“We cannot take you this time, Grandmama, no matter what you say.” Charlotte smiled at her tightly, looking straight into her black eyes. “The subject is far too delicate. I am sorry.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” the old lady snapped. “Why on earth should I wish to go to Pimlico?”
“For the same reason you went to see Celeste and Angeline, of course,” Charlotte replied. “To indulge your curiosity.”
For a moment the old lady was so angry she was robbed of words.
Charlotte smiled sweetly and turned around and went after her mother out across the landing and downstairs.
“Charlotte.” The old lady’s voice followed after her, sharp and plaintive. “Charlotte. How dare you speak to me like that! Come back here! Do you hear me? Charlotte!”
Charlotte ran down the last few steps and caught up with Caroline.
“Are we going to Pimlico?” she said quietly.
“Of course,” Caroline replied, looking around for her cloak. “There’s nowhere else we can begin.”
“Are you sure that is wise? There is no point in going simply to ask the same questions again.”
“Of course I’m sure,” Caroline said urgently. “We can see Clio Farber at this time of day. Theater people rise late, compared with most, take a good luncheon, which they call dinner, and rehearse in the afternoon.” Charlotte was about to say something, but Caroline hurried on. “She already understands the situation; she may have found a way in which we can meet this Devlin O’Neil. He is the only one we know of who is a definite suspect. That is the right word, isn’t it?”
“Yes—yes, it is.” Charlotte reached for the cloak and held it while Caroline put it over her shoulders. She put her own coat back on again. “How do you know Miss Farber is aware of the situation?”
“Maddock!” Caroline called out. “Maddock! Will you please call the carriage for me? No—no, on second thought don’t bother. I will take a hansom.” She glanced up towards the landing where the grim figure of the old lady was staring down the stairs, her stick striking at the banisters.
“Caroline,” she said loudly. “Caroline!”
“I am going out,” Caroline replied, grasping Charlotte by the arm. “Come, Charlotte. We cannot waste time, or we shall miss them.”
“You’re going to run about after that actor again?” Grandmama called from halfway down the stairs. “That Jew!”
Caroline turned around in the front doorway. “No, Mama-in-law, I am going to see Miss Farber. Please don’t make an exhibition of yourself by raising your voice in front of the servants. I shall be out for luncheon.” And without waiting for anything further, she gripped Charlotte by the arm again and went outside, leaving Maddock to close the door behind her.
For ten minutes they walked briskly along the pavement, past acquaintances to whom Caroline nodded briefly with a word of greeting.
“Good morning, Mrs. Ellison.” A large lady in green with a fur tippet stood squarely in the way, and it was impossible to continue without speaking. “How are you?” she demanded.
They were obliged to stop.
“In excellent health, thank you, Mrs. Parkin,” Caroline replied. “And you?”
“All things considered, not badly, thank you.” Mrs. Parkin stared at Charlotte enquiringly.
Caroline had no option but to outstare her.
“May I present my daughter, Mrs. Pitt. Mrs. Parkin.”
“How do you do, Mrs. Parkin,” Charlotte said obediently.
“How do you do, Mrs. Pitt.” Mrs. Parkin smiled, her eyes going up and down Charlotte’s rather plain coat and second-season boots. “I don’t believe we have met before?” She made it a question.
Charlotte smiled back, brightly and just as blandly.
“I am sure we have not, Mrs. Parkin. I should have remembered.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Parkin was momentarily lost for words. The reply was not what she had planned. “How kind of you. Do you live in this area?”
Charlotte smiled even more brightly. “Not now, but of course I used to.” Seeing the intent expression in Mrs. Parkin’s face, and knowing the interrogation would continue, she carried the war into the enemy’s camp. “Have you lived here long yourself, Mrs. Parkin?”
Mrs. Parkin was startled. She had considered herself in charge of the conversation, and all she had looked for were polite and truthful answers as befitted a socially junior woman. She regarded Charlotte’s eagerly interested face with displeasure.
“Some five years, Mrs. Pitt.”
“Indeed,” Charlotte said quickly, before Mrs. Parkin could continue. “Most agreeable, don’t you find? I know Mama does. I do hope you have a pleasant day. I think the weather is going to improve, don’t you? Do you require a hansom?”
“I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Parkin said stiffly.
“Then you will forgive us if we take that one.” Charlotte gestured vaguely. “We have an appointment some distance away. So very pleasant to have made your acquaintance, Mrs. Parkin.” And with that she took Caroline’s arm firmly and hurried along the pavement, leaving Mrs. Parkin standing staring after them with her mouth open and her breath drawn in to speak.
Caroline did not know whether to laugh or be horrified. She was torn between natural instinct and a lifetime of training. Instinct won and she giggled happily as they walked with undignified haste towards a hansom cab waiting by the curb.
They alighted in Pimlico and were admitted to the Passmores’ huge parlor. Joshua Fielding, Tamar Macaulay and several other people were sitting in large cane chairs, involved in animated conversation. Scripts lay about on table tops and several on the floor in piles. Miranda Passmore sat on a heap of cushions; this time the door had been opened by a youth with curly hair, bearing a strong resemblance to her.
As soon as Caroline and Charlotte came in, Joshua rose to his feet and welcomed them. Charlotte saw with remarkably mixed emotions the instant pleasure in his face and a gentleness in him unique in his glance towards Caroline. If it were possible he cared for her more than mere friendship, or a gratitude that she was so concerned for his welfare, then Caroline was not so wildly vulnerable, not open to such a humiliating rejection. That brought a rush of warmth to Charlotte and smoothed away some of her own fear.
And yet if he did have such feeling, it would only lead to disaster. At best a sad parting, because it was impossible—or at worst an affaire, with all the heartbreak when it ended, when he grew tired of her, or she came to her senses. And the ever-present risk of the most fearful scandal. Grandmama had no gentleness in her, no tenderness, but her fears were not ill founded. Society did not forgive. It was full of women like Mrs. Parkin with her prying questions and intrusive, knowing eyes. Those who broke the rules were never permitted to return. There would be no place for Caroline after that.
Joshua was speaking to Charlotte, and she had not heard a word he had said. He was standing in front of her smiling, with a shadow of anxiety in his eyes. He had a remarkably mobile and expressive face, full of possibilities for humor, passion, pain and wry, relentless self-knowledge. It would be terribly difficult not to like him, however much the thought of him with Caroline disturbed her.
“I’m so sorry,” she apologized. “My mind was woolgathering.”
“I doubt it,” he said candidly. “I think you are concerned for this wretched affair, most generously on our behalf, and you are wondering what we can do next that would be of any use. Am I not right?”
She seized the chance. “Yes, indeed you are,” she lied, meeting his eyes and forcing herself to smile back. “I think it is time we made the acquaintance of Mr. Devlin O’Neil, if Miss Farber is able to help us.”
He turned and beckoned to a young woman in her, early thirties, but casually dressed in something like an artist’s smock. Her fair hair was wildly curly and she had not bothered to dress it except to pile it on her head and secure it with a couple of pins and a length of bright red fabric. It was quite beautiful, and flattered her wide-cheekboned face with blue eyes and broad, soft mouth. It was a face Charlotte liked immediately. As soon as the most perfunctory introductions were made, and acknowledgment of the others in the room, she turned to Clio.