Charlotte House Affair 01 - My Particular Friend

remarkable man,’ Mrs Fitzhugh said, apparently eager to reverse her previous outrage at what she thought was his effrontery. ‘I can well understand Mr Worcester valuing his services.’
    Charlotte remained silent.
    ‘What is it, Charlotte?’
    ‘I would like to know what secret he possesses. It is the only way I can retire with some dignity from this matter.’
    ‘Nonsense, dear, you have done very well.’
    I agreed with my friend. ‘Cheevers said as much.’
    Charlotte may have been prepared to say more but we heard the chimes of a clock reminding us that it was time to prepare for dinner and we hurried to our rooms.

An Almost Perfect Conclusion
    ‘I do not know what can be keeping them,’ Mrs Walthorpe said for the third time. ‘It is most unusual that they should all be late.’ Charlotte, Mrs Fitzhugh and I had been sitting with her for nearly half an hour, waiting for the other guests to arrive. It was understandable that she should be so upset by this breach of decorum and I felt somewhat guilty that our actions presumably were responsible for the delay.
    Our hostess smiled nervously at us, looked to the clock again, made an attempt at further conversation, looked back to the clock and started when she saw the door to the drawing-room silently open. Cheevers entered, bowed to her after her acknowledgement, and silently glided to her side and whispered into her ear some information that made her ask, ‘How sick is he?’ Cheevers’ murmured words could not reach us but it was obvious what news he brought. Mrs Walthorpe took no effort to conceal her irritation. Cheevers left us as quietly as he entered.
    ‘I must apologize for my nephew,’ she said, with a wincing smile. ‘That was his valet … I don’t know when he arrived … apparently Albert is unwell and cannot join us.’
    We voiced our concern for Mr Worcester. ‘Perhaps he is still troubled by the wounding of Mr Cuthbertson,’ I offered.
    ‘Yes,’ she said, turning the word into two or three syllables.
    The door opened again, this time quite audibly, and the measured tread of a footman made a stark contrast to Cheevers’ quiet glide. Again our hostess received whispered information that this time she found to her liking. After the footman left, she again addressed us.
    ‘I am so sorry. They will soon arrive. Apparently there were some matters that Mr Stilton and Sir Walter needed to discuss. They are both highly influential men, you know, very important to the defence of the realm.’
    ‘Please do not worry on our account,’ Mrs Fitzhugh said. ‘I shall appreciate my dinner all the more.’
    Mrs Walthorpe said nothing to this but in the silence I heard someone’s stomach protest at the delay.
    Before another protest could be offered, our hostess said, ‘I do not know what delays the other young gentlemen, or Miss Blankenship or …’
    The opening of the door and the entrance of all the missing guests interrupted her litany. Not too surprisingly, the younger guests seemed in a happy mood while the parents appeared quite glum. Mr Stilton and Sir Walter appeared especially unhappy and exchanged nervous, guilty looks. It fell to their wives to make excuses for their tardiness.
    ‘I cannot apologize enough. A family matter of some … it was a surprise,’ Mrs Stilton began while Lady Blankenship said, ‘We’ve learned some disturbing … well, not disturbing …’—she gave a quick glance to Mr Cuthbertson—‘happy news …’ Both mothers stopped and looked at one another.
    Mrs Walthorpe seemed to understand that extraordinary developments had delayed her guests and that the matter should not be addressed while food grew colder. She quickly ordered us and we entered the dining room.
    —&—
    Conversation was plentiful at my end of the table, with Mr Potterthwaite and Mr Cuthbertson proving themselves very voluble young men now that their concerns for their happiness were removed. Mrs Walthorpe, I noticed, observed the easy familiarity between Miss Stilton and the large curate, who happily knocked over glasses with little more than a cheerful ‘beg pardon.’ The Blankenships meanwhile ruefully observed their future son tell a story about a performing dog that had Miss Blankenship uncharacteristically giggling with abandon.
    ‘Miss Stilton,’ Mrs Walthorpe said, ‘I am sorry to inform you that my nephew will not be joining us for dinner.’
    That lady looked round and said, ‘What, Bertie’s not here?’
    ‘No,