Charlotte House Affair 01 - My Particular Friend

I staged that tableaux like a trap and then waited for you to spring it.’
    I put down the cup and said, trembling, ‘You are most unkind.’
    My statement wiped the smile from her face. ‘I am,’ she said with a look of concern that did her credit, ‘but I wanted to know the measure of my new friend, whether she is made of glass or of iron, whether she will wilt before my nature or will rise to challenge me even in my own home.’
    She has done it again, I thought. She has played upon my emotions as if I were her instrument. Already she has turned the kindness of her hospitality into rudeness by her absence. And by calling me friend she has turned my righteous anger over her manipulation … into eager forgiveness.
    ‘You forgive me. I feel it now, Miss Woodsen. I have turned the corner in your estimation.’ She said this with a pleading in her voice that was so charming and already her smile was returning.
    I still did not know what to say, but I gave her a slight nod in return.
    ‘And now it is your turn. Tell me what you think. Tell me your impressions about me.’
    ‘You are the most singular person I have ever met,’ I ventured to say.
    ‘Hah! That is not helpful. In a long life, you might say that again and again, giving lie to it each time. Give me details.’
    Thus challenged, I said, ‘You must be a gifted pianist to tackle so challenging and obscure a piece as the music I found in the drawing-room. You devour the news like you devoured that roast. You like the sensational, witness your choice of reading material, and you have an interest in the social news that matches the most inquisitive spinsters of my village. You read Italian medical texts. And I almost get the impression that you have … an employment.’
    ‘Oh this is fun,’ she said. ‘But you should remember to distinguish between observation and conclusions. A bad pianist can murder Bach as easily as a gifted one can praise him. Although you are correct, I am judged a gifted pianist. And I do read Italian, badly. And you are correct in your most important conclusion. I do have an employment.
    ‘But the hour is late and that roast you say I have devoured weighs heavily on me. And I did journey to Bristol and back. Let’s retire and we will continue our talk to-morrow.’

Visitors
    I awoke the next day with an optimism I had not felt for a long time. My apprehensions had been replaced by curiosity and I hurried to breakfast. Miss House, however, was again missing, but Mary provided me a letter.
    Miss Woodsen,
    How it grieves me to continue to fail in my duty as hostess, but again Mrs Fitzhugh and I are off. However, I shall be gone only shortly, I promise. In fact, it would give me great pleasure if you would join me at the Lower Rooms at three o’clock. #
    Yours in friendship,
Charlotte House
    PS There may be callers asking for me—or you—throughout the morning. If you would be so kind as to see to their comfort—no matter their station—and relay any messages when we meet?
    Curious, and even more curious still, I thought to myself. And the visitors to the house that morning were very curious indeed. Calling early at eleven was a portly gentleman who did not stay but simply left his card; at twelve a querulous old woman with a cat who required tea, for both her and the cat, and did not leave a card or name; and at twelve-fifteen a small boy who came round the servants’ entrance with a parcel addressed to Miss House. And finally at two arrived a richly dressed, older woman, who did not give her name to the servant to be announced. She was attended by a meek young girl—whom I judged to be a species of niece—and demanded to see Miss House or myself.
    ‘You must be Miss Woodsen,’ the older woman said, inspecting me through her lorgnette, and sniffing slightly, as if she had caught a whiff of my straitened circumstances.
    ‘I am,’ I replied. ‘How may I help you, ma’am?’
    ‘You are the confidante of Miss House?’
    ‘I am,’ I said again, unsure of the truth of the matter, but by this point I was willing to agree to anything.
    She took a long time to reply, perhaps doubting the veracity of my statement. ‘Very well, please relate to her that I am … done with the matter and that I consider this contretemps at an end.’
    ‘And who should I say makes this statement, Madame?’ I asked, trying in a small way to match her hauteur.
    ‘Do you not know who I am?’
    ‘I do not,’ I said, ‘as you did not