Charlotte, despite being as exhausted as she was, did not immediately fall asleep. Her thoughts turned continually to her mother.
She eventually rose and turned up the lamps, making her way down to the pantry and clumsily climbing the stepladder to retrieve her mother’s diary and letters. She returned to her room, sat on her bed, and reviewed everything again. She read each letter, some twice, but since she did not know the men well, she was hard-pressed to put a name to the ones he’d written as a young man.
She read Katherine’s journal, touching her finger to the places where she’d written about her love for her new daughter, about the hopes she had for her. She had written about her love for David’s sons, which rekindled Charlotte’s anger at Thomas. There were postcards from Sally, who had begun her adventuring by the time Charlotte was born; Katherine had been so proud of her baby sister.
Charlotte looked again at the letters, willing them to give up the man’s identity. James Carter had told John that Katherine’s soft spot had been reserved for Finebough, but Charlotte wasn’t certain Carter’s judgment was sound. He had propositioned Mrs. Winston, after all, which spoke to his recklessness or stupidity.
He had been, however, the only person who spoke kindly of her mother that night at the Winston supper. Phillipa Carter, also, seemed kindly.
She turned again to her mother’s journal entry about the planned trip to Town in celebration of the Carters’ engagement. Katherine had made a list of items to pack, down to the stockings and jewelry she planned to wear. Charlotte could almost see the ensemble, and it made her smile, though it was bittersweet.
She mixed a headache powder packet in a glass of water and drank it, hoping to dull the pain without needing to take laudanum. It was as she settled into sleep that an idea formed, and she decided that if it was a sound one, she’d remember it in the morning.
When morning dawned, she realized the idea had merit. She struggled into a dressing gown and padded next door to John’s room. She heard him moving around, so didn’t feel too bad about interrupting his routine.
He opened the door at her knock and looked mildly panicked. “What is it?”
“Nothing, silly. I have an idea, and I wonder if it’s feasible.”
He eyed her with some suspicion as he fumbled with his cravat. She was of no use with one arm in a sling, but she hated watching him struggle. “Do you always have this much trouble getting dressed for the day?”
“Until recently, I had Mason, who is worth his weight in gold.”
“Perhaps we can offer him a room on the gentlemen’s floor.”
He eyed her flatly. “What is your idea that may or may not have feasibility?”
“I propose a party that pays tribute to a bygone age.”
“Ancient Egypt?” He muttered a curse and untied the cravat, stalking back through his quarters and into the dressing room.
Charlotte followed and sat on the tufted bench at the foot of his bed. “Not Ancient Egypt.”
He reappeared, still looking flummoxed and disheveled. He was without jacket and waistcoat, his cuff links still lay on the vanity, and his cravat was draped around his shoulders, untied and forlorn. “If not Ancient Egypt, then what?”
She wrinkled her brow, belatedly realizing it was still sore. “The only bygone era that comes to your mind is Ancient Egypt?”
He closed his eyes and leaned against the doorframe. “Charlotte—”
She took pity on him. “I should like to host a party dedicated to the 1860s.”
He looked at her blankly. “That was only twenty years ago.”
“Exactly.”
Charlotte’s relief was immense when she approached Dirk in one of Delaney’s recovery wards to see that he was awake and alert. His mouth tipped in a half smile as she sat at the edge of his bed, John standing close.
“You look like I feel,” he told Charlotte.
“Quite the pair, aren’t we?” She grasped his hand and gave a little squeeze. “I am so glad you are well.”
“This is nothing.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to stop him from hurting you.”
She smiled. “You slowed him down.” She glanced at the notes over his headboard. “You’ve been free of fever since the surgery? That’s good news. We may skirt infection.”
“I’m ready to leave.”
John chuckled. “Another couple days, perhaps.” He sobered. “I’d like to assign a constable to keep an eye on things here, although I’m sure you don’t find it necessary.”
“You’d be correct.”
“Indulge me.”
“Will you convalesce at Hampton House?” Charlotte asked. “That way we can all keep an eye on each other.”
“I would like to see the job finished,” Dirk said.
John nodded. “I was hoping you’d say that. I could still use your insight.”
By the time they left, Charlotte had elicited a promise from Dirk that he would drink his tea and not complain about the limited menu offered at the hospital.
“I’ve made an appointment with the sisters Van Horne,” Charlotte told John as they exited the hospital. “Eva will join me, along with Constable Gundersen, who has been part of her security team.”
“I’d be happier if you just stayed at home,” he muttered.
“The meeting is part of a plan to bring this mess to a close. Trust me.”
“I trust you implicitly.”
“When I am finished, I’ll go straight home. I promised to teach one of the constables how to play pinochle.”
He sighed as he helped her into the carriage. He gave the driver the Van Hornes’ address, though he needn’t have bothered—the whole Town knew where the sisters lived. He sat next to Charlotte and took her hand, threading their fingers together.
There was still unfinished business between them. They had flirted around the topic of marriage, and she thought she knew what he wanted, but tossing that conversation into the mix was too much to work through, so she set it aside. She wouldn’t have the luxury of sorting it until her mother’s death had been brought fully into the light. Only then could she entertain the ideas stewing about her own life, her career, and her relationships.
She rested her head against John’s shoulder. Was it enough to just exist as they were? To remain in this place where they weren’t forced to admit defeat, where neither of them were compelled to sacrifice dreams or familial obligations? As much as Charlotte hated not having a plan to follow, she wished they could freeze the moment. Live in a place outside time or space.
The carriage rocked to a stop at one of London’s most unique residences. Charlotte opened her eyes and saw Eva standing on the wide porch with Constable Gundersen. Her cousin waved.
She stretched up for a goodbye kiss, and John obliged, but seemed reluctant.
“Please, please be vigilant.”
“I’ll meet you at home shortly.” She liked the way the phrase sounded. “We are one step closer to finishing this thing.”
“Give my best to the sisters Van Horne.” He walked her to the porch and reluctantly left her with Eva and the constable.
Eva smiled broadly at Charlotte. “This will be wonderfully fun.” She knocked on the door, the sound echoing loudly along the porch.
The door opened to a very nattily dressed young butler. “Yes?”
“Good day,” Eva said. “Are the Misses Van Horne in residence? We’ve made arrangements to meet with them.”
“May I ask who is calling and the purpose of your visit?”
“We are two of the Notorious Hamptons and have a proposition for them.” Eva smiled.
The butler paused, then opened the door wider. “Please wait here in the foyer. I’ll ask if they will see you.”
Charlotte was making use of a cane a visitor had long ago left in the foyer at Hampton House. Using it made for awkward maneuvering, but it was better than falling over when her knee twisted just the right way. Now, she leaned on it and looked at their surroundings. The foyer held a large sarcophagus that brought to mind vivid memories.
“This is where it all began,” Eva murmured. “My first crime scene photos.”
Charlotte chuckled. “The first time we met Nathan, and Amelie became Michael’s unofficial scribe.”
The butler reappeared, and they followed him into the Van Horne sisters’ palatial drawing room, which was identical in décor to Shepheard’s Hotel in Cairo. Charlotte inwardly laughed, thinking John might get his Ancient Egypt wish after all.
Margaret and Ethel Van Horne were seated near the hearth, which was guarded on either side by huge palms and statues of Anubis.
“Ladies!” Margaret said and pointed to two empty chairs. “Ooh, and a gentleman! It is always an honor to host a Notorious Hampton. Two at once is a boon!”
Constable Gundersen, clearly visiting the home—and the sisters—for the first time, took up his post near the hearth and examined the room with wide eyes.
Ethel smiled and said, “Too true!” But her smile faded as she looked at Charlotte. She gestured around her face in reference to Charlotte’s fresh bumps and bruises and said, “Oh, my dear girl, I do hope that happened in Pamplona.”
“Ma’am?”
Margaret nodded sagely. “Oh, yes. You had very much that look about you the year we ran with the bulls, Ethel.”
Eva nodded and tried to match their sincerity. “I have heard tales,” she said. “Regrettably, neither of us have had the pleasure of such an adventure.”
“Ah, well.” Ethel waved her hand in dismissal. “There will always be another opportunity.”
“To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?” Margaret smiled at the cousins as Ethel directed the handsome young butler to bring tea.
“We have a proposition,” Charlotte began, “but please do not feel obliged if it does not meet with your schedule or inclination.”
She gestured to Eva, the polished spokeswoman, to continue. Eva looked briefly startled but gamely picked up the baton. “Our proposal requires a bit of background,” she began. She took the sisters back to Katherine’s death, which they remembered, up to the present day, including Charlotte’s current state of cuts and bruises. Her recitation took nearly twenty full minutes, and the elderly women’s attention remained rapt.
“Our aim,” Charlotte said, “is to draw out the perpetrators. It is only supposition, but it is my opinion from observing the Friends at the Winston supper that at least one of them may become rattled enough by such memories to crack, if you will. We’re also aware that this may take some time to arrange and will be of assistance in any way you require.”
Ethel rubbed her hands together and Margaret chortled. “Absolutely, we will host. What do you have in mind?”