Page 26 of Unforeseen Affairs
Charlotte cocked her head slightly as she studied him. He seemed genuine in his concern for his friend. She would be justified in revealing the particulars of her own bastard birth just then, but she decided against it. It was possible he already knew, given the notoriety of the Sedley family, but she did not think so.
“And do you believe it?”
“Believe…?”
“Is Lieutenant Pearce guilty as charged?”
“No!” Sir Colin said forcefully. “Of course not! The man’s very nearly a brother to me.”
“He denied it, then?”
“I… I think so,” Sir Colin said, sheepishly scratching behind one ear. “I don’t remember exactly what was said when I went to him; we were both quite upset. But I have no reason to believe him dishonest. Or dishonorable.”
He sat down next to her, leaving two open seats between them for propriety’s sake. At this distance, Charlotte could see the stubble of his night whiskers. They were a deeper shade of red than the hair upon his head. More of an auburn, really.
“Perhaps not,” Charlotte said, looking now to the empty stage before them, its heavy velvet curtains hanging still. “But thereismore than enough reason to believe Mr. Bass dishonest.”
She felt his eyes upon her.
“Now… why do you say that? I assumed you to be…” His words petered out.
“What?” Charlotte turned back and turned up one corner of her lips. “What is it you assume of me, Sir Colin?”
He stared at her for a moment too long—just enough to send that same flutter coursing through her, just as the touch of his hand had before. The sudden jolt melted into an uneasy warmth.
His look made Charlotte certain that he’d thought on her just as she had on him. She typically preferred to escape everyone’s notice, which was usually far more conducive to her aims. In this case, though, she decided she enjoyed his consideration.
Sir Colin finally dropped his eyes, ostensibly studying the program she still held in her hand. “What I meant to say is, I wonder—that is, if you don’t mind me asking—did Mrs. Stone have any opinion on the proceedings?” He cleared his throat and looked back to her, a tentative hopefulness in his expression. “Or, perhaps you might have as well? Have you any opinion on the, er, veracity of Mr. Bass’s assertions?”
“Yes,” she said, but did not elaborate.
A silence descended between them, stretching out awkwardly as they could hear people out in the central Waterloo Gallery, shuffling between the various exhibits and lecture rooms within the Egyptian Hall. It really was a spectacle of a building, all done up as an ancient temple, and it tended to host entertainments meant to be eye-catching in their own way: art exhibitions and other types of shows promoted as mysterious and exotic.
Charlotte thought the venue fit Mr. Bass very well.
“I’m not sure what I expected to achieve, coming here,” Sir Colin finally confessed. “I promised Beaky I’d find a way to help him, to discredit Mr. Bass and his assertion. But what is there to gather from this”—he gestured toward the stage—“this show? It’s clever, I admit; heaven knows I couldn’t manage anything like it. Although, having seen it, I feel far more certain that Mr. Bass must be nothing more than a trickster. It’s all quite beyond belief, isn’t it? A man elongating his body like that? Or floatingso high in the air?” He shook his head. “Which would make his story from the supposed spirit just that—a story, an invention. And Beaky therefore innocent.”
Charlotte allowed her gaze to fall to his hands, large and veined, held in loose fists upon his knees.
“But you wanted to believe,” she said softly. “Before.”
She still recalled his open mouth, the insistence of his grip on her hand as Mr. Bass had employed his variety of tricks.
His fists tightened. Charlotte looked up. His jaw was set.
“Yes.”
He seemed so taut, so twisted about. Both inside and out.
“There’s nothing—” she began, but he spoke at the same moment.
“I wanted to, for my mother’s sake.”
She’d assumed as much.
“My brother died at sea, years ago. Cholera.”
“I see,” she said.
