So the whole matter was better forgotten, except for the rather squalid business of discovering who killed her. And that was the job of the police. All she and her family could do was take sufficient care to see they did not get in the way of this lunatic’s garotting wire.
The practical matters of real importance were the positive ones, such as discovering what everyone might wear at the party to be given by a certain Major and Mrs. Winter, to which George Ashworth was to escort her. It would be a serious setback if she were to find her dress duplicated, or nearly so. She aimed ultimately to set fashion rather than follow it, but in the meantime she must judge it to a nicety, so as not to appear merely eccentric. She would have to consult the Misses Madison, and Miss Decker-without their being aware of it, of course.
The police did not return for several days. Apparently they were conducting their investigations elsewhere, probably going back to the earlier deaths, talking to the Abernathys and the Hiltons. The whole affair was not discussed openly again, although they nearly all found themselves saying small things, letting thoughts slip out. They were mostly expressions of relief that the police were out of the house and had transferred their unwelcome presence, with its attendant speculation and scandal, to someone else. The other feeling that came through was the continuing anxiety about what might happen next, where this creature might be, if it were actually conceivable that he came from the immediate neighbourhood-someone’s manservant, or a small trader?
Emily gathered all her information, and procured a magnificent gown in the palest lilac, with delicate silver trim. She was in particularly good health; her skin was clear, far better than the elder Miss Madison’s, and her eyes bright. She had excellent colour, not too high, and her hair for once did everything she wished.
Ashworth called for her in his coach, naturally paying his respects to the family before departing. Mama was very civil, Papa even more so, but Charlotte was as uncompromising as usual.
“Your sister Charlotte has little liking for me, I think,” Ashworth observed as soon as they were alone. “It’s a pity. She’s a handsome creature.”
Emily knew she had nothing to fear from Charlotte, but it might be wise not to be too readily available to Ashworth. It was more than possible he hankered more for the chase than for the prize.
“Indeed she is,” she agreed. “And you are not the only one to have noticed it.”
“I should hardly think so.” Then he looked at her with a smile. “Or were you being particular? Tell me, if you know a nice piece of gossip?”
“Only that our police inspector seems much taken with her, to Charlotte’s fury!”
He laughed outright. “And knowing you, you have not let it go unmarked. Poor Charlotte, how very irritating to be admired by a policeman, of all things!”
Their arrival was all Emily could have hoped for, indeed have planned. And thereafter for at least the first two hours all went well; but later she found Ashworth’s attention wandering not only to his drinking and gambling companions, but especially to one Hetty Gosfield, a conspicuous girl of somewhat indelicate charms, but influential parentage and, worse than that, money. She had always known that Ashworth had an admiring eye for a pretty woman, and she had not expected to hold his entire attention, or even the larger part of it, without considerable work. But this Gosfield woman was beginning to be a threat.
Emily watched as Ashworth, at the far side of the room, smiled into the eyes of Hetty Gosfield, and Hetty laughed happily back. A quarter an hour later the situation was much the same.
Emily took a deep breath and considered. Above all things she must not make a scene. Ashworth abhorred any vulgarity that was not his own; even when he found it amusing, he still despised it. She would have to be far subtler than that; put the Gosfield woman in the wrong.
It took her some time to work it out, as her attention was divided between carrying on a conversation with Mr. Decker without talking too apparent nonsense, controlling her temper, and coming to a satisfactory plan of action.
When at last she moved it was with decisiveness. She knew one of Ashworth’s young friends passably well, the Honorable William Foxworthy-empty-headed, possessing more money than good taste, and of an exhibitionistic temperament. It was not hard to attract his attention. He was at one of the tables playing cards. He saw her watching him. She waited until he won.
“Oh, excellent, Mr. Foxworthy!” she applauded. “What skill you have. Indeed, I swear I have never seen anyone cleverer-except Lord Ashworth, of course.”
He looked up sharply.
“Ashworth? You think he is cleverer than I?”
She smiled sweetly.
“Only at cards. I have no doubt you excel him in many other things.”
“I don’t know about other things, Miss Ellison, and I assure you I have a greater skill at cards.”
She gave him a gentle look, full of patience and total disbelief.
“I’ll show you!” He stood up, the pack in his hand.
“Oh, pray, don’t trouble yourself,” she said quickly. It was going extremely well, exactly as she had intended. “I’m sure you are most able.”
“Not able, Miss Ellison.” He was stiff now, full of outraged pride. “That implies mere indifference. I am better than Ashworth. I’ll prove it.”
“Oh, please. I didn’t mean to disturb your game,” she protested, still loading her voice with disbelief.
“You doubt me?”
“Do you wish me to be honest?”
“Then you leave me no option but to beat Ashworth, and oblige you to believe me!” He strode across the room towards Ashworth, who was still totally engaged with Hetty Gosfield.
“George!” he said loudly.
“Oh, please!” Emily cried plaintively, but did not follow him beyond the first few paces. She must not be seen to have instigated this, or the whole purpose would be destroyed.
It worked marvellously. Foxworthy disrupted the tete-a-tete, demanding to prove his superiority. Ashworth could not resist, and Hetty Gosfield argued at first, but as Ashworth became annoyed with her because she was being tiresome and drawing a vulgar attention to them, she sulked and went away with someone else.
After it was all over Emily found herself with Ashworth again.
“Beat him,” he said with satisfaction.
“Of course,” Emily smiled. He apparently had no idea that the exercise had nothing to do with skill at cards. “I had presumed you would.”
“I can’t bear vulgarity,” he went on aggrievedly. “Bad taste for a woman to make an exhibition of herself.”
Again Emily agreed, although privately she thought it was no worse for a woman than for a man; but that was not the way society saw it, and she knew the rules well enough to play by them, and too well to imagine one could break them and still win.
It was only when she was at home, lying in bed staring at the gaslight patterns on the ceiling, reflected from the lamps outside, that she reviewed the evening. There was no question in her mind that she still intended to marry George Ashworth, but there must be a weighing of his faults, a decision as to which might reasonably be changed, and which she would have to learn to live with, and herself change. Perhaps it was too much to require of any man of breeding and wealth that he should be faithful, but she would most certainly require that he be discreet in his liaisons. He must never make her an object of public sympathy. When the time was right, she must make that quite clear.
Again, he might gamble his own money as much as he chose, but never mortgage that which she might in good conscience regard as his provision for her-in other words their house, the wages of servants, a carriage and good horses, and a dress allowance sufficient to permit her to appear as becomes a lady.
She fell asleep, still thinking of the practicalities.