Charlotte House Affair 01 - My Particular Friend

gets this?’
    At this, I thought Charlotte’s reserve had at last broken. She approached him and stood quite close, her arm resting on his shoulder, her other hand also beginning to reach for him, but then it fell and she stepped back and she looked at him steadily and said, ‘I have told you, I do not know where she is. I could not give it to her.’
    ‘Then give it to the poor, for all I care,’ he said, with the irritation of his arrival. He stood as tall as he could and removed Mr Wallace’s arm, gently but firmly, and walked to the door and left.
    We heard Robert attend to him and then the front door opened. We all hurried to the window and peered out and saw him walk down the street on his tortured legs. I blinked away my tears. And then I heard Charlotte laugh and say, ‘Well, that was quite a performance.’
    We turned and looked at her. She was counting the coins. ‘I’m glad he’s not out too much for that last gambit. Why are you looking at me like that?’
    ‘Charlotte, I should think you would feel some sympathy.’
    ‘On the contrary, Margaret, I have every sympathy. Mr Gascoigne shewed a cunning that I envy. And the purse was a nice touch. As was this.’
    With a flourish she produced a white cloth stained red.
    ‘His handkerchief!’ I cried. ‘Charlotte, how could you?’
    But she ignored me. ‘Mr Wallace, would you please inspect this?’ She held it out and he walked slowly to her, loathe to take the cloth from her.
    ‘Why it’s … it’s not blood. I think it’s ink.’
    Charlotte snatched the cloth back and waved it in the air and then with a flash it was gone again.
    ‘A nice little souvenir, I think,’ she said.
    ‘He was lying,’ I said with a gasp.
    ‘Oh, not all of it. His dark skin speaks of a long time at sea. There was a hint of a tattoo on the side of his neck. I saw other scars on the back of his hands and his fingers were callused. The scar on his face was real as was his leg, although I noticed as he walked away his limp was not as pronounced. He did not lie; his life was hard. But the dramatic whisper and the cough, while well done and certainly indicative of consumption, were staged to elicit our sympathy.’
    At this we fell silent, ashamed that we were so easily fooled.
    ‘Please, do not feel bad. Compassion and feeling may sometimes outweigh wisdom.’
    ‘I would have told him what he wanted,’ Mr Wallace said.
    ‘As would I,’ agreed Mrs Fitzhugh. I merely nodded in agreement.
    Charlotte smiled, that annoyingly superior smile that I had to admit was her due. She said, ‘And yet you didn’t. I think we have a good working understanding, wouldn’t you agree Mr Wallace?’
    He looked at her with uncertainty, and then said, ‘Yes, a very good understanding … we have.’
    ‘And now if you’ll excuse me, I must see that Mr Simms receives this. It is a small amount, but I’m sure it will be appreciated.’ With that she prepared to leave the room but then stopped.
    ‘I may also visit the Lower Rooms and belatedly make known my opinion on the disappearance of Mrs Brown.’
    ‘What? Why have you changed your opinion, Charlotte?’ Mrs Fitzhugh asked.
    Charlotte took a moment before admitting, ‘I was wrong. That man may be one of the most dangerous I have met. I cannot let my pride stand in the way of doing what is right and I will do what I can to throw him off the scent. Will you come with me, Margaret?’
    ‘With pleasure,’ our friend replied, and with that they both left the room. ‘You may wish to come as well Mr Wallace, for I cannot leave you alone here with Jane,’ Charlotte shouted at us from the hall.
    As I heard the sound of her tread upon the stairs, I turned to my friend and said, ‘She definitely likes you. And there are not many she truly likes.’
    ‘I do not know whether to be honoured or alarmed,’ he said.
    ‘Oh both!’ I said. ‘Definitely both.’

The Affair of Brotherly Love
    T he clock in the hallway caught my attention in that fleeting way that clocks sometimes do. Most of the time they do their job of measuring out the seconds, minutes and hours of our lives unnoticed save when there is an anticipated engagement and are then consulted with regularity. Sometimes they remind one of the remaining hours until dawn during a troubled night. But occasionally they simply remind one of the passage of time, not a specific period mind you, but just the simple unfolding of one day into the next and the sense that things