Everyone else laughed as well.
Caroline was looking at Joshua.
It was Pitt who spoke.
“And perhaps we should be careful about libel? Unless, of course, one is a theatre critic. . ”
“Oh!” Cecily drew in her breath sharply and swung around to face him. “My goodness! I didn’t realize you had been listening so carefully. I should have paid you more attention. You’re not a critic, are you?”
He smiled. “No ma’am, I’m a policeman.”
Her eyes widened. “Good God! Are you really?”
Pitt nodded.
“How perfectly grim. Do you arrest people for picking pockets or causing an affray?” She tossed the idea away.
“I’m afraid more often it is something as serious as murder,” he replied, the light gone from his voice.
Orlando stood up. “Which is probably exactly what Mrs. Fielding meant about questions we shouldn’t ask because we don’t want the answers,” he said in the silence which had followed. “Freedom of speech has to include the freedom not to listen. I never thought of that until these last few days.” He walked to the door. “I’m fearfully hungry. I’m going to find something to eat. Good night everyone.”
“A good idea,” Cecily said quickly. It was the first time she seemed in the slightest out of composure. “Champagne supper, everyone?”
Joshua declined politely, excusing them, and after repeating their congratulations, they withdrew.
Pitt offered his thanks again and wished them good night. Caroline and Joshua rode home making polite and rather stiff conversation about the play, speaking of the characters, not once mentioning Cecily Antrim herself. Caroline was filled with an increasing sense of being an outsider.
The following morning Joshua left early to see a playwright, and Caroline took a late breakfast alone. She was sitting staring at her second cup of tea, which she had allowed to go cold, when Mariah Ellison came in, leaning heavily on her stick. She had been handsome in her youth, but age and ill-temper had marked her features now, and her sharp eyes were almost black as she stared at Caroline with disfavor.
“Well, you look as if you lost sixpence and found nothing,” she said tartly. “Face like a jar of vinegar.” She glanced at the teapot. “Is that fresh? I don’t suppose it is.”
“You are quite right,” Caroline replied, looking up.
“Not much use admitting I’m right,” the old lady said, pulling out a chair and sitting down opposite her. “Do something about it! No man likes a wife with a sour expression, particularly if she’s older than he is in the first place. Ill-temper is displeasing enough in the young and pretty. In those past their best it is intolerable.”
Caroline had spent her adult life curbing her tongue in order to be civil to her mother-in-law. This latest rudeness was beyond bearing, because it was so close to the truth. Her self-control snapped.
“Thank you for giving me the benefit of your experience,” she retorted. “I am sure you are in a position to know.”
The old lady was surprised. Caroline had never been so blunt before.
“I presume it was a bad play,” she said deliberately.
“It was a very good play,” Caroline contradicted. “In fact, it was brilliant.”
Mrs. Ellison scowled at the teapot. “Then why are you sitting here by yourself over a cup of cold tea, and with an expression like a bad egg?” she demanded. “I suppose you have a servant of some sort you can ring for to get a fresh pot? I know this is not Ashworth House, but I assume that the young actor you have elected to live with earns sufficient to afford the basic amenities?”
Caroline was so angry and her sense of hurt so deep she said the first thing that came into her head.
“I met a most interesting and charming gentleman yesterday evening.” She stared at the old lady unflinchingly. “From America, over here on a visit and hoping to trace his family.”
“Is that supposed to be an answer?” Mrs. Ellison asked.
“If you want some more tea, ring the bell and the maid will come,” Caroline replied. “Tell her what you wish. I did not explain that to you because I thought you could work it out for yourself. I mentioned Mr. Ellison because I thought you would wish to know. After all, he is more closely related to you than to me.”
The old woman froze. “I beg your pardon?”
“Mr. Ellison is more closely related to you than to me,” Caroline repeated distinctly.
“Does this”- she opened her eyes very wide-“person-claim that he is part of my family? You are no longer an Ellison. You have chosen to become a. . a. .whatever he is!”
“A Fielding,” Caroline said for the umpteenth time. It was part of the old woman’s offense that she pretended to forget Joshua’s name. “And yes, he does claim it. And his likeness to Edward is so remarkable I could not doubt him.”
The old lady sat very still. Even the bell for the maid was forgotten.
“Really? And what manner of man is he? Who does he claim to be, exactly?”
Now Caroline was not so certain how much she enjoyed the revelation. It had not had quite the effect she had expected. However, there was no alternative now but to go on.
“Apparently Papa-in-law was married before. . before he met you.”
The old woman’s face remained like stone.
“Samuel is his son,” Caroline finished.
“Is he indeed?” the old woman replied. “Well. . we’ll see. You did not answer my question. . what manner of man is he?”
“Charming, intelligent, articulate, and, to judge by his clothes, very comfortably situated,” Caroline answered. “I found him most agreeable. I hope he will call upon us.” She took a deep breath. “In fact I shall invite him to.”
Mrs. Ellison said nothing, but reached across for the bell and rang it furiously.
CHAPTER THREE
Pitt was in his office in Bow Street early the morning after the play. There was little pleasure in staying at home alone, and there had been no letter from Charlotte in the first post. As soon as he had eaten breakfast and fed the cats he was happy to leave Keppel Street and be on his way.
It was too early to hear from Tellman in Dover, but Pitt did not expect him to find anything conclusive. Was the grotesquely placed body at Horseferry Stairs that of the French diplomat or some other unfortunate eccentric who had indulged one taste too many? He profoundly hoped it was the latter. A scandal with the French Embassy would be most unpleasant, and possibly not one which could be contained so it did not strain relations between the two countries.
The play the previous night had left him disturbed by the power of its emotions. He was not made as uncomfortable as Caroline had obviously been by the portrayal of the hungers of a woman married to a man who did not satisfy her passions or her dreams. He was a generation younger than she, and he was of a different social class, one which felt freer to express their feelings. And he had also grown up in the country, far closer to nature.
Even so, the nakedness of the emotions he had seen on the stage had provoked deep thought in him, and a new perception of what lies behind even the most outwardly serene faces. He wished intensely that Charlotte were home so he could have discussed it with her. The emptiness of the house was like an ache inside him, and he was pleased to return to the problem of the body in the punt.
In the middle of the morning, while he was combing through reports of missing persons, there was a knock on his door and a sergeant came in looking pleased with himself.
“What is it, Leven?” Pitt asked.
“Woman come to the desk, sir, sayin’ as ’er employer is missin’. Ain’t bin ’ome fer a couple o’ days, like. She says it’s not like ’im at all. Most partic’lar, ’e is, bein’ a professional gent, an’ all. Never misses an appointment. ’Is reputation dependin’ on it, dealin’ with the gentry an’ so on. Can’t keep lords and ladies waitin’, or they won’t come again.”
