyes were bright with interrogation. “Does he drink to excess? Does he keep bad company?”
“He seems very agreeable, and I have no idea whether he drinks or not.”
“Then as long as he is satisfactory in those areas, he is not to be dismissed.” She spoke as if that were an end to the matter. “I don’t know why you mentioned it. It is not remarkable in any way.”
Charlotte tried again. “She is interested in astronomy.”
“In what? Why can you not speak plainly? You are mumbling badly these days. You have become slipshod in your speech since you married and left home. It must be associating with poor types. You can always tell a person’s breeding by their speech.”
“You have just contradicted yourself,” Charlotte pointed out, referring to the fact that the old lady was her direct ancestor.
“Don’t be impudent!” the old lady said tartly, but from the flush of annoyance in her face, Charlotte knew that she had perceived the flaw in her argument. “Every family has its occasional black sheep,” she added with a vicious glare. “Even our poor dear Queen has her problems. Look at the Duke of Clarence. I ask you. He doesn’t even choose well-bred women to keep as his mistresses, or so I’ve heard. And you come here wittering on about some wretched girl, who is nobody at all, marrying a man who is well bred, has an excellent position, and even better prospects. Just because he is unfortunate enough to be a little plain. What of it?”
“She is not marrying him.”
The old lady snorted fiercely. “Then she is a fool, that is all I can say! Now why don’t you talk about something sensible? You have barely asked me how I am. Do you know that that wretched cook of Emily’s sent me boiled fowl for my dinner last night. And baked mackerel the night before. And there was no forcemeat stuffing, and very little wine. It tasted of fish, and precious little else. I should have liked baked lobster. We have that when Emily is at home.”
“Perhaps there were no good lobsters at the fishmongers’,” Charlotte suggested.
“Don’t tell me she tried, because I shan’t believe you. I should have liked a little jugged hare. I am very partial to a well-jugged hare.”
“It is out of season,” Charlotte pointed out. “Jugged hare doesn’t begin until September.”
The old lady looked at her with acute disfavor and dropped the subject. She returned instead to Amanda Pennecuick. “What makes you suppose she is a fool, this Moneyfast girl?”
“You said she was a fool, not I.”
“You said she was not marrying the man because he was homely, in spite of being in every way that matters an excellent catch. That makes her a fool, on your description. How do you know she is not marrying him? That she may have said so is neither here nor there. What else would she say, I ask you! She can hardly say that she is. That would be premature, and vulgar. And vulgarity, above all things, is unforgivable. And extremely unwise.”
“Unwise?” Charlotte questioned.
The old lady looked at her with open disgust. “Of course it would be unwise, you stupid girl. She does not wish him to take her lightly.” She sighed noisily with impatience. “If she allows him to undervalue her now, it will set the pattern for the rest of their lives. Let him think her reluctant. Let him woo her so diligently that when he finally wins her he feels he has achieved a great victory, not merely picked up something no one else wished for anyway.
“Really, there are times when I despair of you, Charlotte. You are clever enough at book learning, but what use is that to a woman? Your career is in your home, married to the best man you can find who will have you. You should make him happy, and see that he rises as high in his chosen profession as his abilities, and yours, will allow him. Or if you are clever enough to marry a gentleman, then see that he rises in Society and does not run into debt.”
She grunted, and shifted her position with a rustle of skirts and creak of stays. “No wonder you had to settle for a policeman. A girl as naturally unintelligent as you are was fortunate to find anyone at all. Your sister Emily, on the other hand, has all the brains for both of you. She takes after her father, poor man. You take after your fool of a mother.”
“Since you are so clever, Grandmama, it is really a great misfortune we don’t have a title, an estate in the country and a fortune to match,” Charlotte said waspishly.
The old lady looked at her with malicious delight. “I had not the advantages of your good looks.”
It was the first compliment Charlotte could ever recall the old lady paying her, especially on such a subject. It quite robbed her of a reply, which-she realized a moment later-had been the intention.
Nevertheless in leaving her and riding in a hansom to Harriet Soames’s house, in order to go together to the flower show, she did wonder if Amanda Pennecuick was doing what the old lady had suggested, and actually intended in due course to accept Mr. Aylmer’s attentions.
She mentioned it to Harriet as they admired some magnificent early blooms arranged in a crystal bowl.
At first Harriet looked amazed, then as the thought took firmer hold in her mind, her attitude changed.
“You know …” she said very slowly. “You know that is not as absurd as it sounds. I have noticed in Amanda a certain inconsistency in disclaimers about Mr. Aylmer’s attentions. She says she has nothing in common with him but an interest in the stars. But I never before suspected it was powerful enough to induce her to accept the company of anyone she genuinely disliked.” She giggled. “What a delicious thought. Beauty and the Beast. Yes, I do think you might be right. In fact I hope so.” She was beaming with pleasure as they walked in to admire a bowl of gaudy tulips whose petals opened like lilies in brilliant scarlets, oranges and flames.
Pitt arrived home late and tired to find Matthew Desmond there waiting for him, pale faced, his fair streaked hair flopping forward as if he had been running his fingers through it in nervous distraction. He had declined to sit in the parlor with Charlotte but had begged to be allowed to walk alone in the garden, and seeing his distress so plainly in his face, she had not tried to dissuade him. This was obviously not a time for the usual rigors of courtesy.
“He has been here nearly an hour,” she said quietly when Pitt stood in the parlor looking out of the French doors at Matthew’s lean figure pacing back and forth, under the apple tree. Obviously he had not yet realized Pitt was there.
“Did he say what has happened?” Pitt asked. He could see that it was something that caused Matthew keen torment of mind. Had it been merely grief he would have sat still in the parlor; probably he would have shared it with Charlotte, knowing Pitt would certainly tell her afterwards anyway. He knew Matthew well enough to be certain that this was no longer the indecision which he felt had touched him last time he had been there, but something far stronger, and as yet unresolved.
“No,” Charlotte replied, her face puckered with concern, probably for Matthew, but also for Pitt. Her eyes were tender and she seemed on the verge of saying something else, and then realized it would not help. Whatever the matter was, it could not be avoided, and to make suggestions that it could or should would make it harder, not easier.
He touched her gently in a silent acknowledgment, then went out through the door and over the lawn. The soft grass masked his footsteps so that Matthew did not know he was there until he was only three yards away.
Matthew turned suddenly. His face for an instant registered something close to horror, then he masked his feelings and tried to compose himself to his more usual courtesy.
“Don’t,” Pitt said quietly.
“What?”
“Don’t pretend. Something is very seriously wrong. Tell me what it is.”
