Free Half Moon Street by Anne Perry

play,” Caroline contradicted. “In fact, it was brilliant.”
    Mrs. Ellison scowled at the teapot. “Then why are you sitting here by yourself over a cup of cold tea, and with an expression like a bad egg?” she demanded. “I suppose you have a servant of some sort you can ring for to get a fresh pot? I know this is not Ashworth House, but I assume that the young actor you have elected to live with earns sufficient to afford the basic amenities?”
    Caroline was so angry and her sense of hurt so deep she said the first thing that came into her head.
    “I met a most interesting and charming gentleman yesterday evening.” She stared at the old lady unflinchingly. “From America, over here on a visit and hoping to trace his family.”
    “Is that supposed to be an answer?” Mrs. Ellison asked.
    “If you want some more tea, ring the bell and the maid will come,” Caroline replied. “Tell her what you wish. I did not explain that to you because I thought you could work it out for yourself. I mentioned Mr. Ellison because I thought you would wish to know. After all, he is more closely related to you than to me.”
    The old woman froze. “I beg your pardon?”
    “Mr. Ellison is more closely related to you than to me,” Caroline repeated distinctly.
    “Does this”— she opened her eyes very wide—“person—claim that he is part of my family? You are no longer an Ellison. You have chosen to become a . . . a . . .whatever he is!”
    “A Fielding,” Caroline said for the umpteenth time. It was part of the old woman’s offense that she pretended to forget Joshua’s name. “And yes, he does claim it. And his likeness to Edward is so remarkable I could not doubt him.”
    The old lady sat very still. Even the bell for the maid was forgotten.
    “Really? And what manner of man is he? Who does he claim to be, exactly?”
    Now Caroline was not so certain how much she enjoyed the revelation. It had not had quite the effect she had expected. However, there was no alternative now but to go on.
    “Apparently Papa-in-law was married before . . . before he met you.”
    The old woman’s face remained like stone.
    “Samuel is his son,” Caroline finished.
    “Is he indeed?” the old woman replied. “Well . . . we’ll see. You did not answer my question . . . what manner of man is he?”
    “Charming, intelligent, articulate, and, to judge by his clothes, very comfortably situated,” Caroline answered. “I found him most agreeable. I hope he will call upon us.” She took a deep breath. “In fact I shall invite him to.”
    Mrs. Ellison said nothing, but reached across for the bell and rang it furiously.

CHAPTER THREE
    Pitt was in his office in Bow Street early the morning after the play. There was little pleasure in staying at home alone, and there had been no letter from Charlotte in the first post. As soon as he had eaten breakfast and fed the cats he was happy to leave Keppel Street and be on his way.
    It was too early to hear from Tellman in Dover, but Pitt did not expect him to find anything conclusive. Was the grotesquely placed body at Horseferry Stairs that of the French diplomat or some other unfortunate eccentric who had indulged one taste too many? He profoundly hoped it was the latter. A scandal with the French Embassy would be most unpleasant, and possibly not one which could be contained so it did not strain relations between the two countries.
    The play the previous night had left him disturbed by the power of its emotions. He was not made as uncomfortable as Caroline had obviously been by the portrayal of the hungers of a woman married to a man who did not satisfy her passions or her dreams. He was a generation younger than she, and he was of a different social class, one which felt freer to express their feelings. And he had also grown up in the country, far closer to nature.
    Even so, the nakedness of the emotions he had seen on the stage had provoked deep thought in him, and a new perception of