The Brideship Wife, стр. 13

Harriet sighed. “If he thinks you might publicly accuse him of wrongdoing, he’ll go on the offensive, do everything he can to destroy your reputation and limit Charles’s political power. But if we appease him, he won’t feel threatened and may just let the whole thing drop.”

The carriage continued its creeping progress through the winding, congested streets of town, but my mind would not quiet. I knew what she said made sense, but the very thought that we should have to be the ones to come grovelling to him made my skin crawl. I couldn’t stop Hari from sending a note to him, but I was certain I would never put my signature to it.

“George is a bully,” I said. “And the only way to control a bully is to stand up to him. If he senses weakness, he’ll be emboldened.”

“Will you leave this to me?” Hari’s jaw was tight.

“Can’t we at least discuss—”

The coach came to a skidding stop, vaulting me forward, and I put out my hands to brace myself. A high-pitched shriek cut through the air.

“What on earth?” We peered out the side window to see a horse sprawled on the damp ground in front of our coach. The carriage on the other side of the street must have skidded on the wet stone and dragged the horse off its footing. The poor creature had run into a wooden lamppost and broken its leg. In spite of its injury, the horse was desperately trying to stand, crying out in fear and pain, its eyes white with panic.

Harriet uttered a soft cry and covered her mouth with her hands. I desperately wanted to help the unfortunate animal, but as I reached for the door handle, a man stepped forward with a pistol.

“No!” I cried.

It was too late. In one swift motion, he had fired his pistol at the horse’s head. A sticky-sweet smell filled the air as a dark mixture of blood and brain matter began to ooze from the shattered head of the horse onto the cobblestone streets.

I sat back, fighting an urge to cry. A beautiful creature lost in such a terrible accident.

Harriet turned away, her handkerchief pressed against her nose.

Her footman’s head—a ruddy, deeply lined face topped by a brown derby hat—appeared at the side-door window. “I’m right sorry you had to witness that,” he said. “Not a sight for ladies. Sit back ’n’ keep warm, the coachman’ll get us out of here in a jiff, soon’s they clear the road.”

Harriet nodded, and he touched his hat and disappeared from view.

I couldn’t watch. In an attempt to block out the sounds and smells as they carried out their task, I focused my attention on the view from the opposite side of the carriage. It was a vast town house, its windows elegantly appointed with rich brocade tapestries. Inside I could see a young woman and three little boys seated at a great oak table laid with a silver tea service and candles. This was clearly the city home of someone, as Hari would say, in the first circles.

I nudged her and pointed to the window. “Do you know who lives here?”

She shook her head, but just then, a new figure entered the room. Harriet gasped. The man was unmistakable. It was Charles.

“Isn’t he supposed to be at his hunting lodge?” I asked.

She didn’t answer, but remained focused on the scene before us. The children were looking adoringly at their mother as she poured tea and offered cakes, while Charles, dressed in formal attire, watched the elegant family with clear admiration. A casual observer would have easily assumed he was the children’s father and the lady’s husband.

I studied the woman. I had seen her before. The carriage jerked forwards, and Harriet fell back against her seat.

“That’s the young widow who was at your party, isn’t it? Charles was talking with her. Why would he be having tea with her?”

“There are four perfectly good reasons, actually,” Hari said in a resigned voice. “The first is the vast sum of money Mary Sledge happily inherited from her late husband, and then there are sons one, two, and three.”

With a shaking hand, she removed her gloves and searched through her velvet handbag, withdrawing a small green vial. Unstopping it, she dropped her head back and swallowed its contents. I couldn’t read the label, but whatever was in the tiny glass fingerling had an instant effect on Hari. Her shoulders relaxed and her gaze lost its focus.

“Surely Charles isn’t having a… romantic assignation with this woman. He wouldn’t be sitting with her whole family.” I shook Harriet’s arm. “Hari, you must tell me what’s going on.”

But she ignored me, burying herself in her wraps and closing her eyes.

My mind ran over the possible explanations for what I just witnessed. Was Charles having an affair? Not when he was so concerned about his public image, surely. Was it money? He seemed to have ample income. Well on the path to success, he would no doubt be in cabinet soon and possibly prime minister one day. He was a man who was ruthless when it came to his ambition and wanted nothing short of perfection from everyone in his professional circle and, of course, Harriet. I thought she was living up to his demands, but she seemed to know something that I didn’t. But why would he risk it all?

What she achieved through her marriage to Charles was an unattainable dream, according to the gossips. Many expected that Charles would choose money or status over beauty, but he hadn’t. Harriet had no dowry, like me, and said it was love and mutual respect that drew them together. But now a new thought occurred to me. Had Charles expected to inherit our estate instead of Edward? Was he now after the widow’s money? But then, what did the widow’s sons have to do with that? I pulled anxiously at the rug