“Perhaps.”
Juno shook her head. “That’s too soon. It could be any day. She’s into her seventies. What about the Prince of Wales? What are they going to do about him?”
“There’s nothing said here,” Charlotte answered very quietly. “I think they would be too careful to commit that to writing, if there is a plan, not just dreaming. Especially if there is a secret society, as they say.”
“I understand reform.” Juno searched for words. “I want it too. There’s terrible poverty and injustice. Funny how they don’t mention women.” She tried to smile, but it was too difficult. “They don’t say anything about us having more rights or more voice in decisions, even for our own children.” She shook her head, her lips quivering. “But I don’t want this!” She gestured with one hand as if to push it away. “I know Martin admired republics, their ideals, their equality, but I never had the slightest idea he wanted one for us! I don’t … I don’t want so much change.” She gulped. “Not so violently. I like too much of what we have. It is who we are … who we have always been.” She looked at Charlotte pleadingly, willing her to understand.
“But we are the fortunate ones,” Charlotte pointed out. “And we are a very small minority.”
“Is that why he was killed?” Juno asked the question that hung between them. “Adinett was actually a member of this other society, the secret one, and he murdered Martin because of this … plan for a republic?”
“It would explain why he said nothing, even in his own defense.” Charlotte’s mind was racing. Was the Inner Circle monarchist? Was that what it was about, and Adinett had discovered what his friend planned, that his idealism was not merely about the glories of the past or the tragedies of ’48, but meant something urgent and immediate for the future?
Even if it were true, how could that help Thomas?
Juno was still sitting and staring across the room. Something inside her had crumbled. The man she had loved for so many years had suddenly moved, revealing another dimension which altered everything that was already perceived, making it radically different, dangerous … perhaps irredeemably ugly.
Charlotte was sorry, desperately sorry, and she wanted to say so, but that would be condescending, as if she had uncovered this situation alone, relegating Juno to a spectator, a sufferer, not a protagonist.
“Do you have a safe?” she said aloud.
“Do you think there’s more in it?” Juno asked miserably.
“I don’t know, but I think you should keep these letters and papers there, since this drawer won’t lock anymore. You shouldn’t destroy them yet, because we are only guessing what they mean. We may be wrong.”
There was no light in Juno’s eyes. “You don’t believe that, and neither do I. Martin cared intensely about reform. Even now I can look back and remember things he said about republics as opposed to monarchies. I’ve heard him criticize the Prince of Wales and the Queen. He said that if the Queen had been answerable to the people of Britain, like any other holder of office, she would have been dismissed years ago. Who else can afford to abandon their job because they lost a husband or wife?”
“No one,” Charlotte agreed. “And there are plenty of other people who say the same. I think I do myself. That doesn’t mean I would rather have a republic … or even if I would, that I would do anything to make that happen.”
Juno gathered the papers together, frowning slightly. “There’s no proof in these,” she said quietly, as if the words hurt her and she had to force them out.
Charlotte waited, uncertain, her mind fumbling towards the next conclusion. Before she reached it Juno spoke.
“There are other papers somewhere, ones that are more specific. I have to find them. I have to know what he meant to do … as if it were only what he wished for.”
Charlotte felt the tightness inside her. “Are you sure?”
“Wouldn’t you have to know?” Juno asked.
“Yes … I … I think so. But I meant are you sure there is anything more to find?”
“Oh, yes.” There was no doubt in Juno’s voice. “These are only bits of something, notes. I may be entirely wrong about what Martin was working on, but I know the way he worked. He was meticulous. He never trusted solely to memory.”
“Where would it be?”
“I don’t—”
They were interrupted by the maid, who had come to say that Mr. Reginald Gleave had called, and begged her pardon for the inconvenience of the hour, but he would very much like to see her, and commitments he could not escape made the traditional time impossible for him.
Juno looked startled. She turned to Charlotte.
“I’ll wait wherever you wish,” Charlotte said quickly.
Juno swallowed. “I will receive him in the withdrawing room,” she told the maid. “Give me five minutes, then show him in.” As soon as the maid had gone she turned to Charlotte. “What on earth can he want? He defended Adinett!”
“You don’t have to see him.” Charlotte spoke out of compassion, but she knew it was the refusal of an opportunity to learn more. Juno was exhausted, frightened of what she might discover, and profoundly alone. “I’ll go and tell him you are unwell if you wish.”
“No … no. But I should be grateful if you would remain with me. I think that would be quite seemly, don’t you?”
Charlotte smiled. “Of course.”
Gleave looked startled when he was shown in and saw two women present. It was immediately apparent that he had not met Juno before and was for a moment uncertain which she was.
“I am Juno Fetters,” Juno said coolly. “This is my friend, Mrs. Pitt.” There was a challenge in her voice, the lift of her chin. He must remember the name and not fail to associate it.
Charlotte saw the recognition in his eyes, and the flare of anger.
“How do you do, Mrs. Fetters. Mrs. Pitt. I had no idea you were acquainted.” He bowed very slightly.
Charlotte regarded him with interest. He was not particularly tall but he gave an impression of great size because of his powerful shoulders and heavy neck. It was not a face she liked, but there was no mistaking the intelligence in it, or the immense strength of will. Was he no more than a passionate advocate who had lost a case, he believed unjustly? Or was he a member of a secret and violent society prepared to commit private murder or public riot and insurrection to achieve its ideals?
She looked at his face, his eyes, and had no idea.
“What may I do for you, Mr. Gleave?” Juno asked with a little shiver in her voice.
Gleave’s eyes moved from Charlotte’s back to hers.
“First, may I offer my condolences upon your loss, Mrs. Fetters? Your husband was a fine man in every respect. No one else’s grief can match yours, of course; nevertheless, we are all the poorer for his passing. He was a man of high morality and great intellectual gifts.”
“Thank you,” she said politely, her expression almost bordering on impatience. They both knew he had not come to tell her this. It would have been better said in correspondence, more memorable and less intrusive.
Gleave lowered his gaze, as if he felt awkward.
“Mrs. Fetters, I care very much that you should know that I defended John Adinett because I believed him innocent, not because were he guilty I would have imagined any excuse whatever for what he did.” He looked up quickly. “I still find it almost impossible to imagine that he could have done such a thing. There could have been … no … reason!”
Charlotte realized with a shiver that he was watching Juno intently, his eyes fixed upon her face so completely he must see even the faintest flicker of breath, the wavering of her gaze for an instant. He watched as an animal watches its prey. He had come to learn how much she knew, if she had found anything, guessed or suspected.
Charlotte willed Juno to tell him nothing, to be bland, innocent, even stupid if necessary. Should she intervene, take matters into her own hands? Or would that tell him she was afraid, which could only be because she knew something? She drew in her breath and let it out again.