Paragon Walk (22 page)

“Emily,” he began, knocking his teacup with his sleeve.

She did not wish to discuss it. Excuses were painful. And she did not want to hear him make them. She affected to suppose he was going to criticize her.

“Oh, I don’t doubt you are going to say I should not speak of her in that way when she has had such a dreadful experience.” She reached for the teapot to have something to do, but her hand was not as steady as he would have wished. “But I promise you what Aunt Vespasia says is quite true, and I know it for myself. Still—I’m sure after this it will not happen again. Everything will be quite changed for her from now on, poor creature!” She composed her face sufficiently to smile across at him and hold the teapot with hardly a quiver. “Would you care for some more tea, George?”

He stared at her, a mixture of incredulity and awe in his eyes.

She viewed it with a warm, delicious tingle of satisfaction.

For a moment they stayed motionless, understanding working through, completing itself.

“Tea?” she repeated at last.

He held out his cup.

“I expect you are right,” he agreed slowly. “In fact I’m sure you are. It will definitely be quite different from now on.”

Her whole body relaxed, she smiled at him dazzlingly and let the tea pour right up the cup, far too full for good taste.

He looked at it with a slight surprise, then smiled as well, a wide, intense smile, like one who has been delightfully amazed.

Miss Laetitia said nothing about the affair of Selena, but Miss Lucinda more than made up for it, spilling opinions out like shopping from a burst basket, every color and shape, but all adding weight to her conviction that there was something incredibly wicked going on in the Walk, and she would devote every ounce of courage she possessed to discovering what it was. Lady Tamworth reinforced her volubly, but took no action.

Afton Nash was also of the opinion that the only women who get molested are those who invite such things and therefore deserve little sympathy. Phoebe wrung her hands and grew even more terrified.

Hallam Cayley continued to drink.

Immediately after the next event, Emily called her carriage in the morning and rushed around unannounced to regale Charlotte with the news. She almost tumbled out of the door onto the pavement, ignoring the footman’s help in her excitement, and forgot to give him any instructions. She thumped on Charlotte’s door.

Charlotte, apron up to her chin, dustpan in hand, answered it, her face blank with surprise.

Emily burst in past her, leaving the door open.

“Are you all right?” Charlotte pushed it shut and followed after her as Emily swept into the kitchen and planted herself on one of the kitchen chairs.

“I’m marvelous!” Emily replied. “You’ll never imagine what has happened! Miss Lucinda has seen an apparition!”

“A what?” Charlotte stared at her in disbelief.

“Sit down,” Emily commanded. “Make me some tea. I’m dying of thirst. Miss Lucinda saw an apparition! Last night. She has taken to the chaise lounge in the withdrawing room in a state of complete collapse, and everyone is rushing around to call on her, simply aching to know what happened. She will be holding court. I would love to be there, but I had to come and tell you. Isn’t it ridiculous?”

Charlotte had put on the kettle; the tea things were already prepared, as she had intended to have a cup herself in an hour or two. She sat down opposite Emily and gazed at her flushed face.

“An apparition? What do you mean? A ghost of Fanny, or something? She’s mad. Does she drink, do you think?”

“Miss Lucinda? Good gracious, no! You should hear what she says about people who drink!”

“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t do it herself.”

“Well, she doesn’t. And no, not a ghost of anybody, but something hideous and evil, staring at her through her window, its face pressed against the glass. She said it was pale green, with red eyes, and had horns out the top of its head!”

“Oh Emily!” Charlotte burst out laughing. “She can’t have! There isn’t any such thing!”

Emily leaned forward.

“But that’s not all,” she said urgently. “One of the maids saw something running away, sort of loping, and it jumped clear over the hedge. And Hallam Cayley’s dog howled half the night!”

“Maybe it was Hallam Cayley’s dog in the first place?” Charlotte suggested. “And it howled because it was shut up again, and maybe beaten for running away.”

“Rubbish! It’s quite a small dog, and it isn’t green!”

“She could have thought its ears were horns,” Charlotte was not going to give up. Then she collapsed in laughter. “But I would love to have seen Miss Lucinda’s face. I’ll wager that was as green as anything at the window!”

Emily burst into giggles, too. The kettle was spouting steam all over the kitchen, but neither of them took any notice.

“It really isn’t funny,” Emily said at last, wiping away her tears.

Charlotte saw the kettle and stood up to make the tea, sniffing and dabbing at her cheeks with the end of her apron.

“I know,” she agreed. “And I am sorry, but it’s so silly I can’t listen to it and keep a straight face. I suppose poor Phoebe will be even more terrified now.”

“I haven’t heard, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she took to her bed as well. She wears a crucifix the size of a teaspoon all the time. I can’t imagine a man who would attack and molest you in the dark being warded off by that!”

“Poor creature.” Charlotte brought the teapot to the table and sat down again. “I wonder if they’ll send for Thomas?”

“For apparitions? More like the vicar.”

“An exorcism?” Charlotte said with delight. “I should love to see that! Do you think they really will?”

Emily raised her eyebrows and began to giggle again. “How else do you get rid of green monsters with horns?”

“A little more water and a little less imagination,” Charlotte said tartly. Then her face softened. “Poor thing. I suppose she has little else to do. The only events of any meaning in her life are those she dreams up. Nobody really needs her. At least after this she’ll be famous for a few days.”

Emily reached over and poured the tea, but she did not reply. It was a pathetic and sobering thought.

At the end of August there was a dinner party at the Dilbridges’ to which Emily and George were invited, along with the rest of the Walk. Surprisingly, the invitation also included Charlotte, if she would care to come.

It was only ten days since Miss Lucinda’s apparition, and Charlotte’s interest was still very much alive. She was not even concerned as to how she would present a suitable appearance. If Emily passed on the invitation she would no doubt also have in mind some gown Charlotte could wear. As usual curiosity won over pride, and without hesitation she accepted yet another of Aunt Vespasia’s gowns, considerably made over by Emily’s lady’s maid. It was a rich oyster shaded satin with a little lace on it, though much had been taken off and replaced with chiffon to make it appear younger. Altogether, turning slowly in front of the cheval glass, Charlotte was very pleased with it. And it was marvelous to have someone else to do her hair. It was extremely difficult to wind hair elegantly at the back of one’s own head. Her hands always seemed to be at the wrong angle.

“That’s fine,” Emily said tartly. “Stop admiring yourself. You’re becoming vain, and it doesn’t suit you!”

Charlotte smiled broadly.

“It might not, but it feels wonderful!” She picked up her skirts, swishing them a little, and followed Emily down to where George was waiting for them in the hallway. It was an event Aunt Vespasia had chosen not to attend, although as a matter of course the invitation had included her.

It was a long time since Charlotte had been to a party at all, and in the past she had not enjoyed them much. But she felt quite differently about this. It was not a case of accompanying Mama so that she might be paraded before suitable potential husbands. This time she was secure in Pitt’s love, not anxious what Society should think of her, and not especially concerned to impress. She could go and be quite naturally herself, and there was no effort required since she was essentially a spectator. The dramas in Paragon Walk did not affect her, because the main tragedy did not touch Emily, and if Emily wished to become involved in the minor farces, that was her own affair.

It was quite a small dinner by the Dilbridges’ usual standards, not more than two or three faces that Charlotte did not already know. Simeon Isaacs was there, with Albertine Dilbridge, much to Lady Tamworth’s obvious disapproval. The Misses Horbury were dressed in pink, and it looked surprisingly well on Miss Laetitia.

Jessamyn Nash floated in in silver gray, looking quite marvelous. Only she could have contrived at once to warm the color with life, and at the same time leave untarnished its wraithlike essence. For a moment Charlotte envied her.

Then she saw Paul Alaric, standing next to Selena, his head bent a little to listen to her, elegant and faintly humorous.

Charlotte raised her chin a little higher and approached them with a dazzling smile.

“Mrs. Montague,” she said brightly, “I’m so glad to see you looking so well.” She did not want to be obvious, above all not in front of Alaric. Waspishness might amuse him, but he would not admire it.

Selena looked slightly surprised. Apparently it was not what she had expected.

“I am in excellent health, thank you,” she said, with eyebrows raised.

They swapped polite nothings, but, as Charlotte looked more closely at Selena, she realized that her initial words had been perfectly true. Selena did appear in excellent health. She looked nothing like a woman who had recently suffered the violence and obscenity of rape. Her eyes were brilliant, and there was a flush on her cheeks that was so high and yet so delicate Charlotte was convinced it owed nothing to art. She moved a little quickly, small gestures of her hands, eyes glancing round the room. If this was a display of courage, a defiance of the tacit consensus that a women ravished was somehow justly despoiled and must remember it all her life, then, for all her dislike, Charlotte could only admire it.

She did not allude to the incident again, and the conversation passed to other things, small items in the news, trivia of fashion. Presently she drifted away, leaving Selena still with Alaric.

“She looks remarkably well, don’t you think?” Grace Dilbridge observed with a small shake of her head. “I don’t know how the poor creature bears it!”

“It must take a great deal of courage,” Charlotte replied. It did not come easily to her to praise Selena, but honesty obliged it. “One cannot help admiring her.”

“Admire!” Miss Lucinda spun round, her face flushed with anger. “You must admire whom you choose, Mrs. Pitt, but I call it brazen! She is disgracing the whole of womanhood! I really think next Season I must go somewhere else. It will be extremely hard for me, but the Walk has become defiled beyond endurance.”

Charlotte was too surprised to answer immediately, and Grace Dilbridge did not seem to know what to say either.

“Brazen,” Miss Lucinda repeated, staring at Selena, now walking on Alaric’s arm across the floor toward the open French doors. Alaric was smiling, but there was something in the angle of his head that betrayed courtesy rather than interest. He seemed even faintly amused.

Miss Lucinda snorted.

Charlotte found her tongue at last.

“I think that is a most unkind thing to say, Miss Horbury, and quite unjust! Mrs. Montague was the victim, not the perpetrator, of the crime.”

“What utter nonsense!” It was Afton Nash, pale-faced, eyes glittering. “I find it hard to imagine you can really be so naive, Mrs. Pitt. Feminine charms may be considerable—to some.” He raked her up and down with a contempt that seemed to strip her of her gorgeous satins and leave her naked to the prying and derision of everyone. “But if you imagine they are such as to drive men to force themselves upon the unwilling, you overrate your own sex.” He smiled icily. “There are enough willing, positively eager, for titillation, who even find a perverse pleasure in violence and submission to it. No man need risk his reputation by assaulting the unwilling, whatever any given woman may choose to say afterward.”

“That’s a disgusting thing to say!” Algernon Burnon had been close enough to overhear. Now he stepped forward, ashen faced, his slight body shaking. “I demand that you withdraw it, and apologize!”

“Or you will—what?” Afton’s smile did not alter. “Request me to choose between pistols and swords? Don’t be ridiculous, man! Nurse your offense, by all means, if you must. Believe whatever you want to about women; but don’t try to make me believe it too!”

“A decent man,” Algernon said stiffly, “would not speak ill of the dead, nor insult another man’s grief. And whatever anyone’s most private weaknesses or shame, he would not make public mock of it!”

To Charlotte’s amazement Afton did not reply. His face drained of all blood, and he stared at Algernon as if no one else existed in the room. Seconds ticked by, and even Algernon seemed frightened by the intensity of Afton’s frozen hatred. Then Afton turned on his heel and strode away.

Charlotte breathed out slowly; she did not even know why she was frightened. She did not understand what had happened. Neither, apparently, did Algernon himself. He blinked and turned to Charlotte.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Pitt. I’m sure we must have embarrassed you. It is not a subject we should have discussed in front of ladies. But,” he took in a deep breath and let it out. “I am grateful to you for defending Selena—for Fanny’s sake—you—”

Charlotte smiled.

“I understand. And no person who is worth counting a friend would think otherwise.”

His face relaxed a little.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

A moment later she found Emily at her elbow.

“What happened?” Emily demanded anxiously. “It looked dreadful!”

“It was unpleasant,” Charlotte agreed. “But I don’t really know exactly what it meant.”

“Well, what did you do?” Emily snapped.

“I praised Selena for her courage,” Charlotte replied, looking at Emily very directly. She had no intention of going back on it, and Emily might as well know.