“Thank you.” Emily murmured, the moment they were out of earshot, “Who is Lady Cartwright?”
“No idea,” Vespasia replied. “For heaven’s sake, what a cold man! Is he always like that?”
“Duncannon? I think so. Perhaps not in his own home…” She let the suggestion trail.
“You mean in the bedroom,” Vespasia replied. “If so, one might be better off sleeping through the whole thing.”
Emily kept her face straight with difficulty. “I think he is nervous about the contract. Many people overtalk when they are anxious. It does mean a great deal to him. Or perhaps he is afraid of you?”
Vespasia smiled. “I hope so.” Then suddenly she was serious. “You may be right about this contract. Victor will not discuss it with me, though I am perfectly sure he knows a great deal.”
“And he is in favor of it?” Then Emily wondered if perhaps she should not have asked. Would apologizing make it worse?
“Very much,” Vespasia replied unhesitatingly. “But there will be those who lose. Or, of course, who have political objections.”
“But not ethical ones?”
“I don’t think so. And those are the ones that matter.”
Emily looked at her with surprise, not that she should think so, but that she should say it. It seemed naive for Vespasia.
Vespasia laughed. “I am not being sanctimonious, my dear! It is that good men will fight for an ethical cause, and they are the hardest to beat, partly because one is not ever certain that one wishes to.”
“Is Godfrey Duncannon a good man?”
“I don’t know,” Vespasia admitted honestly. “There are times when he is certainly tedious enough that one would believe he wishes to give that impression. But whether his exhaustive knowledge comes from intelligence as well as the overwhelming desire to impress, I don’t know.”
“Or the wish to dominate the conversation and keep it off all personal matters,” Emily suggested.
“Ah,” Vespasia said gently. “How perceptive of you. That could indeed be it. We are about to meet another man who is exhaustingly righteous.” She smiled with a grace that disguised all dislike. “How nice to see you, Mr. Abercorn. Emily, may I present Josiah Abercorn. My niece, Mrs. Jack Radley.”
Abercorn was the man Emily had earlier briefly mistaken for Godfrey Duncannon. Closer to, he was of unusual appearance. His eyes were large and very blue. They should have been magnificent, but were marred by dark shadows around them, as if he never slept sufficiently. His features were strong, with the same power as Duncannon’s, and there was a similar fire of intelligence in his eyes, although Duncannon’s were dark.
He greeted Emily politely enough, and with marked interest-no doubt because she was Jack’s wife.
“Mrs. Radley,” he said cordially. “Perhaps your husband has not mentioned me. He is admirably discreet. I am one of the lawyers who is drafting this contract we are all so eager to have signed. It will benefit more people than most of us can imagine.”
“My husband has said as much,” Emily replied warmly. “Although, of course, he does not mention any details.”
“Of course not,” Abercorn agreed. “But I assure you, if you are a woman of conscience and compassion for those less fortunate, you will rejoice when as much of it as possible is made public. This will open up vast areas of opportunity, and perhaps right some of the terrible things we committed against the Chinese people during our Opium Wars.”
She could only guess what he was referring to, but she managed to look suitably impressed.
“I count it a great privilege to have a part in it,” he continued. “It will be the crown of my aspirations to serve my country.”
Emily felt Vespasia tense beside her, with just the slightest stiffening of her already straight back.
“One jewel in the crown, Mr. Abercorn,” Vespasia interjected. “I am sure there will be more.” Her tone was impossible to read.
“I see no further than this, Lady Narraway,” he said blandly. “?‘I do not ask to see the distant scene, one step enough for me,’?” he quoted the famous hymn.
“How cautious of you,” Vespasia responded. “And perhaps wise. Politics can move so quickly it is best not to play all your hand at once.”
“I had not-” he began, then changed his mind and bit off whatever he was going to say.
“Indeed,” Vespasia murmured, as if she had understood perfectly.
Something a few yards away drew Abercorn’s attention, and he turned to look. Emily saw his expression change from benign polite interest. For an instant she saw hatred in his face, and pain. It was so deep that she was unaware of anything else. Instinctively she also turned to follow his gaze. The only person she recognized was Godfrey Duncannon. Everyone else seemed to be at least half turned away.
Then the moment passed, Abercorn regained his composure, and Emily was left wondering. She had no time to ask Vespasia whether she had observed it as well because they were joined by others and the conversation instantly became general.
This new group included the woman Emily had seen earlier talking so earnestly with Josiah Abercorn. This time she was with her husband, Police Commissioner Bradshaw. This relationship, Emily could instantly see, was quite different.
Mrs. Bradshaw was a woman of beauty, which was disturbing because of the haunted look in her wide, dark eyes. Emily was certain within an instant that she had some emotional or physical pain that crowded out pleasure for more than a few moments here or there. Perhaps it was ill health of such a nature that there was no recovery in view. She listened to the conversation and she laughed quietly at all the right places, but she spoke very little, and she stayed very close to her husband.
Bradshaw was also keenly aware of her and every so often he touched her arm, as if to remind her of his care, even protection. However, he could not protect her from the pain inside her, and that helplessness was there in his own face in moments he thought he was unobserved, when someone else made a joke or a particularly perceptive remark.
Emily wondered how much pain other people carried that passed unnoticed by all but the closest observer. Perhaps the kindest thing was to affect not to have noticed.
Emily excused herself at the first opportunity she found, and made her way over to where Cecily was trying to look interested in the shallow conversation of three young women. It was nearly a quarter of an hour before they could extricate themselves with grace.
“Thank heaven,” Cecily said with feeling. “If it were not winter, I would go for a walk in the garden. I think I would rather have fallen into the pond than heard any more stories about Rose, or Violet, or whatever her name was.”
Emily turned to her lightly. “You look worn out. I imagine you have to attend far too many of these receptions. I find after a while that they all seem the same, and I can’t for the life of me remember what this particular one was supposed to be about. I can understand why some people call everyone ‘my dear,’ or even ‘your excellency.’ How does anyone remember all these names?”
Cecily smiled. “Oh, there are tricks, but they don’t always work.”
“Then let us go and look for the room with the Gainsborough portrait in it,” Emily suggested.
“I didn’t know there was one!” Cecily said with surprise.
“Then we may well be some time in finding it,” Emily responded.
For the first time in the evening Cecily genuinely laughed. They walked close beside each other, talking of trifles, until they were out of earshot of the main party. A few moments later, out of sight as well.
“Are you just madly bored?” Emily asked gently. “Or are you concerned about the contract? I have heard nothing to suggest that there will be any problems. I know it is extraordinarily important to you.”
Cecily gave a slight shrug. “No, I think it is all as it should be. Godfrey is confident. He has certainly worked hard enough at it, and he is meticulous. He leaves no details to chance, or even for someone else to check.”