“But why is this happening?” Clara cried, her tears spilling over now. “What have I done?”
Aurelia’s resolve broke in a different place.
She could no longer keep Clara innocent through ignorance, not when ignorance had become another cruelty.
“Clara,” she said softly, “there is something I must tell you.” She paused for a moment. “Lord Westbridge has been helping me in my quest for the truth. And it is just as I feared. The truth is a threat to several people occupying positions of power in the military.”
Clara listened with increasing horror.
“So, it is because of that,” she spoke. “Because of the investigation.”
“Yes,” Aurelia nodded. “It isn’t because of you.”
“But I am the one they are punishing.” Her voice cracked. “I knew it. I knew everyone had begun to look differently at me. I thought perhaps if I smiled enough, if I behaved well enough, it would pass.”
Aurelia reached for her, but Clara stepped away.
“I am sorry,” Aurelia whispered, and the words were useless even as she spoke them.
Clara wiped her cheeks with the heel of her hand. It was a childish gesture, and it nearly undid Aurelia entirely.
“Do we have to go?” Clara whispered.
“No,” Aurelia told her gently. “Not if you truly cannot. But I think we should. I think we must show them that we cannot be frightened out of every room by an unsigned note.”
Clara looked toward the mirror. Her eyes were red, and her lovely blue gown suddenly seemed too bright for grief. Then, she nodded once.
“Very well,” she acquiesced. “We shall go.”
Aurelia didn’t know whether to be frightened or relieved by the decision.
***
Lady Davenant’s tea was every bit as dreadful as Aurelia had feared. The footman admitted them, but not without the slightest hesitation. That hesitation was their first welcome. The second was the silence that fell when they entered the drawing room.
It did not last long. Society was too well trained for that. Conversation resumed within a breath, but it resumed differently, with quick glances and lowered tones and smiles that arrived too late.
Lady Davenant rose with a politeness so strained it might have snapped under rough handling.
“Miss Finch, Miss Blackmore. How … pleased we are that you could come.”
The words were correct. Nothing else was.
Clara curtsied. Aurelia did the same. They were given tea. They were given seats. They were even, after a painful interval, given conversation, though every sentence felt selected not for warmth but for safety.
Charlotte was sitting near the hearth. Her shock at seeing them was the only honest expression in the room. It vanished quickly, replaced by that smooth composure Aurelia had come to distrust above almost every other human expression. Charlotte looked from Aurelia to Clara, then gave the faintest smile.
“How brave of you both,” she whispered.
The room seemed to listen without admitting that it listened.
Aurelia placed her cup upon its saucer with care. “To drink tea?”
“To continue as if nothing has happened,” Charlotte replied sweetly.
Clara’s hand trembled. Tea stirred dangerously close to the rim of her cup. Aurelia felt a surge of fury so strong that for one moment it steadied her completely.
“One has to continue,” she said simply. “Otherwise one becomes very poor company.”
