was mending one of Jemima’s pinafores.
“Please listen to me,” Emily said. She sat down in Pitt’s chair without bothering to arrange her skirts. “I know the case Thomas is working on at the moment. I have quite a good acquaintance with the sister of his chief suspect, and I know a way we might be able to prove his innocence.” She ignored Charlotte’s surprise. “Believe me, he would be very grateful. It is not a man he would wish to prosecute, but unless someone can show that he was there at the time, he may have to.”
Charlotte put down her sewing and stared at Emily with gravity and growing suspicion.
“I assume from your manner that you already have a plan as to how we shall do this, when the police have failed to?” she said guardedly.
Emily swallowed, then took a deep breath and plunged in.
“Yes I have, actually. He does not really remember where he was, but his sister, Tallulah, was at a party, and she saw him there.”
“Oh yes?” Charlotte said skeptically. “And why has she not told the police this?”
“Because nobody would believe her.”
“Except you, of course.” Charlotte picked up her sewing again. The matter was not of sufficient sense to keep her from it.
Emily snatched it away.
“Listen to me! This really matters!” she said urgently. “If Finlay was seen at this party, in Chelsea, then he could not have been in Whitechapel murdering a prostitute. And if we can prove it, we will not only save Finlay from disaster, we will save Thomas from having to arrest the son of one of London’s wealthiest men!”
Charlotte retrieved the sewing and put it away tidily.
“So what are you suggesting? Why can … Tallulah? … Tallulah … not find some of the other people who were at this party and have them swear that Finlay was there? What does she need you for? Or me?”
“Because she has already denied being at the party,” Emily said exasperatedly. “Please pay attention! She was only there for a few minutes, perhaps half an hour at the most, and she does not remember who else was there either.”
“It seems altogether an extremely forgettable party,” Charlotte said with a wry expression too close to laughter for Emily’s temper. “Do you really believe all this, Emily? It’s ridiculous. She doesn’t remember anyone there except him, and he not only doesn’t remember anyone at all, even his own sister, he doesn’t even remember being there himself!”
“They were taking opium,” Emily said furiously. “The place was a … a shambles. When Tallulah saw what it was like she left. She didn’t remember the other people because she didn’t know them. Finlay didn’t remember because he was out of his senses.”
“That last part I can believe,” Charlotte conceded dryly. “But even if it is all true, what could we do?”
“Go back to the house where the party was and see if it really happened and if it was as she said,” Emily replied, although as she heard herself, it sounded increasingly foolish. “Well … we could at least see if there had been a party that night and if anyone remembered seeing either Tallulah or Finlay. It would prove something.”
“I suppose we might find someone….” Charlotte said dubiously. “But why doesn’t Tallulah go herself? Presumably at least she knows these people? We don’t.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do we?”
“No! No, of course not!” Emily denied it hastily. “But that is precisely why we would be better. We are important witnesses.”
“Where is it?”
“Beaufort Street, in Chelsea. You’d better change into something a little more formal, as if you were going to a party.”
“Since everyone seems oblivious of their surroundings, it hardly seems worth it,” Charlotte answered. But she did rise to her feet and go towards the door. “I’ll be down in a few minutes. I hope you know what you are doing.”
Emily did not answer.
Half an hour later they were in the carriage, turning from the river into Beaufort Street.
“What number?” Charlotte asked.
“About here,” Emily replied.
“What do you mean ‘about here’?” Charlotte said. “What number is it?”
“I’m not sure. Tallulah didn’t know.”
“You mean she didn’t remember, I suppose,” Charlotte said sarcastically. “If Thomas arrests anyone in that family they can plead insanity and get away with it. Come to that, so could we.”
“We are not doing anything to get arrested for,” Emily retorted sharply.
Charlotte did not reply.
Emily called out for the driver to stop and, with a challenging look at Charlotte, she alighted, rearranged her skirts, and walked across the pavement towards the front of a house where three other carriages appeared to be waiting. By the time she reached the door, Charlotte had caught up with her.
“What are you going to say?” Charlotte demanded. “You can’t just ask if they had an orgy here last Friday and do they know who was here!”
“Of course not!” Emily whispered. “I’ll say I forgot something … a glove.”
“Doesn’t sound to me like an affair where they wore gloves.”
“Well, I’d hardly go home without my shoes!”
“If you could go home without your memory or your wits, why not the odd shoe?” Charlotte said waspishly.
Emily was prevented from replying by the door’s opening and a footman’s staring down at her. He was in full livery, and stood a full head above her.
“Good afternoon.” Emily smiled dazzlingly at him, swallowed convulsively, and began. “I was at a party last Friday evening, and I believe I may have left behind me, er … my …”
The footman’s stare would have frozen milk.
“I believe that would have been at number sixteen, madam. This is number six.” And without waiting for any further remark he stepped back and closed the door, leaving Emily on the step.
“I gather sixteen has something of a reputation,” Charlotte said with a reluctant smile.
Emily said nothing. The color was burning her face in a mixture of embarrassment and anger.
“Well, come on.” Charlotte touched her arm. “Having come this far, we might as well finish it.”
Emily would dearly liked to have gone back to the carriage and never returned to Beaufort Street in her life. The look on the footman’s face would haunt her dreams.
“Come on,” Charlotte said urgently. There might even have been laughter in her voice.
Reluctantly Emily obeyed, and they made their way up the street towards number sixteen. This time it was Charlotte who rang the bell.
The door was opened by a young man with an open-necked shirt, possibly silk, and dark hair which flopped over his brow.
“Hello?” he said with a charming smile. “Ought I to know you? Forgive my absentmindedness, but there are occasions when my mind is absolutely absent. Off on travels to another world where the most fantastic things happen.” He regarded her with candid, friendly interest, waiting for her reply as if his explanation had been utterly reasonable.
“Not very well,” she said, sketching the truth. “But I think I may have left my glove here last Friday. Silly place to wear gloves, I know, but I told my father I was going to the opera, so I had to dress as if I were. I came with Tallulah FitzJames,” she added, as though it were an afterthought.
He looked completely blank. “Do I know her too?”
“Slender, dark,” Emily chipped in. “Very elegant and rather a beauty. She has a … well, a long nose, and very fine eyes.”
“Sounds interesting,” he said approvingly.
“I’m sure you know her brother Finlay,” Charlotte said, making a last attempt.
“Oh! Fin … yes, I know him,” he agreed. “Do you want to come in and look for your glove?”
They accepted and followed him into a wide hallway, and then through a series of rooms all decorated in exotic styles, some strongly Chinese, some Turkish or mock Egyptian. They pretended to look for the glove, and at
