Long Spoon Lane (7 page)

Or if she were honest, Vespasia’s guilt was more truly for the sweetness and the intensity of friendship she had shared long ago with Sheridan Landsborough.

Cordelia was still waiting for some response to her words. Vespasia was not at all certain that she wished for a police force with more guns, but this was not the time for her to say so.

“I am sure after this tragedy we will find many people determined that our police will have every assistance we can give them,” she agreed.

Cordelia forced herself to smile. “We must see to it,” she agreed. “There need to be some changes made. I have scarcely had time to think of details, but every energy I have will be directed to that end. I am sure I can ask you to use your influence also.” She assumed agreement, and yet her eyes searched Vespasia’s as if she still required an answer.

Vespasia took a deep breath, doubtful of her own motives for being reluctant. Was it some genuine reason of political uncertainty, or her old dislike of Cordelia intruding? The latter would be shameful, and she felt the blood burn up her cheeks. “Of course,” she said too quickly. “I have not had time to think either, I admit. But I shall do. It is an issue that concerns us all.”

Cordelia sat back a little, and was about to resume the conversation on some other topic when the butler came in, stopping discreetly just inside the door.

“Yes, Porteous?” Cordelia asked.

“Mr. and Mrs. Denoon are here, my lady. I have informed them that his lordship is out, and they asked if you wished to see them, or would prefer to leave it until another time.”

“Ask them to come in,” Cordelia replied. She turned to Vespasia. “Enid is my sister-in-law, as I am sure you remember, although, as I recall, you did not know her well.” She gave a tiny, stiff shrug. “I am not particularly desirous to face her. She is bound to be terribly distressed. She and Sheridan have always been close. It will be difficult. If you would prefer to excuse yourself I shall understand.” Her words made it perfectly acceptable for Vespasia to leave, but her expression left no doubt that she would find it easier were Vespasia to stay.

Morally speaking, Vespasia had no choice, nor did she have the opportunity to do more than accept before Porteous returned, followed by Enid Denoon and her husband. Vespasia had actually forgotten her, but seeing her again brought back what could have been friendship in other circumstances.

Enid was tall, like her brother, slender but with squarer shoulders and the upright carriage of a woman who still sat a horse superbly. Her figure had survived the years better than Cordelia’s. There was no thickening of her waist or heaviness in her hips. Her fair brown hair had lost much of its color, but her face was not greatly changed, her high cheekbones and well-defined nose had kept their lines, and her skin had a bloom many a younger woman might have envied.

Behind her Denoon was darker, heavier, his hair still thick and almost black. He was imposing rather than handsome. All Vespasia remembered of him was that she had not liked him, possibly because he had an odd mixture of high intelligence and an almost total incapacity for laughter. He did not see the joy of absurdity, which she adored. It was one of the sanities of life. Without it, the world of fashion, wealth, and political power would have been suffocating. She had been married irretrievably, with a certain degree of companionship, but without passion. To laugh was the only alternative to weeping. Denoon’s gravity had seemed then to be without delicacy or tenderness.

Enid was clearly surprised to see her, yet she did not look displeased. But then, she would be too carefully schooled in good manners to show it, even if she were.

“How do you do, Lady Vespasia,” Denoon responded to Cordelia’s introduction. “It is very good of you to take time to call in person on this sad occasion.” He was just short of expressing surprise.

“Like us, Lady Vespasia recognizes that we must lend all our support to action,” Cordelia intervened, looking at Denoon intently. She did not even glance at Enid.

Denoon’s eyes met Cordelia’s with a strange mixture of understanding and an emotion Vespasia could not read, but the power of it remained in her mind. Then he turned back. “How farsighted of you, Lady Vespasia,” he said quietly. “Indeed we are in times more dangerous than I believe most people are aware. The tide of chaos is rising, and yesterday marked a steep increase, to our tragic loss. I am so sorry.” This last remark was addressed again to Cordelia.

“King Canute was a wise man,” Enid said to no one in particular.

Cordelia blinked.

Vespasia looked at Enid in surprise, and saw her eyes far away, sad and angry.

Denoon swung around irritably and glared at his wife. “He was a fool!” he snapped. “Any man who imagines he could turn back the tide is an idiot! I spoke figuratively. We do not have to await the movement of the earth or the moon in order to alter social trends, or hold up our hands helplessly because things are happening that we do not like. We are masters of our own fate!” He looked back at Cordelia, impatient at Enid’s lack of understanding.

Cordelia started to speak, but Enid overrode her. “Canute was not trying to hold the tide back,” she contradicted him. “He was demonstrating that even he could not. Human power, even of kings, is limited.”

“That is obvious!” Denoon said tartly. “And completely irrelevant. I am not attempting to alter the course of nature, Enid, but to prompt people into understanding the laws of the land so we can defend ourselves from the tide of anarchy.”

“Not the tide of anarchy,” Enid corrected him. “The tide of change.”

This time he ignored her, but there was a dull flush of anger in his cheeks. “Cordelia, in spite of appearances, we came to say how deeply grieved we are for your loss. If there is anything we can do to comfort or help, we are here, and shall remain so. Please believe me, these are not idle words.”

“Of course they’re not!” Enid said, her voice suddenly so choked with emotion it seemed to cost her an effort to speak. “Cordelia knows that!” She shot a burning look at her sister-in-law, which seemed more filled with hatred than sorrow. Vespasia was chilled by it, until she remembered that many people’s grief is so threaded with anger that the two become inextricable.

Cordelia reacted as if she had barely heard her. She continued looking at Denoon with a hard, chilly smile. “Thank you. It is a time for families and friends to draw together, at least all those who are like-minded and perceive the tragedies and the dangers with the same courage and resolve. I am grateful to you, and Vespasia, for seeing things as I do, and realizing that this is no time to indulge private emotions, no matter how deep, while we allow history to overtake us.” She did not specifically exclude Enid, but Vespasia had the strong feeling that she meant to, and that Enid was acutely aware of it.

She also would like to have removed herself from the sentiment. Denoon was outspoken about increasing the power of police to intervene in people’s lives when crime was suspected, before the proof. She was considerably more cautious, afraid of the possible abuses, and of the public backlash.

Cordelia and Denoon were still talking. The name Tanqueray was mentioned, a meeting suggested, and other names.

Vespasia looked at Enid Denoon, who appeared not even to be listening. Her face in repose had a vulnerability to it that was startling, as if pain were familiar to her. She could not have been aware of her expression, or she would have been more guarded, although neither Cordelia nor Denoon gave her a glance.

There were footsteps across the hall outside. A moment later the door opened. They all turned as Sheridan Landsborough came in. Vespasia had expected to see grief in his face, and yet she was still shocked to see the parchmentlike tone of his skin and the sunken cheeks and hollows around his eyes.

“Good morning, Edward,” he said coolly, then he forced a smile. “Enid.” He barely looked at his wife before turning to Vespasia. His eyes widened and a fraction of the color returned to his cheeks. “Vespasia!”

She took a step towards him. The formal words were in her mind, but they died before they reached her lips. “I’m so sorry,” she said quietly. “I cannot think of anything more dreadful.”

“Thank you,” he murmured. “It was good of you to come.”

Almost as if unaware of doing it, Enid moved closer to him. Standing side by side the resemblance between them was subtle but perfectly clear. It was not in their features so much as the shape of their heads, their way of standing, their weary but effortless grace, which was so innate as to be impossible to cast off, even at a time like this.

Cordelia stared at him. “I assume the arrangements are complete?”

There was no softening of his expression as he looked at her. “Of course,” he answered. “There is nothing to choose, nothing to decide.” His voice held no intonation. Perhaps this total control was all he could bear. To have allowed any emotion through might have broken the dam and brought it all. Dignity was a kind of refuge. Magnus had been their only child. Vespasia thought the distance between them was perhaps a safeguard also. Each might have touched the one unbearable wound in the other.

She was aware of an electricity in the air like that before a storm, and it made her conscious of her intrusion. She turned to Cordelia. “Thank you for receiving me,” she said with a slight inclination of her head. “It was extraordinarily gracious of you.”

Cordelia made no move to accompany Vespasia to the door. “Your help is invaluable,” she said. “Now, of all times, we must fight for what we believe.” She took a deep breath, the extreme pallor of her skin accentuated by her dark eyes. “You are a true friend.”

Vespasia could not agree. Cordelia was as aware as she was that they were anything but friends. “I could not do less,” she murmured, hearing the irony in her words.

Sheridan turned to Vespasia. “May I call your carriage?” He reached for the bell cord a few feet away.

“Thank you,” she accepted. The atmosphere in the room prickled with tension. Enid looked from her brother to her sister-in-law, but Vespasia was not sure if it was anger or apprehension in her face. Her shoulders were stiff, her head high, as if expecting some old pain to return that all her courage would not offset.

“Piers will be most distressed,” Denoon said abruptly.

Vespasia remembered that Enid had a son. He must be almost thirty now, roughly the same age as his cousin Magnus.

Cordelia acknowledged the remark.

“Perhaps we should leave also,” Enid observed, more to Denoon than to Cordelia. “Discussions of law reform can surely wait a day or two. They will take months to enact anyway, if not years.”

“We don’t have years!” Denoon said angrily, his face flushed. “Do you imagine the forces of anarchy are going to sit around and wait for us to thwart them?”

“I imagine they will be quite happy to watch us thwart ourselves,” she replied.

“Don’t be absurd!” Denoon said, almost under his breath, as if she embarrassed him and he were uncertain how to deal with it in front of Vespasia and Landsborough.

Landsborough stiffened, moving closer to his sister, and away from his wife. He drew in his breath between his teeth.

Vespasia was acutely uncomfortable. She felt compelled to intervene, before the situation became worse.

“If we react too swiftly, or too drastically, we may well do harm,” she said, glancing at Enid, and then away again. “We do not wish to provoke criticism that we are as repressive as they say, or to turn sympathy from us by heavy-handedness. At the moment all hearts and minds will be in our favor. Let us not lose that.”

There were several seconds of tense silence, then Landsborough spoke. “Yes, of course. You are quite right.” He moved out into the hall. Vespasia followed him. A footman was sent to inform her coachman that she was ready to depart, and the Denoons’ coachman similarly. Cordelia made a remark about the weather. Vespasia replied.

The green baize door opened from the servants’ quarters and a footman in livery came through. He was young and moved with the grace of a man used to physical action and confident in himself. He looked only at Enid, ignoring everyone else, including Denoon himself.

“The coach is ready, ma’am,” he said respectfully, standing a few feet from her. He met her eyes for a moment, then deliberately looked away.

Enid thanked the man, then took her leave of Landsborough with a quick placing of her hand on his arm. She nodded to Cordelia, smiled at Vespasia, and walked calmly to the door, leaving Denoon to follow.

The moment after, Vespasia’s carriage arrived also. Landsborough offered her his arm in a discreet indication that he would like a moment of conversation with her, if not alone, at least out of earshot of his wife.

Vespasia bade Cordelia good-bye yet again, then accepted Landsborough’s arm. Together they went out of the front door and down the steps towards the waiting carriage.

“Thank you for coming,” he said quietly. “It was good of you, especially in the circumstances.”

She was uncertain if he were referring to their past association or the way in which Magnus had died, and what might yet emerge about it. There might be storms of public blame or outrage to come.

“I grieve for your loss,” she said candidly. “No doubt we shall have to face other things later, but just at the moment they all seem irrelevant.”

He smiled very slightly. His face looked old, his skin papery thin, but his eyes were as she had always known them. “It will come soon enough,” he agreed. “Magnus was always too much of an enthusiast. He espoused causes because he cared about injustice. He did not always look closely enough at them, or realize that sometimes bad people can preach a good crusade. I should have taught him more patience, and much greater wisdom.”

“You cannot teach people what they do not wish to learn,” she told him gently. “I seem to remember I was somewhat revolutionary when I was in my thirties. My only wisdom was that I did not pursue it in my own country. But I made Rome too hot to hold me. Fortunately I had England to return to.”

He looked at her with an old tenderness she remembered with pleasure and guilt. “You never told me about it,” he said. “Except for the heat, and the food. You always liked Italian food.”