Rutland Place (17 page)

“Is that all you care about?” Charlotte said furiously. “Being invited out? Can’t you think about Mama? And how do you imagine Papa would feel? Not to mention whatever it is that has happened to Mina Spencer-Brown!”

Emily’s face was white, anger lost in a sudden sense of shame for her own thoughts.

“You can’t possibly think Mama had anything to do with murder,” she said, lowering her voice considerably. “That’s inconceivable.”

“Of course I don’t,” Charlotte said. “But it’s perfectly conceivable, even probable, that the murder had something to do with the thefts. And that isn’t all. Mama said she has had the feeling for some time that someone has been watching her, spying on her. That could have something to do with the murder as well.”

Two spots of color appeared in Emily’s cheeks.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?” Her indignation was back again, embarrassment forgotten. “You should have sent for me straightaway. I don’t care how clever you think you are, you should not have tried it on your own. Look what a mess you have let it grow into! You have an overblown opinion of yourself, Charlotte. Just because you have stumbled on the truth in one or two of Thomas’ cases, you think you are so clever nobody can deceive you. And look what you have allowed to happen now!”

“I didn’t know it was murder until the day before I wrote to you.” Charlotte kept her temper with difficulty. She knew Emily was frightened, and she was also aware at the back of her mind that perhaps she had been a little overconfident of her own abilities. It might really have been better if she had called Emily sooner, at least about Caroline and Paul Alaric.

Emily reached for her soup dish again.

“This is cold. I don’t know why you can’t have a craving for something reasonable, like pickles. When I was carrying, I wanted strawberry jam. I had it with everything. Will you add some more hot from the pan to this, please?”

Charlotte stood up and ladled out some for both of them. She put Emily’s in front of her, then sat down to her own.

“What shall we do?” she asked quietly.

Emily looked back at her, all the anger evaporated. She was aware of her own selfishness, but it was unnecessary for either of them that she should say so.

“Well, we had better go immediately, this afternoon, and persuade Mama of the danger she is in, and stop her from seeing Monsieur Alaric again—except in the most casual way, as it is unavoidable, of course. We do not want to be obvious. It would occasion talk. Then in case it has anything to do with the thefts, and somebody has this wretched locket, we had better see if we can find out who killed the woman—Spencer-Brown. I have enough money. I can buy the locket back if it is blackmail.”

Charlotte was surprised. “Would you do that?”

Emily’s blue eyes widened. “Of course I would! We should buy back the locket first, then call in the police. It wouldn’t matter what they said afterwards—without the locket, nobody would believe them. They would only damn themselves the further for malice. We would destroy the picture, and Mama would deny it. Monsieur Alaric would hardly contradict! Even if he is foreign, he is most certainly a gentleman.” A shadow passed over Emily’s face. “Unless, of course, it was he who killed Mrs. Spencer-Brown.”

That Paul Alaric could be the murderer was an idea peculiarly repugnant to Charlotte. She had never really thought of him in that light, even in Paragon Walk, and it was sharp and ugly to do so now.

“Oh, I don’t think it could be he!” she said involuntarily.

Emily’s stare was very straight. “Why not?”

Then perception flashed across her face. She knew her sister too well for comfort; indeed she had always had a disconcertingly acute judgment of most people, both about what they wanted and, even more uncomfortably, why they wanted it. It was a facility, coupled with a sharp realism in her desires and the restraint to keep a still tongue in her head, that had led to her considerable success in Society. Charlotte had far more imagination, but it lacked a bridle. She failed to take account of social conventions, and therefore many of the motives of others eluded her. It was only when the darker, more elemental and tragic passions were involved that she understood instinctively, and often with a sharp and painful wave of pity.

“Why not?” Emily repeated, finishing her soup. “Do you think that because he is handsome he is therefore decent? Don’t be such a child! You ought to know better than to imagine that simply because someone is attractive he is not capable of the most facile and disgusting things as well. Handsome people are often extremely selfish. To be able to charm others is very dangerous to the character. It comes as a shock, sometimes an unacceptable one, to find there is something you want and you may not have it. He would not be the first simply to take it! If he has been brought up to believe he has only to smile and people will do as he wishes—For heaven’s sake, Charlotte, remember Selena! She was totally spoiled by having been told she was a beauty!”

“You don’t need to belabor the point,” Charlotte interrupted her angrily. “I understand you perfectly. I have met spoiled people too! And I have not forgotten how everyone twittered over Monsieur Alaric. He had only to show up and half the women in the Walk made fools of themselves!”

Emily gave her a dry look, her own memories less than entirely comfortable.

“Then you had better put on your best dress, and we shall go and call on Mama right away,” she said briskly. “Before she goes out, or receives anyone else. We can hardly say what we have to unless we are alone.”

Caroline received them with surprise and delight.

“My dears, how marvelous! Do come in and sit down. How wonderful to see you both!” She was dressed in the softest lavender-pink dress, high to the throat, with a fichu of lace falling gently. At any other time Charlotte would have envied her it; a gown like that would have suited her wonderfully and, far more important than the mere look of it, would have made her feel beautiful. Now all she could think of was how flushed Caroline was, how gaiety and even excitement bubbled just beneath the surface.

She glanced across at Emily and saw the chill of shock in her eyes.

“Emily, do sit over here where I can see you,” Caroline said cheerfully. “You haven’t been here for ages—at least it seems like ages. It is far too early for tea, and I suppose you have had luncheon already?”

“Onion soup,” Emily said with a little wrinkle of her nose.

Caroline’s face fell. “Oh, my dear! Whatever for?”

Emily reached for her bag, opened it, and took out her perfume. She touched herself liberally with it and then offered it to Charlotte.

“Mama, Charlotte tells me you have had some tragic happenings here lately,” she began, ignoring the question of the soup. “I’m so sorry. I wish you had written me. I would like to have been here to offer some comfort to you.”

Considering how radiant Caroline looked, the remark seemed somewhat misplaced. Charlotte had never seen anyone less distressed.

Caroline recollected herself rapidly. “Oh yes, Mina Spencer-Brown. Very sad indeed—in fact, quite tragic. I cannot think what drove her to it. I wish I had been able to help. I feel awfully guilty, but I had no idea at all there was anything wrong.”

Charlotte was conscious of the minutes ticking away, mindful that early callers might come at any time after three.

“She didn’t kill herself,” she said brutally. “She was murdered.”

There was total silence. The light died from Caroline’s face, and her body hunched into itself; suddenly she looked thinner.

“Murdered?” She repeated the word. “How could you know? Are you trying to frighten me, Charlotte?”

It was precisely what she was trying to do, but to admit it would rob at least half its effect.

“Thomas told me, of course,” she answered. “She died of belladonna poisoning, but the dose was far more than there had been in the house. It must have come from somewhere outside. No one else would give her poison for her to kill herself, so it can only have been murder, can’t it?”

“I don’t understand.” Caroline shook her head. “Why should anyone kill Mina? She did no harm to anyone. She didn’t have any money to leave, nor was she in line to inherit anything, so far as I know.” There was confusion in her face. “It doesn’t make any sense. Alston is the last sort of man to—to be having an affaire with another woman and wish to—No, it’s ridiculous!” Her voice regained its conviction and she looked up. “Thomas must have made a mistake—there is another explanation. We simply have not found it yet.” She sat a little straighter in her chair. “She must have brought it from somewhere. I’m sure if he looks—”

“Thomas is an excellent policeman and he does not make mistakes,” Emily said, to Charlotte’s amazement. It was a very sweeping statement, and less than true, but Emily continued regardless: “He will have thought of all those things. If he says it is murder, then it is! We had best face it, and conduct ourselves accordingly.” She opened her eyes wide and stared at Caroline, then shifted them a little, unable to look at her and deal the final blow. “And of course that means police all over the place, investigating everything and everyone! There won’t be any secrets left in the entire neighborhood.”

Caroline did not immediately understand. She saw the unpleasantness of it; indeed she could hardly have forgotten Cater Street, and she saw the dangers to those closely involved with Mina, but not her own peril.

Emily sat back, her face tight with pity, feeling a sense of guilt because she did not intend to be the one hurt.

“Mama,” she said slowly, “Charlotte says you have lost a pendant, and that it is of such a nature that you would prefer, if you were not the one to find it, that it was not found at all. This is a time when the utmost discretion is necessary. Even quite innocent acts can look very odd if they become public and everyone in Society begins to discuss them. Stories frequently grow in the telling, you know.”

They always grow in the telling, Charlotte thought miserably, and almost without exception for the worse—unless, of course, one is telling them oneself! She wondered now if she had done the right thing in bringing Emily here. She might have said the same things herself, but sitting and looking on, listening, it sounded so much harsher than she would have wished. Indeed it had a ring of selfishness to it, as if it were Emily’s reputation that was the first fear and Charlotte were merely self-righteous and inquisitive, carried away with her own imagination of herself as a detective.

They had not been very subtle.

She looked across at Emily and saw the pink in her skin, warm even up to her eyes, and she knew that Emily was suddenly conscious of it too.

Charlotte leaned forward and clasped Caroline’s hands. They were stiff, and she made no effort to respond.

“Mama!” Charlotte said. “We must find out all we can about Mina’s death, so that the investigation can be over with before there is time for Thomas, or anyone else, to start thinking about other people’s lives! She must have been killed for some reason— either love or hate, jealousy, greed—something!” She let out her breath in a sharp little noise. “Or most probably fear. Mina was clever, you said that. She was worldly wise, she observed a lot. Maybe she knew something about somebody that was worth killing to hide. There is a thief here, that is inescapable. Perhaps Mina knew who the thief was and was foolish enough to let the person see that she knew. Or maybe she was the thief herself and stole something someone would kill to retrieve.”

Emily rushed in, glad to have something practical to say to overlay the emotions. “For goodness’ sake, hasn’t Thomas searched the house? He should have thought of that! It’s simple enough!”

“Of course he has!” Charlotte snapped, then realized how her voice sounded. She did not need to defend Thomas; Emily thought well enough of him and, in her own way, liked him considerably. “They didn’t find anything,” she continued. “At least not anything they could understand to be important. But if we ask questions and investigate a little, we may perceive things that they could not. People are not going to tell the police more than they can help, are they?”

“Of course not!” Emily said eagerly. “But they will talk to us! And we can hear things Thomas would not—inflections, lies—because we know the people. That’s quite definitely what we must do! Mama, we shall come calling with you this afternoon, immediately! Where shall we begin?”

Caroline smiled bleakly. There was no point in fighting.

“With Alston Spencer-Brown,” Charlotte replied for her. “We shall express our deepest sympathy and shock. It would be quite appropriate. We will be overcome with the tragedy and not able to think of anything else.”

“Of course,” Emily said, standing up and pulling her skirt into the order she wished it. “I am quite desolated.”

“You didn’t even know her!” Caroline pointed out.

Emily looked at her coolly.

“One must be practical, Mama. I have met her at several soirees. I was most fond of her. Indeed I am convinced we were just at the beginning of a long and intimate friendship. He is not to know the difference. What did she look like? I will appear foolish if I do not recognize a portrait or a photograph. Although I could always say I was short-sighted— But I don’t wish to do that. Then I should have to fall over things to make it seem true.”

Caroline shut her eyes and put her fingers wearily over them.

“She was about your height,” she said, “but very slender, almost thin, and she had a very long neck. She looked younger than she was. She was fair, with an excellent complexion.”

“What about her features, and her hair?”

“Oh, she had regular enough features—a little small, perhaps? And very soft hair, sort of light mouse. She was really quite charming, when she chose. And she dressed excellently, nearly always in pale shades, especially creams. Very clever of her. It gave her an air of delicate innocence that appeals to men.”

“Good,” Emily said. “Then we are ready to go. We don’t want to be there with a whole lot of other people. We must not stay too long or we will make him suspicious, but we must see him alone. Goodness! I hope he is receiving? He hasn’t taken to his bed or anything?”