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As soon as the door closed behind her, Elizabeth sank into her chair and buried her head in her hands.I am found out. Somehow, she knows.
*
From old habits—orwere they new?—Grizelda had deliberately withheld the name of the dead man when she had described him to Mrs. Westley. Most people, surely, if asked whether or not they knew someone, would have asked for his name. She hadn’t.
And from Grizelda’s physical description, which could have fit any number of gentlemen in London, Mrs. Westley had declared him unknown to her.
Both of those things she found suspicious. But the lady, whom she barely knew, may just have been uninterested or wished to avoid anything to do with such an unsavory incident as discovering a dead man at one’s front door. And Griz had seen in her neighbor no sign of recognition at the name, only a strained and well-hidden desire to be rid of Griz. The woman was hidingsomething, she was sure, but not necessarily an act of murder or even a knowledge of the dead man.
On her way to the hackney stand, Griz spoke to a flower girl who was, indeed, selling Christmas roses, both white and pink.
“Will you save me a bunch of each?” Griz asked her, handing over some coins. “I’ll collect them on my way home this afternoon. I suppose you must have sold lots of these today.”
“A few, ma’am.”
“I don’t suppose you recall selling any last night or early this morning? Perhaps to a tall, well-dressed gentleman with greying hair and a fur collar on his coat?”
“No, ma’am,” the girl replied apologetically. “I were sold out before dark yesterday. Sold a few this morning, though.”
“To anyone in particular?” Griz asked. “To any ladies? Anyone who walked off toward Half Moon Street?”
“Not sure, ma’am,” the girl said uneasily. “I don’t think so.”
“Never mind. Thank you, I’ll be back later for the flowers.”
*
For a time,Griz forgot about Sebastian Cartaret and her own loneliness, and if the ache of missing Dragan didn’t vanish, at least it settled into the background, as she helped make a couple of special hours for some of the poorest people in London.
While the adults who came along were given tea and sandwiches, the children played games. Then Griz got out her violin, and everyone danced to her music. The pure happiness on the faces of people who had nothing, even hope in most cases, whose lives were destined to be unutterably hard, brought tears to her eyes. She had to fight not to shed them. She smiled instead, glad to have helped create this moment.
In high spirits, the children were then seated at the prepared tables and wolfed down their festive luncheon. The adults helped themselves from the buffet. And in the relative silence of some serious eating, Griz gazed speculatively up at the vicar.
He was a good man, whose fame for charitable works was spreading. He received donations from all over the city nowadays, from the exceedingly wealthy to those who could merely spare a few coins for those less fortunate. In the absence of her family, who, between them, probably knew all the wealthy people in the country, the vicar might well be her best hope.
“I don’t suppose,” she said, “that you have ever come across a gentleman called Sebastian Cartaret?”
“Cartaret,” he repeated. “Oh yes. Old family with land in Leicestershire. But Sebastian is quite the interesting character.”
“He owns the land?”
“Oh, no, he’s one of the younger sons, but he turned out to have a head for business. Made a vast fortune from investing in everything from banks to cotton mills and shipping. And now he seems to be giving it all away again. It was he who donated the bulk of the money for the school. And as a result, we were able to make the Christmas party a little more lavish than normal.”
“Then he is a good man? Not the sort to inspire ill-feeling?”
The vicar blinked. “I don’t suppose you make that amount of money without creating some ill-feeling. Jealousy, for one! But yes, I would say he is a good man.”
“You know him personally?”
“I met him several times. Rather liked him, actually. Happy, cheerful person. And not, like some, full of pride in his own charity. He just seemed to want to give others a chance. Why, what is your interest in him?”
Griz swallowed. “I found him dead on my doorstep this morning.”
“Oh, my dear Lady Griz,” he said in quick concern.
“No, no, I’m fine, though I confess it was something of a shock. But I have no idea why he was there.”
“And, of course, that bothers you. What does Dragan think?”
