No, Regina has had no cause at all to think of Anne Lister. On occasion, she supposes she has glimpsed a hovering mass of black at the corner of her vision, flitting about from woman to woman like a great big beetle between flowers, but she has never had reason, after their first cursory introduction, to seek out Anne Lister, nor to ponder her name or her doings, not in the slightest. Regina has had her own matters to consider, her own fortunes to attend and and to grow. Should she pass the time--her own, most valuable time--idling on thoughts of a person of no consequence at all? Should she hear the name mentioned in a gust of gossip from Halifax, and bend her ear eagerly to it? Certainly not. Such a thing would be absurd.
Except, of course, when it comes to matters of business. In these, Regina--again, with a fortune of her own to mind--is well-justified in keeping a weather eye out for such opportunities as might come her way, and wouldn’t any other widow, managing an estate alone, with no husband nor sons to guide her, do the very same? Given even such a vulgar subject matter as mutual enrichment, would a lady not be entitled, then, to seek out Anne Lister and make like a blossom to the beetle?
It would be simpler, surely, if the beetle did not have a mind so clearly its own. At the home of a mutual friend, Miss Lister has only shaken her hand rather stiffly and said, “Mrs. White,” without even a trace of the ebullience that otherwise beams from her countenance on any other suitable creature near. Clearly, her memory is long, and resistant to the polite erasure of long-distant faux pas past. Well, what on earth was Regina meant to have done, with Leopold’s body barely cold, and so peculiar a character as Miss Lister cavorting about? Was she meant to partake in the company of so well-known a person, her very security dangling by a thread, breakable by a single breath of misconduct against her?
Their little party is being conducted to another room by one of their hosts--oh, you simply must see something-or-other we’ve imported from somewhere, and so on and so forth, but Regina’s eyes are fixed on Miss Lister’s back. A corner is rounded, and Regina strikes. She intervenes between Miss Lister and her path, fixing her with a smile and an intent gaze. They’re alone now--suitable for the discussion of matters perhaps offensive to wider company.
“Miss Lister,” she says. “How lucky I am to catch you here.” She steps closer, perhaps closer than is strictly polite. Straight to business: “I have heard the most intriguing things, since your return to Halifax. Is it true, dear, that now you’re playing about with coal?”
