“Indeed?” Emily raised her eyebrows as high as she could and invested her voice with a trace of humor. “I’ve never discussed politics with a whore. But I do know Mr. Balfour slightly.”
“I apologize, Lady Ashworth,” he said with a dry smile. “Were you discussing politics when I interrupted you?”
“Not at all. We were discussing Mr. Ross, and who might have been Helena Doran’s mysterious admirer.” She watched his face. Men sometimes confided in each other. It was conceivable he might know. His skin darkened, and tightened for a moment across his temples. She felt a thrill of victory. He knew something!
“It is most courteous of you to offer tea,” she stood up, “but I fear I called uninvited, and I would be most distressed to have put you to inconvenience. It has been a great pleasure to have further made your acquaintance, Mrs. Campbell. I hope we shall meet again.” Now she wished to be out of this room, away from Garson Campbell before he read too much of her intent. He was a man with whom she did not wish to match wits.
Mariah did not appear surprised.
“I shall look forward to it,” she said, reaching at the same time for the bell. “So generous of you to call. I’m sorry I was unable to advise you regarding Scotland.”
“Oh, pray don’t concern yourself,” Emily was already making for the door where she could hear the parlormaid in the hall. “I doubt we shall go anyway, especially if this dismal weather continues.”
“It will continue, Lady Ashworth,” Campbell said from the center of the room. “It always does, from January right through until March, invariably. I have never known it to do otherwise. And the only difference you will find in Scotland is that it will be worse.”
“Then I shall definitely not go,” Emily said, almost backing into the maid. “Thank you for your counsel.” She left him smiling a little contemptuously at her foolishness, and made her escape into the street. She climbed into the carriage with an air of relief, even though it was cold, and there was a loose spring somewhere, from the feel of it. At least she was spared the necessity of extricating herself from an increasingly impossible conversation. What an unpleasant man! If there was anything more oppressive than stupid people, it was those who felt they knew everything-and disliked everything.
The next time she called upon Sophie Bolsover she found Euphemia and Adelina Southeron there, and consequently could say nothing of Helena Doran and hope to learn answers of value. It was several tedious, desperately impatient days before she felt it suitable to call again.
This time she was more fortunate, although fortune was only partly responsible. She had done a little reconnoitering beforehand, and thus discovered Sophie satisfactorily alone.
“Oh, Sophie, what a pleasure to find you unengaged,” she breezed in immediately, making no pretense. “I have such wonderful gossip to tell you. I should have been so disappointed to have been constrained to speak of trivialities.”
Sophie brightened instantly. Nothing pleased her more than gossip, except gossip from a lady of title.
“Come in,” she urged. “Make yourself comfortable, Emily dear, and do tell me. Is it about Lady Tidmarsh? I have been simply dying to discover whether she really did stay with those fearful Joneses! I can hardly bear the suspense.”
This was precisely what Emily had hoped she would ask, for she had taken great pains to provide the answer.
“Of course!” she said triumphantly. “But you must swear not to repeat it!” This added an irresistible spice. Sophie dissembled utterly, her eyes shining with excitement; she almost pulled Emily physically onto the sofa by the fire, curling up immediately like a little cat.
“Tell me!” she pleaded. “Tell me everything!”
Emily obliged, decorating it here and there with detail that might well be true enough, and was certainly no more than harmless color. When she had finished Sophie was ecstatic. It would furnish her with stories to drop hints about and retell to those she wished to impress, one by one, with further swearings to secrecy; and of course, to refuse to tell to those she wished to annoy, with many hints as to how fascinating and exclusive was the information she could not possibly divulge. And it would be only human to imply she knew yet more, which she was bound to keep in the utmost silence. She was beside herself with delight.
Now was the perfect time to ask about Helena Doran. Sophie would tell her everything she knew, or even guessed. Emily made no bones about her interest.
“Oh,” Sophie breathed out happily, “of course.” Then she frowned. “But it is all a little old now! Are you sure you care?”
“Oh yes,” Emily assured her. “I think it is fascinating. Who can he have been?”
Sophie screwed up her face in thought.
“Helena was very pretty, you know, almost a real beauty, one might say; such hair, all the color of winter sunshine, or so poor Mr. Ross used to say. He was quite dreadfully upset, you know?
“I do hope he will be happy with Christina. She is utterly different, as different as could be; to look at, naturally, but in her character as well.”
“What was Helena like?” Emily asked innocently.
“Oh,” Sophie thought again. “Quiet, not terribly fashionable; of course she did not need to be, she was beautiful enough to get away with dressing plainly. And she didn’t need to be witty. She played the piano very well, and she used to sing also. I sometimes wish I could sing. Can you?”
“Not very well. Was she secretive?”
“Quiet, yes; when I come to think of it, she did not have a great many close friends. She was fond of Euphemia Carlton.”
“What sort of men did she admire?”
Sophie contorted her face in an effort to remember.
“Men of substance, not just material, but men who had succeeded at something, who were established. In fact, older men. Perhaps because she had had no father for years, poor child. She did admire General Balantyne, I recall. Such a handsome man, don’t you think? Such an air of authority about him, and such dignity. If I didn’t love Freddie, I would quite care for him myself!”
“Was that why she didn’t marry Mr. Ross; because he was not yet of sufficient substance for her, too young?” Emily asked.
“You know, I had not thought of it, but that could be the reason. She admired confidence in a man. Although she did not care for poor Reggie Southeron at all. But then he is so irresponsible! He has not the kind of-what the Romans used to call gravitas, so Freddie says. So very masculine, gravitas, don’t you agree? Really quite exciting!”
“So she would not have run off with a penniless romantic, then? Or someone of unsuitable social class?” Emily asked. Really, the mystery was deepening! This was fascinating, and increasingly incomprehensible.
Sophie’s eyes widened with her own surprise.
“No! No, she wouldn’t, now that I come to think about it. Oh my dear, do you suppose he was already married to someone else, and they simply ran off? Oh, how dreadful!”
“Where do you suppose she met him?” Emily pursued. “If they had met at parties and so forth, people would know who he was-and nobody does!”
“Oh, it must have been somewhere secret,” Sophie agreed. “Even Laetitia doesn’t know who he was. At least she says she doesn’t, and why should she lie? Unless, of course, he was somebody simply awful! But I cannot see Helena becoming enamored of someone awful. She was far too proud, and fastidious.”
“She was fastidious?”
“Oh very! No, they must quite definitely have met somewhere secretly.”
“Well, it must have been close, must it not?” Emily thought aloud. “Or else she would have had to take a carriage, and then the driver at least would know. And one should never trust coachmen, unless one pays them oneself; and even then they may always be better paid by someone else. No, it is good counsel never to trust servants, especially men; they tend to ally with other men.”