Free Bethlehem Road by Anne Perry Page A

you haven’t helped—marrying a policeman, indeed! Can’t imagine what you were thinking of! Or your mother either! Know what I’d have said if my son had wanted to marry the parlormaid!”
    “So do I!” said Charlotte, finally letting go of her temper. “You’d have said, ‘Lie with her by all means, as long as you’re discreet about it, but marry someone of your own social class, or above—especially if she has money!’ ”
    The old lady picked up her cane as if she would have rapped Charlotte across the legs with it; then, realizing her granddaughter would barely feel it through the weight of her skirts, she tried to think of a verbal equivalent—and failed.
    “What did you say?” she snapped in defeat. “You mumble dreadfully, girl! Have you artificial teeth or something?”
    It was so ludicrous Charlotte burst into laughter and put her arm round the old lady, astonishing her into silence.
    They had just got inside the church and were being ushered to their seats when Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould arrived. She was Charlotte’s height, but slender now to the point of gauntness, and stood ramrod stiff, dressed in ecru-colored lace over coffee satin, with a hat of such rakish elegance that even Caroline gasped. She was over eighty; she had stood at the top of the stairs as a girl and peeped through the banisters as the guests arrived in her father’s house to dance the night away after the news of the victory of Waterloo. She had been the most startling beauty of her day, and her face, although imprinted with time and tragedy, still held the grace and proportion of loveliness that nothing would mar.
    She had been the favorite aunt of Emily’s late husband, and both Emily and Charlotte loved her deeply. It was an affection which she returned, even defying convention enough to include Pitt, not caring in the slightest what other people thought of her for receiving a policeman in her withdrawing room as if he had been a social entity, and not one of the less desirable tradesmen. She had always had both the rank and the beauty to disregard opinion, and as she got older she used it shamelessly. She was a keen reformer of laws and customs of which she did not approve, and she was not averse to meddling in detection whenever Charlotte and Emily provided her with the opportunity.
    Church was not the place for greetings; she merely inclined her head minutely in Charlotte’s direction and took her seat at the end of the pew, waiting while the other guests arrived.
    The groom, Jack Radley, was already at the altar, and Charlotte was beginning to feel anxious when at last Pitt slipped into the pew beside her, looking surprisingly smart and holding a black silk hat in his hands.
    “Where did you get that?” Charlotte whispered under her breath, in a moment of alarm as to the expense of such a thing he would never use again.
    “Micah Drummond,” he answered, and she saw the appreciation in his eyes as he saw her gown. He turned and smiled at Great-aunt Vespasia, and she bent her head graciously and slowly dropped one eyelid.
    There was a buzz of excitement, then a hush, and the organ changed tone and became magnificent, romantic and a little pompous. In spite of herself Charlotte turned to gaze backwards to see Emily framed by sunlight in the arch of the church doorway, walking slowly forwards on the arm of Dominic Corde, the widower of their elder sister Sarah. A host of memories came flooding back for Charlotte: Sarah’s wedding, the turmoil of her own emotions in those early years when she had imagined herself so terribly, hopelessly in love with her brother-in-law Dominic; Charlotte herself walking up the aisle on her father’s arm to stand by Pitt at the altar. She had been certain then that she was doing the right thing, despite all the mounting fears, the knowledge she would lose many friends and the security of position and money.
    She was still sure it was right. There had been hardships, of course, things