Page 25 of Beatrix

‘Once or twice, but I’ve no idea what the situation is now that it’s lost its proprietor.’

On the face of it, Edward Lovelace’s answer seemed innocuous enough, but glancing at his wife, Charlotte immediately recognised the shifty look of someone hiding something. It was an expression she’d become very familiar with – especially on Billy’s face.

Realising that they were on the cusp of losing what ground they’d made, Charlotte gave another incongruous tinkling laugh, spreading her hands in surrender. ‘On my life, I could never have imagined such a wonderful solution to Mrs Singer’s dilemma,’ she declared. ‘Not only do you have the knowledge and caring nature necessary for such charity work, but you have a husband with a solid understanding of money and an excellent reputation.’

‘Naturally, Mrs Singer would wish to recompense you both generously for your time…’

The last was added on the spur of the moment, and a quick glance at Henry told her that he too had picked up on Mr Lovelace’s potentially urgent need for money.

Allowing the Lovelaces time to mull over her words, Charlotte sipped serenely at her tea, and gratifyingly, a few seconds later, Edward was loosening his cravat, his financial desperation suddenly glaringly obvious. ‘I’m certain I speak for both of us when I say we would be honoured to be involved in such a laudable cause. You may tell Mrs Singer that we eagerly await her instruction.’ Despite his best efforts to sound nonchalant, the eagerness in his voice was unmistakable. His wife too enthused about the honour of working alongside such elevated personages.

‘May I offer either of you a little Madeira?’ Evelina gushed finally. ‘In my opinion, it’s dreadfully bad form to drink tea past four o’clock.’

‘Call it eight bells,’ Edward added with forced joviality.

‘A soupçon would be most welcome,’ Charlotte responded with a smile.

‘A little more than a soupçon for you though, hey, Henry?’ Edward gave a ribald laugh as he climbed to his feet.

‘Tell me,’ Charlotte asked as their host finally sat back in his seat ‘do you possibly have a worthy charity in mind?’

For almost five seconds, the silence was absolute. Then with a sidelong glance at her husband, Evelina cleared her throat and murmured, ‘Why, yes, we do as a matter of fact. My husband has had dealings with a particular charity based in Bristol.’ She paused, glancing again towards her husband, who gave the minutest of nods.

‘The Society for the Advancement of Industrious Children,’ Edward declared earnestly. ‘A most worthy cause, I assure you.’

Resisting the urge to jump up shouting, ‘Eureka,’ Charlotte schooled her face into an expression of interest. Not too eager, but a little more than simply polite. ‘They sound absolutely perfect for our cause,’ she smiled. ‘I shall speak with Mrs Singer directly, and I’m entirely certain she’ll wish to meet you both as soon as her schedule permits.’

‘Until then,’ Henry added, taking care to keep his voice light, ‘I suggest that you refrain from notifying the charity of their good fortune. Whilst I agree entirely with my sister’s assessment, it would not do to get ahead of ourselves. Mrs Singer, I’m certain, will wish to become acquainted with you both first.’ He swallowed the rest of his Madeira before adding, ‘I’ve no doubt she will find you both as delightful as we do.’

Ignoring his sister’s sudden spluttering, Henry offered another warm smile towards their hostess.

‘Indeed,’ wheezed Charlotte, putting her own glass down and rummaging in her reticule for a handkerchief.

They took their leave some ten minutes later with Mrs Lovelace pressing invitations to a musical evening upon them with a warmth that suggested she’d entirely put aside her earlier misgivings. As they were about to leave the room, Henry turned back as if having a sudden thought.

‘I’ve actually been looking for an insurance broker to handle Shackleford and Daughters,’ he stated carefully. ‘Is that something your employers would be interested in handling?’

‘Certainly,’ Edward responded without hesitation. ‘Perhaps we can arrange a mutually agreeable time to discuss your needs, and I will pass them back to Grainger and Holt.’

Neither Henry nor Charlotte allowed so much as a flicker of reaction to his casual mention of the solicitor’s name, though in truth neither was unduly surprised. What was clear, however, was the fact that Edward Lovelace seemed completely unaware of his employers’ shady dealings.

While she was waiting for Henry to accept his hat and stick from the parlourmaid, Charlotte happened to look down at a small side table next to the hat stand. An envelope had been placed in a letter rack, waiting for the evening post. That in itself was nothing unusual, but the name on the envelope set her heart racing. Mrs Lavinia Pettigrew.

She looked round. Mrs Lovelace had turned back to the drawing room after ringing for their carriage to be brought round, Mr Lovelace was occupied in holding the front door, and Henry was taking his hat from the maid.

Charlotte’s hand moved with a speed and steadiness that actually surprised her, closing over the letter and tucking it into her sleeve in the same unhurried movement she might have used to adjust a glove. By the time Mr Lovelace turned back to bid them farewell, her hands were folded quite innocently before her, and nothing in her expression suggested she had just committed what she was fairly certain amounted to theft.

Indeed, she didn’t say a word until they were safely back in the carriage and well clear of the gates.

‘Charlotte…’ Henry frowned, staring at the letter as she drew it from her sleeve. ‘Did you just…’

‘I did,’ Charlotte returned, with the breathless satisfaction of a woman who had not stolen as much as a hairpin in her entire life and unexpectedly discovered the experience considerably more invigorating that she could ever have imagined. She felt a brief but intense affinity with Billy…

‘I shall confess to the vicar the very next time I see him, so please don’t trouble yourself about my soul, Henry. I do believe that a boy’s life weighs more heavily in the balance than a solicitor’s stolen correspondence.’

Henry snorted. ‘I stopped worrying about your soul years ago, Lottie. Especially as the next time you’re likely to come into direct contact with the vicar will be at your funeral.’ He sighed and held out his hand. ‘Let’s have it then.’

* * *