Belgrave Square by Anne Perry

another couple were already being helped out of their cloaks and looking upward.
    It was a further half hour before the first guest arrived whom Charlotte knew even by reputation other than Emily’s careful schooling, and a further fifteen minutes before she saw with great pleasure the tall, erect, almost gaunt figure of Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould. She had been Emily’s first husband’s great-aunt, and for many years now one of Charlotte’s dearest friends. Indeed Great-Aunt Vespasia had conspired with Charlotte and Emily in helping to solve many ofPitt’s cases, meddling with considerable flair in the detection of crime, and less successfully in the reform of laws regarding social conditions about which they felt most passionately.
    Had it not been totally unacceptable, and therefore embarrassing to everyone, Charlotte would have raced down the stairs and taken Aunt Vespasia’s cloak herself. As it was she had to be content to mutter some polite nonsense to the large woman she was at that moment greeting, and something agreeable but equally inane to her husband, who was dressed more vividly than she. There was a scarlet sash over his chest with a wonderful array of medals and orders bejeweling him. She could do no more than glance over their shoulders at Great-Aunt Vespasia climbing slowly up the curve of the staircase, her silver head high, her tiara winking in the lights, her dove-gray gown sewn with crystals like stars, and her train precisely, to the inch, the most fashionable length.
    “Good evening Charlotte, my dear,” she said calmly when she reached the top. “I assume you are standing in for Emily?”
    “I am afraid she is not feeling well this evening.” Charlotte dropped the very slightest curtsey. “She will be terribly disappointed not to have seen you, but I am delighted to be in her place.”
    Vespasia smiled with perfectly genuine pleasure, inclined her head in acknowledgment, spoke warmly to Jack, and then swept past to join the throng in the first reception room. As she entered there was a hush, a turning of heads and a quick murmur of appreciation. Everyone knew who she was. Fifty years ago she had been one of the great beauties of her day, and even now at eighty she had a structure of bone and a hairline across the brow that made many a younger woman envious. She was frailer than she had been even a short while ago, but she still held her head as if her tiara were a crown, and could with a glance freeze an impertinent comment on the lips of an unfortunate offender.
    Charlotte felt a lift of pleasure, almost excitement, as she watched Aunt Vespasia disappear among the crowd. With her here the whole evening would have a quality of glamour and purpose far deeper than a mere social exercise. Something of importance might be begun.
    A few moments later she welcomed Mr. Addison Carswelland his wife. Emily had told her he was a magistrate of considerable influence, sitting in one of the central city courts. He was not a remarkable man in appearance, of average height and slightly stocky build. His hair was receding although it was still thick from the top of his head backwards, but it was nondescript brown, and his mustache was minimal, his cheeks clean shaven. It was only when she was speaking to him in the usual polite, rather stilted phrases that she observed the strength of his features, and the intelligence in his eyes. It was a face of good balance, and without meanness.
    Mrs. Carswell was a solid woman, strong and thickset, but her face was handsome in its own fashion, with straight nose, steady eye and a candor of bearing that indicated an inner calm. This social whirl might find her out of her depth. She looked the kind of woman who had no ready wit to swap comments with the ladies of high fashion, but neither would she need it for her happiness. Her values might rest largely in her home and family.
    Accompanying their parents were the four Carswell daughters, each presented in turn. The