“I see. Thank you for the warning. For the time being, Inspector Tellman, keep it to yourself. The more I look into this thing, the worse it gets. Keep the report off paper, for the moment. Tell me anything else you discover. And you’d better be quick about it. I won’t mince words. Your job hangs on how well you manage to keep control of the rumors. I’ll have no choice but to replace you, if you can’t do it.”
“Yes, sir.” Tellman stood up, but felt the room sway around him. His job! How could he keep this from Gracie? She would be worried sick, even if she did everything she could to hide it from him. And she would!
He must do better than this. He stiffened his shoulders and looked down at Bradshaw in his padded chair.
“We have a suspect, sir, but we need to make certain he is the right man before we tell anyone at all, as it will cause a certain amount of concern among some people. I will report directly to you, sir.”
“Who is it?” Bradshaw asked, in spite of Tellman’s saying that he would not divulge the name.
“Need to be certain, sir,” Tellman replied. He met Bradshaw’s gaze without the slightest flicker.
Eventually Bradshaw blinked, and then gave a grim smile.
“Very well, I expect to hear from you soon. You may go.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Chapter 7
Emily was dressed in cream and gold, colors she did not often wear, but this gown was the height of sophistication, slender, rich, and up to the minute in its styling, especially about the shoulders. She knew it flattered her even before she left her dressing room, but admiration from a number of men, and a burning curiosity from women, reaffirmed this to her now as she and Jack were attending yet another party where the edges of politics and vast business empires interacted.
Again, of course, Sir Donald Parsons, Josiah Abercorn, Godfrey Duncannon, and many others were gathered. Another major clause in the contract had been successfully negotiated and they were here both to celebrate and to prepare for the next step. It was beginning to look possible that soon they might complete enough of it to take a few days’ break from negotiations, maybe even go to the country in time for New Year’s.
Emily was at the edge of a conversation, half listening. Her eyes were on Godfrey Duncannon, elegant, courteous, always appearing to be interested. She wondered how he achieved it. He must have been bored almost to sleep, and yet he was smiling at everyone, nodding now and then as if he approved.
Where was Cecily? No doubt listening dutifully to someone. Emily’s eyes swept around the room, trying to recall what color Cecily was wearing. She saw a figure in a bronze and black gown, striking, almost wintry, but beautiful. Her dark head was bent, the light of the chandelier striking fire from the jewels in her hair.
She straightened up, and Emily realized it was Cecily. As Cecily turned away from the people she was with, Emily saw the tension in her face. Was it Emily’s imagination, or was Cecily even more troubled than before? Why? Something to do with her son, or her husband? Or possibly it was something completely different.
Emily was drawn back into the conversation around her.
“How interesting,” she lied smoothly. She had no idea what they were discussing, but that seemed an innocuous enough thing to say. Everybody wanted to be thought interesting.
Still she glanced at Cecily when she could. Once she observed her talking to Josiah Abercorn and watched them discreetly for some moments. Abercorn was immaculately dressed, with almost too much care, as he had been each time she had seen him. There was no ease in it. She knew nothing to his discredit and yet she understood exactly why Cecily stood as far from him as she could without being discourteous, and why there was a rigidity to the line of her body, as if he made her uncomfortable. Was that very slight self-consciousness in him something she was aware of too? Did he have any idea? He was smiling as he spoke to her, but Emily was much too far away to have the faintest idea what the conversation might be about.
Cecily nodded agreement in the conversation, and moved a step back from Abercorn.
He gave a self-deprecating shrug, a slight gesture of one hand, and took a half-step forward, maintaining the former distance between them.
For a moment Emily thought Cecily was going to move back again, even excuse herself and walk away altogether. Was the conversation about the contract? Something she feared would hurt Godfrey? Emily already knew that Godfrey’s reputation and possibly something of his future might suffer if the contract failed now that he had so publicly allied himself with it.
Was that what Cecily was worried about? Abercorn knew the details of the contract; maybe he was warning her, and she wished to be alone to consider what it might mean to her husband. But surely Abercorn was for the contract. Or was it that his intense support came at a price? Could it be one that Godfrey was unwilling to pay?
Emily should learn more about Abercorn, for Jack’s sake if nothing else. He was instrumental in the legal drafting of the contract, she knew. And Jack had also said he was politically ambitious, and he had very considerable private means. Emily could see, however, that he lacked the grace of one born to privilege, and his arrogance was one of achievement, not of birth.
Like Cecily, Emily herself had not had to be concerned about money for a long time. But restricted circumstances-even moving to a smaller house, maintaining fewer servants, entertaining less often-were far less damaging to happiness than the feeling that one was a failure. She could remember with painful clarity how Jack had suffered when his previous hopes had been dashed. He knew it was a misjudgment, or at least in part it was. Most of Emily’s attempts to convince him otherwise only made it worse. It was the fact of loss that mattered, not always its degree.
Is that what Cecily was worried about? Not the reality of failure but the injury it did to the mind? Emily could see Duncannon, the public man now, thick, iron-gray hair gleaming as he inclined his head to listen to some diamond-tiaraed woman. He looked superbly confident.
But Cecily knew the private man, the one who might sit up alone half the night with a decanter of whisky, then go to bed alone to grieve over the broken image of what he had dreamed himself to be.
Emily looked about, wondering who she should ask about Abercorn. Someone who would be discreet, yet tell her at least something of what she needed to know, and accurately. Such people were few.
How would she explain her wish to know?
Then she remembered: Jack had told her he was thinking of inviting him to take a government office. It would be important. Nothing unfortunate was known of Abercorn, but one could not be too careful. He was not married, so the question arose, had he ever been? What was his…behavior? One did not wish details, only assurances.
She had heard such inquiries made before. She knew the questions, and knew how to phrase them.
But then why was she doing this, and not Jack himself?
The answer came to that also…Between women, my dear! We are so much more observant, don’t you think?
And far more likely to pick up the gossip that might, when unwrapped, come very close to the truth.
Now who to choose? Who would be certain not to take the nature of her inquiries straight back-or, for that matter, indirectly back-to Abercorn himself.
Of course! Lady Parsons. Emily thought not much would escape her discerning eye, even if it did not pass her carefully guarded lips.
While pretending to listen to someone’s wedding arrangements, she looked around the room and after several minutes saw Lady Parsons some distance away in a silver-gray gown that did not suit her at all. She would have been much better in a warmer color.
Walking across the room, avoiding meeting the eyes of anyone she knew too well to pass by, she considered how frank to be with Lady Parsons. The judgment should be exactly right. She must not compliment her gown. If Lady Parsons had any idea how it appeared Emily might be suspected of sarcasm, or mockery.