“I did. I did not eavesdrop at all, of course. I would never compromise my employer’s expectation of privacy.”
“No one doubts your integrity,” says the lawyer, as if he can make it true merely by saying it. Virginia fears perhaps, in a way, he can.
“Thank you. I was not listening, I promise you. But when their voices were raised, I could not help but hear. In a fine, well-built house like the Collins home, one cannot hear a typical conversation in the parlor from the front hall. Certainly whispering or civil conversation would not convey.”
“So this was not a typical conversation?” the lawyer offers.
“It wasn’t. As I said, civil conversation is not audible from the front hall. But shouting is a different matter.”
The prosecutor shakes his head, disapproving, rueful. “Shouting, you say.”
“I do. That is what I heard.”
“And from what you overheard—unintentionally, as you said—the two women didn’t seem to get along?”
“No, they most certainly did not. I should say, Miss Collins was perfectly polite. It was this one who was… I can’t quite find the words, sir.”
“Take your time.”
He pauses a moment longer, purses his lips, and finally says, “Well, I suppose she was rude.”
It stuns Virginia how this lemon of a man, full of sour reproach, can make rude sound worse than murder. And yet.
The witness’s eyes land on her at last. From this distance, in this light, they seem to have no particular color. She returns his gaze without flinching. After the space of a few heartbeats, he is the one who looks away.
The prosecutor says, “Could you share with us some of what she said?”
“I object,” says Virginia’s counsel, and she winces inwardly. He could not choose a worse moment to speak. She sees the trap before he does. Fool or mouse, he walks right up and springs it.
“Yes?” the judge asks. “Please, share the grounds for your objection.”
“Why ask this man what my client said? She will recollect better than he.”
“Then when the time for defense comes, you are welcome—encouraged, even—to put her on the witness stand.”
The lawyer’s silence stretches on, uncomfortable, obvious, until he sits. Then he reaches out for more papers to rustle and fans through them without speaking. Virginia resists the urge to put her head in her hands. She has so many urges in this room she knows she must resist. Civilization is a maze of forced constraints; she almost wants to be out of it. But she remembers, too, how dark the world beyond civilization can be.
Virginia twists the middle of her body slowly until she can feel her stays pressing into her flesh. She does this to remind herself of her own fragility. What a vulnerable vessel the human body makes for the human soul. Puncture the membrane and it all spills out like water.
“Now, Mr. Bishop,” purrs the prosecuting attorney, “please do tell us what Miss Reeve here called your client.”
Clearly enjoying the attention, the witness puts his shoulders back and says, “I remember her words quite well. She called Miss Collins an ‘arrogant, empty-headed fool.’”
“Goodness!” exclaims the prosecutor, his eyebrows raised, prim as a pastor’s wife in a pew. “Those were her words exactly?”
“Yes. ‘Arrogant, empty-headed fool.’ I’d stake my life on it.”
Easy for him to say, thinks Virginia. His life isn’t the one at stake.
The prosecutor sweeps a searching glance across the room, making sure everyone within these walls has had a chance to ponder the witness’s words, and then goes in for the killing stroke. “Was that all?”
“No, sir,” says the butler, leaning forward with relish.
“What else did she call her?”
“Wasn’t what she called her, sir. It was her threat.”
“Threat!”
“Yes, sir. She said to Miss Collins, and this is exactly the word of it, sir, I’ll never forget. She said, ‘If you insist on going to the Arctic, you’ll never come back.’”
Chapter Six
Virginia
The Collins House, Boston
April 1853
Caprice smelled like money. Not the blood-tinged scent of copper pennies, heaven forbid, nor the grimy stink of much-handled bills, but the crisp, almost leaflike smell of a dollar fresh from the mint. When she stirred her skirts, the smell wafted up, settled in. It was the first thing Virginia noticed about her.
The second: she was as homely as a toad.
The third: while she herself was probably unaware of the first point, she went to great expense to distract you from the second.
When the butler showed her into the parlor, Virginia wasn’t sure where to look. The velvet couch upon which Caprice was arrayed was attractive enough, an elegant lavender in color, and in a plainer room, it would have been lovely. But it was flanked on both sides by chairs upholstered in a turquoise-and-pink floral pattern, in front of a wall striped with gold and rose in turn, and if the riot of color weren’t enough, the stripes gave the whole scene an air of the circus. Then there was the rich, thick carpet, which swirled all the other colors together with ribbons of cream and green, a snarl of flowers the likes of which would never be served up together by nature.
Caprice herself wore a floral pattern that clashed equally with the chairs and the carpet. The skirt of her dress was heavily embroidered with lilies. Her bodice, tapering down to a sharp point at her narrow waist, was a solid green. Perhaps she was supposed to look like a flower herself. She did not.
Setting a careful foot on the outrageously flowered carpet, Virginia extended her hand to Caprice. Caprice did not take it.
Looking past Virginia to the butler, Caprice said, “Thank you, Bishop. That will be all.”
Virginia turned her head to see the man, slim and rigid. He bowed sharply at the waist as if it were the only point where his body could bend. Then he backed away and disappeared around a corner, still facing them, until he receded from view. Virginia wanted to laugh, but she could tell from Caprice’s expression that this was expected. She swallowed her amusement and waited instead for her host to speak.
Once he was gone, Caprice looked up at Virginia, appraising her frankly. “So tell me. Who are you?”
The rich girl’s glare made Virginia uneasy. If Caprice had any pretty part, it was her muted gray-green eyes, but what she did with them was piercing, not pleasing. The confidence Virginia had felt with both Lady Franklin and Brooks seemed to drain away instantly. Hesitating even as she cursed her hesitation, Virginia began, “I thought Lady Franklin told you. She’s asked me to organize the expedition… She did mention the expedition?”