“Whatever are you doing?” she asked, surveying the piles of sheets and pillowcases strewn around.
“Sorting the linen for mending,” Charlotte answered, suddenly aware of how shabby and untidy she looked compared with her sister. “Have you forgotten how to do that?”
“I’m not sure that I ever knew,” Emily said airily. As Charlotte had married socially and financially beneath her, so Emily had married correspondingly above. Her first husband had possessed both title and fortune. He had been killed some time ago, and after a period of mourning, and loneliness, Emily had married again, this time to a handsome and charming man who owned almost nothing. It was Emily’s ambition which had driven him to stand for a seat in Parliament and eventually to win it.
Gracie disappeared downstairs again.
Charlotte turned her back and resumed folding pillowcases and piling them neatly where they had originally been.
“Is Thomas still away?” Emily asked, lowering her voice a little.
“Of course he is,” Charlotte replied, a trifle sharply. “I told you, it’s going to be a long time, I don’t know how long.”
“Actually you told me very little,” Emily pointed out, taking one of the pillowcases herself and folding it neatly. “You were rather mysterious and sounded upset. I came to see if you were all right.”
“What are you going to do about it if I’m not?” Charlotte started on one of the sheets.
Emily picked up the other end. “Give you the opportunity to pick a quarrel and be thoroughly beastly to someone. It looks as if that is what you need this moment.”
Charlotte stared at her, ignoring the sheet. Emily was being bright, but beneath the glamorous surface there was anxiety in her eyes—and no humor underlying the smart retort.
“I’m all right,” Charlotte said more gently. “It’s Thomas I’m worried about.” She and Emily had shared in many of his past cases, and Emily knew the passion and the loss that could be involved. She was no stranger to fear, and she already knew of the Inner Circle. Charlotte could not tell her where Pitt was, but she could tell her why.
“What is it?” Emily sensed that there was more than she had been led to believe before, and now her voice was sharp with anxiety.
“The Inner Circle,” Charlotte said very quietly. “I think Adinett was one of them—in fact, I’m sure he was. They won’t forgive Thomas for convicting him.” She took a shivering breath. “They hanged him this morning.”
Emily was very somber. “I know. There was more in some of the newspapers about whether or not he was really guilty. No one seems to have any idea why he would do such a thing. Doesn’t Thomas have any clues?”
“No.”
“Well, isn’t he trying to find out?”
“He can’t,” Charlotte said quietly, looking down at the linen on the floor. “He’s been removed from Bow Street and sent … into the East End … to look for anarchists.”
“What?” Emily was aghast. “That’s monstrous! Who have you appealed to?”
“No one can do anything about it. Cornwallis already tried everything he could. If Thomas is somewhere in the East End, where nobody knows, anonymous, at least he is as safe from them as he can be.”
“Anonymous in the East End?” Emily’s face showed only too clearly her horror and all the dangers her imagination foresaw.
Charlotte looked away. “I know. Anything could happen to him, and it would be days before I’d even hear.”
“Nothing will happen to him,” Emily said quickly. “And I can see that he’s safer there than still where they can find him.” But there was more courage in her voice than conviction. She hurried on. “What can we do to help?”
“I’ve been to see Mrs. Fetters,” Charlotte replied, mimicking the same positive tone. “But she doesn’t know anything. I’m trying to think what to do next. There has to be some connection between the two men that they quarreled over, but the more I learn about Martin Fetters, the more he seems an unusually decent man who harmed no one.”
“Then you aren’t looking in the right places,” Emily said frankly. “I assume you have tried all the obvious things: money, blackmail, a woman, rivalry for some position or other?” She looked puzzled. “Why were they friends anyway?”
“Travel and political reform, so far as his wife knows.” Charlotte finished folding the last of the sheets. “Do you want a cup of tea?”
“Not especially. But I’d rather sit in the kitchen than stand here in the linen cupboard,” Emily responded. “Does anyone quarrel seriously over travel?”
“I doubt it. And they didn’t even travel to the same places. Mr. Fetters went to the Near East, and Adinett went to France, and he had been to Canada in the past.”
“Then it’s politics.” Emily followed her down the stairs and along the corridor to the kitchen. She said hello to Gracie in a matter-of-fact way. In no one else’s house would she have spoken to the maid, but she knew of Charlotte’s regard for her.
Charlotte put on the kettle. “They both wanted reform,” she went on.
Emily sat down, flicking her skirts expertly so they were not crushed. “Doesn’t everyone? Jack says it’s getting pretty desperate.” She looked down at her hands on the table, small and elegant, and surprisingly strong. “There have always been rumblings of unrest, but it’s a lot worse now than even ten years ago. There are so many foreigners coming into London and not enough work. I suppose there have been anarchists for years, but there are more of them now, and they are very violent.”
Charlotte knew that. It was in the newspapers often enough, including the trial of the French anarchist for the assassination of Carnot. And she knew that in London they were largely in the East End, where the poverty was worst and the dissatisfaction the highest. That was the official excuse for sending Pitt there.
“What?” Emily said quickly, seeing her sister’s expression. “What is it?”
“Are they really a danger, do you think? I mean, more than the individual lunatic?”
Emily considered for a moment before answering. Charlotte wondered whether it was to search for the right words, to examine her knowledge, or worst of all, if it were a matter of tact. If it were the last, then the instinctive answer must be very ugly. It was not Emily’s nature to be indirect, which was quite different from being devious, at which she was brilliant.
“Actually,” she said quietly when Gracie had brewed the tea and brought it, “I think Jack is really worried, not about anarchists, who are only individual madmen, but about the feeling everywhere. The monarchy is very unpopular, you know, and not just with the sort of people you would expect, but with some who are very important and perhaps you would not think.”
“Unpopular?” Charlotte was puzzled. “In what way? I know people think the Queen should do far more, but they’ve said that for thirty years. Does Jack think it’s any different now?”
“I don’t know that it’s different.” Emily was very grave. She chose her words carefully, weighing them before she spoke. “But he says it is much more serious. The Prince of Wales spends an enormous amount of money, you know, and most of it is borrowed. He owes all over the place, and to all kinds of people. He doesn’t seem to be able to stop himself, and if he realizes what harm it is doing, then he doesn’t care.”
“Political harm?” Charlotte asked.
“Eventually, yes.” Emily lowered her voice. “There are some people who think that when the old Queen dies that will be the end of the monarchy.”
Charlotte was startled. “Really?” It was a surprisingly unpleasant thought. She was not quite sure why she minded. It would take some of the color out of life, some of the glamour. Even if you never saw the countesses and the duchesses, if there was no way in the world you would ever be a lady, far less a princess, it would make things a little grayer if they should not exist anymore. People would always have heroes, real or false. There was nothing essentially noble about the aristocracy. But then the heroes who would be put in their places would not necessary be chosen for their virtue or achievement; it might as easily be for wealth or beauty. Then the magic would be gone for no reason, no gain.