Free Traitors Gate by Anne Perry Page B

them with another tray of champagne glasses. Christabel declined with a wave of her hand, and Charlotte followed suit.
    “If you wish to meet someone interesting,” Christabel went on, “and I cannot think what she is doing here, of all places—come and meet Nobby Gunne.” She turned as if to lead the way, assuming assent. “She’s a marvelous woman. Been up the Congo River in a canoe, or something equally unlikely. Maybe it was the Niger, or the Limpopo. Somewhere in Africa where nobody had ever been before.”
    “Did you say Nobby Gunne?” Charlotte asked with surprise.
    “Yes—extraordinary name, isn’t it? I believe it is actually short for Zenobia … which is even more odd.”
    “I know her!” Charlotte said quickly. “She’s about fifty or so, isn’t she? Dark hair and a most unusual face, not atall conventionally pretty, but full of character, and not in the least displeasing.”
    A group of young women passed them, giggling and looking over their fans.
    “Yes, that’s right! What a generous description of her.” Christabel’s face was filled with amusement. “You must have liked her.”
    “I did.”
    “If it is not an impertinent question, how did a policeman’s wife come to meet an African explorer like Nobby Gunne?”
    “She is a friend of my sister’s great-aunt by marriage,” Charlotte began, then was obliged to smile at the convolution of it. “I am also very fond indeed of Great-Aunt Vespasia, and see her whenever I am able.”
    They were at the foot of the stair and brushed by an urn filled with flowers. Christabel whisked her skirt out of the way absentmindedly.
    “Vespasia?” she said with interest. “Now there is another remarkable name. Your aunt could not by any chance be Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould?”
    “Yes, she is. You know her also?”
    “Only by repute, unfortunately. But that has been sufficient for me to form a great respect for her.” The banter and air of mockery drained out of her face. “She has been concerned in some very fine work to bring about social reform, most particularly the poor laws, and those regarding education.”
    “Yes, I remember. My sister did what she could to assist. We tried our hardest.”
    “Don’t tell me you gave up!” It was more of a challenge than a question.
    “We gave up on that approach.” Charlotte met her gaze squarely. “Now Emily’s husband has just become a member of Parliament. I am concerned with my husband’s cases which fight injustice of various sorts, which I am not at liberty to discuss.” She knew enough not to mention the InnerCircle, no matter how she might be drawn to anyone. “And Aunt Vespasia is still fighting one thing and another, but I do not know precisely what at the moment.”
    “I didn’t mean to insult you,” Christabel apologized warmly.
    Charlotte smiled. “Yes you did. You thought I might simply have been playing at it, to give myself something to do, and to feel good about, and then given it up at the first failure.”
    “You’re right, of course.” Christabel smiled dazzlingly. “Jeremiah tells me I am far too obsessed with causes, and that I lose all sense of proportion. Would you care to meet Zenobia Gunne again? I see her just at the top of the stairs.”
    “I should indeed,” Charlotte accepted, and followed Christabel’s glance to where a very dark woman in green stood staring across the room from the balcony, her eyes wandering from one person to another, her face only mildly interested. Charlotte recognized her with a jolt of memory. They had met during the murders on Westminster Bridge, when Florence Ivory was fighting so hard for women to have the right to vote. Of course there was no conceivable chance of her succeeding, but Charlotte could understand the cause well enough, more particularly when she had seen the results of some of the worst inequities under present law. “We were concerned for women’s franchise,” she added as she followed Christabel up the