always.
“I cannot give you a detailed answer,” Vespasia replied. “But if you are determined to pursue it, then we should go and visit Somerset Carlisle, who will be able to tell us.” Even as she spoke she was already rising to her feet and preparing to leave.
Charlotte caught Emily’s eye with a flash of amusement, and they also rose.
“What an excellent idea,” Charlotte agreed.
Emily hesitated only a moment. “Is it not an unsuitable time to call upon anyone, Aunt Vespasia?”
“Most unsuitable,” Vespasia agreed. “That is why it willdo very well. We shall be highly unlikely to find anyone else there.” And without continuing the discussion she rang the bell for her maid to call Emily’s carriage so they might travel together.
Charlotte had a moment’s hesitation; she was not dressed well enough to call upon a member of Parliament. Usually for anything approaching such formality in the past she had borrowed a gown from Emily, or Aunt Vespasia herself, suitably made over to fit her, even if by strategic pins here and there. But she had known Somerset Carlisle for several years, and always in connection with some passionate cause when there was little thought of social niceties, only the matter in hand. Anyway, neither Emily nor Vespasia were taking the slightest notice of protests and if she did not catch them up she would be left behind, and she would have gone in her kitchen pinafore rather than that.
Somerset Carlisle was at home in his study working on papers of some political importance, and for anyone less than Vespasia his footman would politely have refused them entrance. However, he had an appreciation for the dramatic and a knowledge of his master’s past crusades in one cause or another, and he was quite aware that Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould had frequently been involved in them one way or another; indeed she was an effective ally for whom he had great regard.
Accordingly he conducted all three ladies to the study door and knocked before opening it and announcing their presence.
Somerset Carlisle was not young, nor yet middle-aged; quite possibly he never would be, but would pass directly from where he was now into a wiry and unmellowed old age. He was full of nervous energy, his winged eyebrows and thin, mercurial face never seemed completely in repose.
His study reflected his nature. It was full of books on all manner of subjects, both for his work and for his wide personal interests. The few spaces on the walls were crammed with paintings and curios, beautiful, and probably of financial value. The deep Georgian windows shed excellent light,and for winter or evening work there were several gas brackets both on the walls and pendant from the ceiling. A long-legged marmalade cat was stretched out in ecstatic sleep in the best chair in front of the fire. The desk itself was piled with papers in no imaginable sort of order.
Somerset Carlisle put his pen into the stand and rose to greet them with obvious delight, coming around the desk, knocking off a pile of letters and ignoring them completely as they cascaded to the floor. The cat did not stir.
He took the immaculately gloved hand that Vespasia offered him.
“Lady Cumming-Gould. How very nice to see you.” He met her eyes with a spark of humor. “No doubt you have some urgent injustice to fight, or you would not have come without warning. Lady Ashworth—and Mrs. Pitt—now I know something is afoot! Please sit down. I—” He looked around for some place of comfort to offer them, and failed. Gently he removed the cat and placed it on the seat of his own chair behind the desk. It stretched luxuriously and resettled itself.
Vespasia took the chair and Charlotte and Emily sat on the upright chairs opposite. Carlisle remained standing. No one bothered to correct him that Emily was now plain Mrs. Jack Radley. There was time enough for that later.
Vespasia came to the point quickly.
“A woman has died in a fire which was not
“I cannot give you a detailed answer,” Vespasia replied. “But if you are determined to pursue it, then we should go and visit Somerset Carlisle, who will be able to tell us.” Even as she spoke she was already rising to her feet and preparing to leave.
Charlotte caught Emily’s eye with a flash of amusement, and they also rose.
“What an excellent idea,” Charlotte agreed.
Emily hesitated only a moment. “Is it not an unsuitable time to call upon anyone, Aunt Vespasia?”
“Most unsuitable,” Vespasia agreed. “That is why it willdo very well. We shall be highly unlikely to find anyone else there.” And without continuing the discussion she rang the bell for her maid to call Emily’s carriage so they might travel together.
Charlotte had a moment’s hesitation; she was not dressed well enough to call upon a member of Parliament. Usually for anything approaching such formality in the past she had borrowed a gown from Emily, or Aunt Vespasia herself, suitably made over to fit her, even if by strategic pins here and there. But she had known Somerset Carlisle for several years, and always in connection with some passionate cause when there was little thought of social niceties, only the matter in hand. Anyway, neither Emily nor Vespasia were taking the slightest notice of protests and if she did not catch them up she would be left behind, and she would have gone in her kitchen pinafore rather than that.
Somerset Carlisle was at home in his study working on papers of some political importance, and for anyone less than Vespasia his footman would politely have refused them entrance. However, he had an appreciation for the dramatic and a knowledge of his master’s past crusades in one cause or another, and he was quite aware that Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould had frequently been involved in them one way or another; indeed she was an effective ally for whom he had great regard.
Accordingly he conducted all three ladies to the study door and knocked before opening it and announcing their presence.
Somerset Carlisle was not young, nor yet middle-aged; quite possibly he never would be, but would pass directly from where he was now into a wiry and unmellowed old age. He was full of nervous energy, his winged eyebrows and thin, mercurial face never seemed completely in repose.
His study reflected his nature. It was full of books on all manner of subjects, both for his work and for his wide personal interests. The few spaces on the walls were crammed with paintings and curios, beautiful, and probably of financial value. The deep Georgian windows shed excellent light,and for winter or evening work there were several gas brackets both on the walls and pendant from the ceiling. A long-legged marmalade cat was stretched out in ecstatic sleep in the best chair in front of the fire. The desk itself was piled with papers in no imaginable sort of order.
Somerset Carlisle put his pen into the stand and rose to greet them with obvious delight, coming around the desk, knocking off a pile of letters and ignoring them completely as they cascaded to the floor. The cat did not stir.
He took the immaculately gloved hand that Vespasia offered him.
“Lady Cumming-Gould. How very nice to see you.” He met her eyes with a spark of humor. “No doubt you have some urgent injustice to fight, or you would not have come without warning. Lady Ashworth—and Mrs. Pitt—now I know something is afoot! Please sit down. I—” He looked around for some place of comfort to offer them, and failed. Gently he removed the cat and placed it on the seat of his own chair behind the desk. It stretched luxuriously and resettled itself.
Vespasia took the chair and Charlotte and Emily sat on the upright chairs opposite. Carlisle remained standing. No one bothered to correct him that Emily was now plain Mrs. Jack Radley. There was time enough for that later.
Vespasia came to the point quickly.
“A woman has died in a fire which was not
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