The Mystery of the Jewelled Moth by Katherine Woodfine

Author:Katherine Woodfine [Woodfine, Katherine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Egmont
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

As she took her seat at the table in Lord Beaucastle’s immense, dimly lit dining room, Veronica realised that she was nervous. She told herself she was being ridiculous, there was nothing to be anxious about. She’d been here a dozen times before, and what was more, this was a special dinner, given in her honour. Perhaps she was feeling so strange because of what had happened to Emily, she thought. Her death had cast a long shadow over the London Season.

Lord Beaucastle’s dining room certainly seemed different tonight: gloomy and full of shadows. She had scarcely noticed it before, but now she saw just how different his house was from her own home in Belgrave Square. Isabel favoured dainty, decorative things – frivolous embroidered cushions, enamelled clocks and china figurines. Beaucastle’s home was older, graver. In spite of all its gloss and polish, it felt like it had not changed for a very long time. The wood-panelled walls were hung with dark oil paintings, the ceilings embellished with strange carvings. The long table was set with glimmering silverware, trails of ivy and dishes heaped with grapes and peaches, all bathed in pools of light from tall white candles in heavy candelabras. Beyond, in the shadows, a host of silent footmen were ranged, ready to hand out dishes and pour out wine. Lord Beaucastle’s butler slipped in and out of the darkness, as he directed operations in a low, almost inaudible undertone. It was so strange to think this would soon be her home. She couldn’t imagine ever feeling truly comfortable here.

Guests stretched away from her along the expanse of table: gentlemen conversing in hushed, serious voices; ladies murmuring secrets to each other behind their fans. Some way down the table, she thought she glimpsed the Countess of Alconborough’s ostrich plumes; and there were others too that she recognised: politicians, financiers, aristocrats. Surely that slim, elegant figure on the right was Sebastian Ambermere, the young Duke of Roehampton? And there on the left, in a cloud of tulle and rosebuds, was Lady Hamilton, whose portrait she had seen at the Royal Academy only a few days ago? There was no doubt about it: this was an august gathering. Lord Beaucastle regularly played host to some of the most eminent figures of the beau monde; and now here she was, sitting amongst them at his right hand, trying to look as if she belonged.

And then there was Beaucastle himself. He was the centre of it all, cordially speaking to first one guest then another, instructing the butler to bring more wine. Watching him, Veronica could not help thinking all over again of the unexpected visit from Miss Taylor and Miss Rose and their friends. Perhaps it was their visit, most of all, which had left her feeling unsettled. She thought again of all they had said about Lord Beaucastle – such nonsense about crime lords and spies and gangs! The very idea was insulting, she thought crossly. Why, she knew

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