“No,” Val disagreed. “Something ties them together we just don’t know what. Once we find that and how Irene does or does not tie in, things will become clearer.”
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Stella and Caroline worked hard to find the families that would be the first to enter the Housing project. True to his word, Peter Davies contributed money and found the men to do the renovations, and Victoria Lyttleton oversaw the furnishings and decorations that would be used in each flat.
Though Lady Lyttleton was a society matron and more concerned with expensive frocks and jewels to wear at the latest ball, she also liked to be thought of as innovative and supportive of young artists in the London area.
In that same vein, she liked and admired Caroline and wanted to support her housing project. She had known Caroline her entire life as her father was the family’s doctor. He had been at the birth of Rachel and her respect had been transferred to his daughter, Caroline. She had watched Caroline grow into a lovely and intelligent woman and she had been pleased to see her use her intelligence to better the world around her.
???
Caroline pulled on her crepe black gown and the maid gingerly buttoned up the back of it. It fit her very well and showed off her slim waist, but the black was very stark and did nothing for her pale complexion. She wore the jet-black earrings and necklace with carved roses and remembered her father saying they had belonged to her mother before she died.
She sat at the edge of the bed. She barely remembered her mother, Thirza. She had been a quiet woman whom everyone seemed to like. As Caroline grew older, she suspected everyone liked her mother because she never spoke her mind, or spoke at all, so what was there not to like.
Thirza had met Hubert at a country dance and it had been a love match, at least her father had always said so. He had been drawn to the quiet Thirza and had asked for her hand two weeks after meeting her.
He had taken her to London and the country rose had withered in the heavy London air. Thirza had not liked London at all and once Caroline was born, she had withdrawn into her own world even further. When Irene was born, Caroline suspected she willed herself to die.
There was a large portrait painting of Thirza in her father’s study. Caroline had often viewed it as a child. She had always felt her mother had sad eyes and a wistful look on her face, and even as a child Caroline had wanted to make the picture smile.
She uncovered her bedroom mirror, if only to stare at herself for a moment to make sure she looked presentable, and then recovered it with the black cloth. Everything was black, Caroline mused as she left her room. The black crepe draped across the front door and hung on the doorknob to alert visitors that this was a house in mourning. Oftentimes white crepe was used when a child passed but Malvina had forbidden the white.
She was glad that her father had not said no to the concert this evening even though the family was in mourning. A concert was allowed and her grandmother was attending with her.
She heard voices in the parlor and joined them. Inspector Pierce had a drink in his hand and her father was speaking to him, but both turned at the sound of her approach.
“Dearest Caro,” her father said fondly. “I’ll see what’s keeping your grandmother,” he said leaving them alone.
“You look lovely,” Val said studying her face.
“I don’t. I look like a witch, some sad tale they tell children to frighten them,” she smiled.
Val shook his head. “You look pale against the black but it accentuates your paleness. The delicateness of your face…“ he stumbled awkwardly over his words.
Malvina joined them looking imposing in a black gown with heavy beading and ribbons. She smiled at the couple.
“Are we ready?”
Caroline nodded and Val escorted them to the carriage.
The Chopin concert was heavily attended and when they took their seats in a small box high above the stage, Malvina looked pleased.
“Excellent seats, Inspector,” she complimented.
“I don’t mind spending my coin when it’s important,” he told her.
He looked across at Caroline seated at the railing and took a seat next to her.
“Do you like Chopin?” He asked quietly.
“Very much.”
“You attend many concerts?”
“My father enjoys music. Irene did as well,” she said the last words in a whisper.
The gas lights were lowered as the orchestra began playing the first piece. Caroline’s eyes were wide as she smiled at him.