Dottie had chosen the upstairs gallery for the engagement party. Tables had been lined along one side of the room, laid with delicacies and flutes of champagne. A string quartet played in a corner, and a raised dais had been set up at the head of the room for announcements. The floral arrangements arrived by luncheon, profusions of gardenias and roses and chrysanthemums, lilies in tall sprays. Workmen had lined the walls with small portable electric lamps that would give off elegant light when the room was dark.
I entered after the first guests had arrived. There were some two dozen people drinking and circulating beneath the canvases we had collected so assiduously on the Continent—Dottie’s art and business acquaintances, local gentry who were likely Robert’s cronies, the Staffrons, and the members of the Staffrons’ circles who had made the journey from London. Every bedroom in Wych Elm House was occupied tonight, as well as several rooms in the area’s surrounding inns.
I spotted Cora and Martin near the center of the room, nodding and greeting guests as they approached. Martin wore immaculate black tie and tails, his hair slicked back and gleaming in the soft light. His eyes were bright and his smile was genuine. I breathed a sigh of relief that tonight seemed to be a good one.
Cora was in a dress of striking blue shot with white, puffed at the sleeves and beaded on the bodice. It was almost absurd—she looked a little like Anne Boleyn crossed with a respectable modern matron—yet somehow Cora looked born to it, her hair swept up and her tilted eyes aglow with demure pleasure. She turned to me with her familiar wide smile.
“Cousin Jo!” Martin said as I approached. “You look a vision.”
“What an elegant dress!” Cora cried.
I smiled at them. My dress had arrived from London the day before; the dressmaker in Anningley had ordered it special for me. It was a simple sleeveless sheath that fell in a straight line from my shoulders to my hips, then down to a jaunty hemline at the knee. It was of deep, rich jewel blue, and peacock feathers adorned the skirt, their soft fronds waving as I moved. The final adornment was a single flower of pink satin sewn to the left hip. A maid had helped me pin my hair up with just a few curls loose over my temples, and I wore black high-heeled shoes. Since I did not own any expensive jewelry, I wore only my wedding ring.
“Thank you,” I said to Cora. “Dottie is going to think it fast, but it’s a party, is it not?”
“Mother thinks that anything other than a mannish suit is fast,” Martin commented. “She’s hardly the first word in fashion. Do get some champagne, Cousin Jo, since I believe you’re the one who had it ordered especially.”
I was. Ordering champagne had been one of my duties. I was just sipping my first glass—the stuff was divine—when a man approached my shoulder. “Mrs. Manders.”
I turned in surprise. “Colonel Mabry.”
He gave me a quick, formal bow, elegant in his dark suit. “Mrs. Forsyth was kind enough to invite me, though I’ve shamefully put off deciding on one of her artworks.” His gaze moved up the walls, taking in the various canvases. “I believe I’ll have to make a decision soon.”
“Yes,” I said, my voice perhaps sharper than I intended. “You should. It isn’t polite to prevaricate.”
The look he gave me from beneath his salt-and-pepper eyebrows was unreadable. He clasped his hands behind his back and gave no answer.
“Tell me, Colonel,” I said, “how long have you been a lover of art?”
“Mrs. Manders, are you quite all right?”
“Yes, thank you,” I said. He began to stroll around the room, and I followed at his side. My exhaustion and nerves had amplified the effects of the champagne, I realized. “I don’t think I thanked you, Colonel, for letting me see my husband’s file.”
He looked at me sideways, a glance that was speculative and, inexplicably, had a note of dread in it. “It was nothing, I assure you.”
“So much interesting information,” I said. “Even a silly woman like me could learn so much.”
“And what exactly did you learn, Mrs. Manders?” he asked.
I thought it over. The champagne had made me dizzy, my tongue loose in my head. “Do you know, I don’t think I am going to tell you.”
“Mrs. Manders.” He stopped walking and faced me. Looking at him was like looking into a shallow pool and realizing that you couldn’t see the bottom, could not fathom where it was. “You are upset, and I believe we both understand why. But I feel obliged to give you a warning. Things have been very difficult for you—but they are going to get even more difficult, I’m afraid.”
“What does that mean?” My voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “Tell me.”