might have found a hundred carriages in or near the park, and looking for an individual would have been a waste of time, but now in the sharper autumn sunshine of late September, with a very decided chill in the breeze, there were not more than a dozen carriages at the nearer end of Rotten Row, and perhaps the same at the farther. Footmen and coachmen stood around gossiping with each other in the dappled shade, and keeping a weather eye open not to be caught by a returning master or mistress. Horses stood idly, moving only now and then with a clink of harness, brasses gleaming in the sun.
Charlotte was perfectly prepared to find Vespasia and join her, even if it meant interrupting almost anyone, short of the Princess of Wales. But since the Princess was seriously deaf, it was most unlikely Vespasia would be engaged in conversation with her, although they were friends, and had been so for years. If Vespasia was speaking with a duchess or countess, Charlotte would be unlikely to recognize the fact. She realized with a sharp intake of breath that she had better behave with the utmost circumspection, even if the lady in question should turn out to be of no social consequence whatever. Vespasia was perfectly capable of talking to an actress or a courtesan, if the person interested her.
It was nearly half an hour of walking at a breathless pace, moving from one group to another and wearing a blister on her left heel, before Charlotte finally caught up with Vespasia. She was actually walking alone, her head high, her steel-gray hat with its sweeping brim adorned with a magnificent silver ostrich plume. Her gown was a paler shade of gray, and there was a white ruffle at her throat of such superb lace as to look as if it were breaking foam in the sunlight.
She turned as she heard Charlotte's footsteps crunch on the grit behind her. "You look out of breath, my dear," she said, her eyebrows raised. "No doubt it is something of the utmost importance to bring you in such haste." She looked down at Charlotte's dusty hem and the slightly lopsided way she was standing, due to the blister. "Would you care to sit down for a little while?" She could already see from Charlotte's face that it was not a matter of emotional distress.
"Thank you," Charlotte accepted, suddenly feeling the blister even more profoundly. She did her best to walk more or less uprightly until they reached the next seat, then sank into it with gratitude. In a moment or two she would unbutton the boot and see what could be done to ease the pain.
Vespasia looked at her with wry amusement. "I am consumed with curiosity," she said with a smile. "What has brought you out to an unaccustomed place, alone, and in what appears to be some difficulty?"
"The need to know," Charlotte answered, wincing as she moved her foot experimentally. She smoothed her skirt and sat a little more upright, aware that passersby were looking at her, very discreetly, of course, and almost certainly because she was with Vespasia. No doubt they would be asking one another who on earth she was. Were Vespasia sensitive about her reputation, it would have embarrassed her, but she did not care in the slightest, let the world think what it wished.
"More about Saville Ryerson?" Vespasia said quietly. "I am not certain that I can help you. I wish I could."
"Actually, about Mr. Ferdinand Garrick," Charlotte corrected her.
Vespasia's eyes widened. "Ferdinand Garrick? Don't tell me that he has a connection with the Eden Lodge affair. That is absurd. So much so that it is about the only thing which could possibly redeem it from absolute tragedy. It would then become farce."
Charlotte stared at her, uncertain how serious Vespasia was. She had a sharp and highly individual sense of humor which was no respecter of persons.
"Why?" she asked.
The expression on Vespasia's face was sad, wry, and of slight distaste mixed with memory. "Ferdinand Garrick is what some people refer to as a 'muscular Christian,' my dear," she replied, and saw the answering comprehension in Charlotte's face. "A man of ebullient and officious virtue," she continued. "He eats healthily, exercises too much, enjoys being too cold, and makes everyone else in his establishment equally uncomfortable. He denies himself and everybody else, imagines himself closer to God for it. Like castor oil, he may on some occasions be right, but