Finally Charlotte could bear the tension no longer. She remembered seeing a doorway to the conservatory when they were shown in, and she turned to Julian.
“I believe I noticed your conservatory as we passed through the hall. I love conservatories so much. Perhaps you would be kind enough to show me? It would be like stepping in a moment from London’s winter into a foreign land full of flowers.”
Veronica drew in her breath with a sharp sound.
“How well you describe it. You have added instantly to my pleasure,” Julian said quickly. “I should be delighted to take you. We have some very fine lilies—at least, that is what I believe they are. I’m not good at names, but I can find you the most beautiful, and those with the richest perfume.” He stood up as he spoke.
Charlotte rose also. Veronica’s back was to Julian, so he could not see her face; Charlotte smiled directly at her, meeting her hot gaze steadily. It was full of anger and dark, wounded bitterness. Charlotte extended her hand, palm upward in invitation.
At last, and quite suddenly, Veronica grasped her meaning; she came quickly to her feet, her face first pale, then a deep pink. “Oh—oh yes,” she said awkwardly. “Yes.”
“If you will be kind enough to excuse us?” Charlotte asked Aunt Adeline and Harriet.
“Of course,” they murmured. “Yes, of course.”
It was successful immediately. The conservatory was quite large, and there were elegant ferns and vines hiding one walk from another, and a small green pool with flawless lotuses, which Charlotte stopped to admire without needing to feign delight. Julian then pointed out the fragrant lilies he had mentioned. After making all the right comments Charlotte at last caught Veronica’s eye, and with the tiniest smile, she turned and walked back to the lotus pool. After enough time had passed, she tiptoed back out into the hall again.
She could not return to the withdrawing room or she would betray the whole fabric of the excuse—not that anyone was deceived, but forcing the others to acknowledge it was another thing entirely. She felt foolish standing there in the hall, doing nothing. She walked over to a large painting of a landscape with cows and stopped in front of it as if she were regarding it closely. Actually it was very agreeable, of the Dutch school, but her mind was busy with all she knew of Veronica and the Danvers.
She stood for some time with her eyes on the peaceful scene. She could hear in her mind the chewing of the cud, and almost see the jaws’ gentle rhythm. They were beautiful creatures, oddly angular and yet graceful, the curve of their horns ancient as civilized man.
She turned away from the painting suddenly. She was not there to indulge her taste for art, nor even her friendship for Veronica. Veronica might be Cerise; she and Julian Danver might have murdered Robert York. Duty demanded that Charlotte creep back and attempt to overhear their conversation, distasteful as that was.
Just inside the conservatory door she stopped and solemnly regarded a red canna lily as if it held her interest. Then she sidled further in, glancing from the lilies on the ground up to the vines overhead and back again. She was several yards along the path and had nearly collided with a potted palm when she saw Veronica and Julian Danver in an embrace of such passion she blushed for having seen them. It was an intrusion which at any other time would have been inexcusable, and she could not possibly explain without betraying herself completely, and everything she hoped to achieve, even perhaps putting Emily in a position of the greatest embarrassment, culminating in social ruin.
Quickly she stepped back into the arms of a vine—and almost fainted with horror at the first instinctive thought that the clinging touch was human. She swallowed a shriek, realizing the truth, and with an effort pulled herself together and stepped out smartly, only to come face to face with Aunt Adeline. She swore under her breath, feeling idiotic and knowing her hair was disheveled, her cheeks scarlet.
“Are you all right, Miss Barnaby?” Adeline raised her eyebrows. “You look a little distressed.”
Charlotte took a deep breath. Only a really good lie would serve.
“I feel such a fool,” she began with what she hoped was a disarming smile. “I was trying to see a flower overhead, and I overbalanced. I do beg your pardon.” She put her hand to the trailing strands of her hair. “And then I got caught in a vine and I couldn’t get loose. But I haven’t hurt the plant.”
“My dear, of course you haven’t.” Adeline smiled bleakly, her eyes like brown velvet boot buttons. Charlotte had no idea whether the woman believed a word of what she had said. “I think perhaps it is time we had some tea. Shall I call Julian and Veronica, or will you?”
“I, er . . .” Without thinking Charlotte moved to block the path. “I’m sure they’ll come in a few moments.”
Adeline’s gaze was steady and skeptical.
“I wondered if it was bougainvillea,” Charlotte said abruptly. “Such a wonderful shade of cerise. Is that not the color you said you saw Veronica wearing one night?”
Adeline looked startled. “That was not Veronica.” For once she dropped her usually clear, fine voice, perhaps her most attractive feature. “I’m perfectly sure of that.”
“Oh, I must have misunderstood you. I assumed ...” Her words trailed away; she did not know how to finish. She had been trying to surprise something out of Adeline, while preventing her from going into the conservatory and seeing that wildly immodest embrace. And it was not only for Veronica she wished it, but for Adeline herself. Perhaps no one had ever held her so, or would do now.
“Oh no,” Adeline said with a tiny shake of her head. “Her walk was quite unlike Veronica’s. You can tell a great deal about a woman by the way she walks, and her walk was unique. There was a grace in it, a daring. She was a woman who had power and knew it—and yet, I think, she had much to be afraid of. If she were to allow herself to be afraid.”
“Oh,” Charlotte faltered. “Then—who?”
Adeline’s face reflected wisdom, pain, and the merest shadow of humor. “I do not know, Miss Barnaby, and I do not ask. There are many old loves, and old hates, that are better left unspoken.”
“You surprise me!” Charlotte’s words were suddenly sharp, almost accusatory. “I had thought you were more candid than that.”
Adeline’s plain, sensitive mouth tightened. “The time for candor is past. You have no idea what pain may lie behind these things. A little blindness can allow them to ease, where to speak may make answer inevitable.” She inclined her head towards the interior of the conservatory. “Now you have done your good turn for the day, Miss Barnaby. Either you will call Veronica, or I shall.”
“I will,” Charlotte said obediently, her mind in a whirl. Had Cerise been a lover of Julian’s? Did Veronica know, or guess; was that the ghost she was fighting—an old mistress? Was that why she allowed herself such abandon before an engagement was even announced, let alone a marriage?
If so, then who had killed Robert York, and why?
They were back to treason. Could it possibly be that Veronica herself was hunting her husband’s murderer? Could it be Julian who had killed Robert, and did she know it? Was that the terror consuming her—and what lay between her and Loretta?
“Veronica!” Charlotte said aloud. “Miss Danver says that tea will be served in a few minutes. Veronica!”
8
PITT CHOSE TO WALK to Mayfair. It was not a pleasant day; a flat, gray sky closed over the city like a heavy lid and the wind scythed across the park, stinging his skin above his muffler. It crept into the space round his ears and its coldness hurt, making his body tighten against it. Carriages rattled along Park Lane but he saw no one on foot. It was too cold for pleasure; the street vendors knew there would be no business for them here where residents could afford to ride.