Charlotte spent a miserable day turning over in her mind what she should do about Caroline and Paul Alaric. Three times she decided quite definitely that it was not so very serious and she would do best to take Pitt's advice and leave it alone. Caroline would not thank her for interfering, and.Charlotte might only cause them both embarrassment, and make the whole matter seem more than it really was.
And then four times she remembered Caroline's face, with the high glow in her skin, the tautness of her body, and the little gulp of excitement as she had spoken to Paul Alaric in the street. And she could still picture him perfectly herself, looking elegant and standing very straight, his eyes clear, his voice soft. She had another vivid recollection of his speech, his diction casually perfect, each consonant distinct, as if he had thought of every shy;thing before he spoke and had intended it exactly as it came.
Yes, quite definitely, she must do something, and quickly- shy;unless it was too late even now!
She had already baked a complete batch of bread without any salt, and had hurt Gracie's feelings by telling her to do the kitchen floor when she had just finished it. Now it was three in the afternoon, and she had turned one of Pitt's shirt collars and stitched it back the same way it had been in the first place.
She tore it out crossly, using a few words she would have been ashamed to have had overheard, and decided to write to her sister Emily immediately and request that she call upon her as soon as she received the letter, whether it was convenient or not. Emily, who had married Lord Ash worth at just about the time Charlotte had married Pitt, might well have to cancel some interesting social engagement without notice; the journey itself, however, would simply be a matter of calling the carriage and stepping in. And Charlotte had gone to Emily quickly enough when that dreadful business had happened in Paragon Walk when Emily was expecting her baby. It was indelicate to remind her of it, but at the moment she could not afford polite invitations.
She found notepaper and wrote:
Dear Emily,
I have been calling upon Mama more frequently in the last two weeks, and something quite appalling has hap shy;pened which may hurt her irreparably if we do not step in and take some action to prevent it. I would prefer not to put it into writing, as it is a long and complicated affair. 1 feel I must explain it to you in person, and ask your advice as to what we may do before a tragedy occurs and it is too late to do anything!
I know that you are busy, but new events have tran shy;spired which make it urgent that we act without delay. Therefore please cancel any plans you may have and call upon me as soon as you receive this. We both know from the past in Paragon Walk, and other places, that when disaster strikes it does not wait upon the decent end of soirees and other such enjoyments.
There has already been one death.
Your loving sister, Charlotte.
She folded it up, put it into an envelope, and addressed it to Lady Ashworth, Paragon Walk, London, and sent Grade to put it in the postbox immediately.
She had exaggerated, and she knew it. Emily might well be angry, even accuse her of lying by implication. There was no reason whatever to suppose that Mina's death had anything to do with Caroline, or that Caroline herself was in any danger.
But if she had simply written that Caroline was running grave risk of making a fool of herself over a man, even Paul Alaric, it would have little effect. Of course, if their father found out it would hurt him deeply-he would be quite unable to understand. The fact that he had in times past taken at least one romance considerably further would be to him completely different. What, was acceptable for a man to do, providing he was discreet, had nothing whatsoever to do with what that same man's wife might do. And, to be honest, Caroline was not even being particularly discreet! All of which would not fetch Emily in any haste, simply because she would not believe it.
Whereas mention of death, and a rather unsubtle reminder of the hideous events at Paragon Walk, would almost certainly bring her as fast as her carriage could negotiate the streets.
And indeed it did. Emily knocked very sharply on the front door before noon the following day.
Charlotte opened it herself.
Emily looked elegant, even at that hour, her fair hair swept fashionably high under a delicious hat, and a dress of the limpid shade of green that suited her best.
She pushed her way in past Charlotte and marched down to the kitchen, where Gracie bobbed a quick curtsy and fled up shy;stairs to tidy the nursery.
"Well?" Emily demanded. "What on earth has happened? For goodness' sake, tell me!"
Charlotte was genuinely pleased to see her; it had been some little while since they had spent any time together. She put her arms around her in a swift hug.
Emily responded warmly but with impatience.
"What has happened?" she repeated urgently. "Who is dead? How? And what has it to do with Mama?"
"Sit down." Charlotte pointed to one of the kitchen chairs. "It's quite a long story, and it won't make a lot of sense unless I tell it from the beginning. Would you like some luncheon?"
"If you insist. But tell me who is dead, before I explode! And what has it to do with Mama? From the way you wrote, she is in danger herself.''
"A woman called Mina Spencer-Brown is dead. At first it looked like suicide, but now Thomas says it is almost certainly murder. I have onion soup-would you like some?"
"No, I would not! Whatever possessed you to cook onion soup?"
"I felt like it. I've wanted onion soup for days now."
Emily regarded her with a look of pain.
"If you had to have^ a craving because of your condition, couldn't you have made it for something a little more civilized? Really, Charlotte! Onions! They are socially impossible! Where on earth can we go calling after onion soup?"
"I can't help it. At least they are not out of season, or ridiculously expensive. You can afford to have a craving for fresh apricots or pheasant under glass if you wish, but I cannot."
Emily's face tightened. "Who is Mina Spencer-Brown? And what has she to do with Mama? Charlotte, if you have got me here simply because you want to meddle in one of Thomas' cases"-she took a deep breath and pulled a face-"I would love to have an excuse to interfere! Murder is much more exciting than Society, even if it terrifies me sick at times and makes me weep because the solution is always so wretchedly sad." She clenched her fist on the table. "I do think you might have told me the truth, instead of a pack of silly stories about Mama. I put off a really rather good luncheon to come here. And you offer me boiled onion soup!"
Memories flickered through Charlotte's mind for a moment: the terrible corpse in the closed garden in Callander Square; and standing side by side with Emily, paralyzed with fright, when Paul Alaric found them at the end of the murders in Paragon Walk. Then she remembered the present again, and all the tingle and beating of the blood vanished.
"It is to do with Mama," she said soberly. She served the soup and bread and sat down. "It will need salting. I forgot. Do you recall Monsieur Alaric?"
"Don't be a fool!" Emily said with raised eyebrows. She reached for the salt and sprinkled a little. "How could I possibly forget him-even if he were not still my neighbor? He is one of the most charming men I have ever met. He can converse upon almost any subject as if he were interested. Why on earth does Society consider it fashionable to affect to be bored? It is really very tedious." She smiled. "You know, I never really knew if he was aware quite how fascinated we all were by him, did you? How much do you think it was merely the challenge of his being a mystery, and that each of us wished to outdo the other by winning his attentions?"
"Only partly." Charlotte had him so clearly in her mind even now, here in her own kitchen, it had to be something more than that. "He was able to laugh at us and yet at the same time make us believe that he liked us."
"Indeed?" Emily's eyes widened and her delicate nose flared a little. "I find that a most infuriating mixture. And I am perfectly sure that Selena at least desired of him a great deal more than simply to be 'liked'! Friendship does not arouse that kind of excitement and discomfort in anyone!"
"He has become acquainted with Mama." Charlotte hoped for a considerable reaction from Emily. She was disappointed: Em shy;ily was not interested.
"This soup is really rather nice with salt in it," she remarked with surprise. "But I shall have to sit at the far side of the room and shout at everyone. You might have thought of that! What if Mama has met Monsieur Alaric? Society is very small."
"Mama carries a picture of him in her locket."
That had the desired effect. Emily dropped her spoon and stared, appalled.
"What did you say? I don't believe it! She couldn't be so-so idiotic!"
"She was."
Emily shut her eyes in relief. "But she stopped!"
"No. The locket was lost-probably stolen. A lot of small things have been stolen from around Rutland Place-a silver buttonhook, a gold chain, a snuffbox."
"But that's awful!" Emily's eyes were wide and dark with anguish. "Charlotte, it's simply dreadful! I know the servant problem is bad, but this is preposterous. One owes it to one's friends to see at least that they are honest. What if someone finds this locket? And knows it is Mama's with that-Frenchman-in it! What would they say? What would Papa think?"
"Exactly," Charlotte said. "And now Mina Spencer-Brown is dead-probably murdered-almost next door to Mama. But she still doesn't mean to stop seeing him. I've tried to dissuade her, and it has been exactly as if she had not heard me."
"Haven't you pointed out to her-" Emily began incredulously.
"Of course I have!" Charlotte cut her off before she could finish. "But did you ever take any notice of advice when you were in love?"
Emily's face fell. "Don't be ridiculous! What on earth do you mean, 'in love'? Mama is fifty-two! And she is married-"
"That's just years," Charlotte said sharply, waving away the unimportance of time with her soup spoon. "I don't suppose one feels any different. And to imagine that being married prevents you from falling in love is too naive for words. If you are going to grasp at Society with both hands, Emily, at least practice some of its realism as well as its sophistry and silly manners!"
Emily shut her eyes and pushed her soup dish away.
"Charlotte, it's awful!" she said in a tight, pained voice. "It would be total disaster. Have you any idea what happens to a woman who is known to be-without morals? Oh, it might be all right if it were with some earl or duke or something, and one was important enough oneself-but for someone like Mama- never! Papa could even divorce her! Oh, dear heaven! It would be the end for all of us. I should never be received anywhere again!"
"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 disconcert shy;ingly 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 happen shy;ings 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 unpleas shy;antness 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 Tiad 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 sud shy;denly 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 wiH 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?"
"I don't think so." Caroline stood up reluctantly. "I suppose I would have heard if he had. Servants always talk." '
Charlotte saw the hesitation in her, the desire even now to escape the necessity.
"You must come, Mama. We can hardly go alone. It would be most awkward. You are the only one who knows him."
"I am coming," Caroline said wearily. "But I won't pretend I wish to. This whole thing is horribly ugly, and I wish we had nothing to do with it. I wish it had been suicide and we could let her rest in peace-be sorry, but not keep on thinking about it."
"I daresay!" Emily said a little sharply. "But we can't. And if we wish to have an acceptable outcome to the affair, then we must make it for ourselves! Charlotte is perfectly right."
Charlotte resented the implication that the whole thing was her idea, but there was nothing to be gained by arguing now. She followed them out obediently.
Alston Spencer-Brown received them in a traditionally dark shy;ened room. All the blinds were drawn halfway down the windows, and there was black crepe around the mirror, several of the photographs, and on the piano. He himself was dressed in the soberest clothes, the only touch of relief the white of his shirt.
"How kind of you to call," he said in a small voice. He looked stunned, shorter and narrower than Charlotte had imag shy;ined him.
"The least we could do," Caroline murmured unhappily as they accepted the seats he offered. "We were very fond of Mina."
Alston looked a little questioningly at Emily, obviously not sure who she was or why she was there.
Emily lied without blinking an eye; she was very good at it.
"Indeed we were," she said with a sad smile. "Very fond. I met her at several soirees and she was quite charming. We were just getting to know one another and found we had so much in common. She was such a discerning person."
"Indeed she was," Alston said with a lift of surprise that Emily should have noticed. "A most perceptive woman."
"Exactly." Emily put a wealth of understanding into the word. "She saw so much that passed by other, less sensitive people."
"Do you think so?" Charlotte looked from one to the other of them.
"Oh yes." Alston nodded. "I'm afraid poor Mina was fre shy;quently too astute for her own happiness. She was able to see in others traits and qualities that were not always attractive." He shook his head. "Not always to their credit." He sighed heavily and stared from Emily to Caroline, and back again. "I daresay you observed that yourselves?"
"Of course." Emily sat straight-backed, rather prim. "But one cannot help a certain"-she hesitated delicately-"wisdom in the ways of the world if one has the intelligence to possess it. I'm sure I never heard Mina speak ill of people, for all that. She was not a gossip!"
"No," he said flatly. "No, she knew how to keep her own counsel, poor creature. Perhaps that was her undoing." j
Charlotte took up the thread before the conversation became j maudlin. Mina had had a sly tongue, even if Emily had not had the wit to guess as much.
"But it is almost impossible not to hear things." Charlotte was surprised to hear her voice continue in precisely the same tone. "And to see them also, if one lives in a small area where everyone sees everyone else. I remember quite clearly poor Mrs. Spencer-Brown speaking with great sympathy"-she gulped on the words. Hypocrite! — "of the death of Mrs. Charrington's daughter. That must have been a dreadful shock, and one cannot help but wonder what awful event occurred, even if only to know what comfort to offer.''
Caroline sat up at a sharp poke from Emily.
"Yes, indeed," Caroline said. "No one knows what it was that struck her down so suddenly. Quite appalling. I recall Mina's mentioning it."
"She was very perceptive," Alston repeated. "She knew there was something terribly wrong there-far more than met the eye. Most people were fooled, you know, but not Mina." There was a^ perverse ring of pride in him. "She noticed everything." His face put on a sober look. "Of course she never spoke, except to me. But she knew that the Charringtons had some tragedy that they dared not speak of. She said to me more than once that she would not be surprised if Ottilie met her death by violence! Of course the family would conceal it if it happened somewhere else, where we did not see- I mean, if it were- shameful!"
Charlotte's mind raced. Did he mean another murder? Murder by a lover, perhaps? Or had Ottilie died bearing an illegitimate child-or, worse than that, as the result of a badly executed abortion? Or could she have been found in some appalling place, a man's bedroom-or even a brothel?
Could one die of a socially vile disease at such a young age?
She thought not.
Surely death by such things was long and very slow, a matter of years?
But one could discover one had contracted it-and perhaps even be quietly suffocated by one's own family before the ravages became obvious!
They were obscene thoughts, but not impossible. And any one of them worth killing for-if Mina had been foolish enough to let her knowledge be seen.
Emily was talking again, trying to draw out more details without betraying a vulgar curiosity. They had passed from Ottilie Charrington before it became too indiscreet, and were now discussing Theodora von Schenck. Charlotte and Caroline had prepared Emily thoroughly.
"Of course," Emily said, nodding sagaciously, "mysteries always make for gossip. It is bound to follow. I cannot blame Mina in the least. I confess to wondering myself how Theodora has so improved her circumstances. You must admit-it lacks an explanation?" She leaned forward expectantly. "It is only hu shy;man to speculate! You must not feel badly for it."
Charlotte blushed for her and, at the same time, felt a little tinge of pride. She really was very adroit.
Alston rose to the temptation perfectly.
"Oh, that is where Mina was so perceptive," he said with an air of sad satisfaction. "She did not speak of it, because she was very discreet, you know-not in the least uncharitable. But she saw a great deal, and it is my private belief that she knew the truth-about a number of things!" He sat back, looking from one to another of them.
Emily's eyes widened at the marvel. "Do you really think so? You know she never whispered a word of it! Oh, how I admire her restraint!"
An ugly, squalid idea intruded into Charlotte's mind and would not be dismissed. She too sat forward, staring at Alston, her face hot with the repugnance of the thought inside her.
"She must have been very observant," she said quietly. "She must have seen a great deal."
"Oh yes," Alston said. "It was remarkable how much she saw. I am afraid a great deal must have passed by me without my having the least idea of it." Suddenly memories overwhelmed him and he was riddled with guilt because his blindness might have held him from preventing the ultimate tragedy. If only he also had seen and understood, then Mina might not have been murdered. It was plain in his face, in the puckering and down shy;turn of his mouth and the evasion of his eyes as they filled with embarrassing tears.
Charlotte could not bear it. Even though she thought she knew the truth, and there was as much anger as pity in her for Mina, she leaned forward and without self-consciousness put her hand on Alston's sleeve.
"But as you remarked, and indeed as we all know," she said firmly, "she was no gossip. She was far too wise to repeat her observations. I am sure you are the only one who had any idea of her-perceptions."
"Do you think so?" He looked at her eagerly, seeking to be absolved from the blame for blindness. "I should so dislike to think she-she gossiped! One should-prevent such things."
"Of course," she reassured. "Do you not agree, Mama? Emily?"
"Oh yes," they answered, although she knew from their eyes that they had only a partial idea of what they were supposed to mean by it.
Charlotte took her hand from his sleeve and stood up. Now that she had learned as much as he knew, she wanted to leave; it seemed indecent to stay here muttering sympathy that did not help, knowing that none of them really cared, except quite impersonally, as they would have for anyone.
Emily stayed firmly in her seat.
"You must take great care of yourself," she said with concern, looking directly at Alston. "Of course you cannot go out for some time. It would not be appropriate, and I am sure you would have no desire to." Emily knew her social conventions perfectly. "But you must not permit yourself to become ill."
Caroline stiffened, her hands tightening on the arms of her chair. She stared across at Charlotte.
Charlotte felt her own muscles knot. Was Emily hinting at another murder?
Alston's eyes widened, and his grief was swallowed entirely by fear.
Before anyone could collect decent words to say that would not make the appalling thought irretrievable, the parlormaid opened the door and announced that Monsieur Alaric had called and would Mr. Spencer-Brown receive him?
Alston muttered something incoherent, which the girl took to be assent, and after a moment's agonized silence in which Charlotte glanced at Emily but dared not look at Caroline, Paul Alaric came in.
"Good afternoon. . "He hesitated; obviously the maid had not warned him that there were other guests. "Mrs. Ellison, Mrs. Pitt." He turned to Emily, but before he could speak, Alston rose hastily to the occasion, collecting himself in some relief at a clear-cut social duty.
"Lady Ashworth, may I present Monsieur Paul Alaric." He turned to Alaric. "Lady Ashworth is Mrs. Ellison's younger daughter."
Alaric shot a glance at Charlotte, brilliant with inquiry; then in perfect soberness he took the hand Emily offered him.
"How charming to see you, Lady Ashworth. I hope you are well?"
"Quite well, thank you," Emily replied coolly. "We called to express our sympathy to Mr. Spencer-Brown. Since we have done so, perhaps we should allow you to pay your visit uninhib shy;ited by the necessity of making courteous conversation with us." She rose gracefully and gave him a smile that was barely more than good manners.
Charlotte rose also; she had been on the point of excusing them when the parlormaid had come to announce Alaric.
"Come, Mama," she said briskly. "Perhaps we may call upon Mrs. Charrington? I did so like her."
But Caroline remained seated. "Really, my dear." She leaned back in her chair and smiled. "If we depart the moment Mon shy;sieur Alaric arrives, he will think us most uncivil. There is plenty of time yet for other calls."
Emily caught Charlotte's eye with a sudden appreciation of the perverseness that faced them. Then she turned back to her mother.
"I'm sure Monsieur Alaric will not think ill of us." This time she flashed a charming smile at him. "It is sensibility for Mr. Spencer-Brown that makes us withdraw, and not a lack of wish for Monsieur Alaric's company. We must think first of others, and not of ourselves. Is that not so, Charlotte?"
"Of course it is," Charlotte agreed quickly. "I am sure that if I were feeling distressed there would be times when the company of my own sex would be especially valuable to me." She also turned and smiled at Alaric, and was a little disconcerted to see his eyes, bright and faintly puzzled, regarding her so closely.
"I should be flattered beyond the point of vanity, ma'am, to believe any man would prefer my company to yours," he said with a softness in his voice, although whether it was irony or merely humor she could not tell.
"Then perhaps a little of each?" Charlotte suggested with her eyebrows raised. 'Even the sweetest things become boring after a while and one longs for a variety."
"The sweetest things," he murmured, and this time she knew unquestionably that he was laughing at her, although there was nothing to show it in his face and she believed it was lost upon everyone else in the room.
"Let alone those with considerable acid to them," she said.
Alston had not followed the conversation, but his innate good manners overrode his confusion. There was an ease in convention, the comfort of knowing the rules.
"I cannot imagine wishing you to leave, any of you." His gesture embraced them all. "Please do remain a little longer. You have been so kind."
Caroline accepted immediately, and there was nothing Char shy;lotte or Emily could do but reseat themselves and, with as rnuch grace as they could muster, begin a new conversation.
Caroline made it easy for them; from being merely polite and silently sympathetic, suddenly she was glowing, her intensity reaching out until it could be felt throughout the room.
"We were just encouraging Mr. Spencer-Brown to take the best care of himself," she said warmly, looking from Alston to Alaric. "It is so easy in one's grief for someone one has loved to forget oneself. I am sure you will be able to help him more than we can."
"That is why I called," Alaric said. "Social gatherings are unacceptable, naturally, but to remain alone inside the house makes everything harder to bear." He turned to Alston. "I thought in the next few days you might like to come for a carriage ride? It can be very pleasant if the weather is fine, and you would not be required to meet anyone."
"Do you think I should?" Alston seemed uncertain.
"Why not? Everyone must bear grief in his own manner, and those who wish you well will not grudge you whatever ease you can find. Music pleases me, and contemplating the great works of art, whose beauty survives the life and death of their creators to reach out to all pain and all aspiration. I would be happy to accompany you to any gallery you choose-or anywhere else."
"Do you not think people might expect me to remain in?" Alston frowned anxiously. "At least until after the funeral? That is not for several days yet, you know. Friday. Yes." He blinked. "Of course you know. How foolish of me."
"Would you care for me to ride with you?" Alaric asked quietly. "I shall not be in the least offended if you would like to be alone, but I rather think if I were in such a situation, I should prefer not to be."
The crease ironed out across Alston's brow. "Would you? That really is most generous of you."
Charlotte was thinking the same thing, and it annoyed her. She would much rather have disapproved of Paul Alaric, and have had grounds in her mind for doing so. She glanced side shy;ways at Caroline and saw the radiance in her eyes, the softness of approval.
Then she looked at Emily and knew that she had seen it also. — "How kind of you," Emily said with an edge to her voice that had far more to do with her own fears than any concern for Alston. "I am sure it is a most excellent act. Companionship is invaluable at such a time. I recall when I was bereaved, it was the company of my mother and my sister that gave me the most comfort."
Charlotte had no idea what she was talking about-surely not Sarah's death? That had affected them all equally-but she knew of no other bereavement.
Emily continued, regardless: "And I see no reason why you should not take a small drive if Monsieur Alaric is good enough to offer his company for that also. No one of any sensibility at all-no one who could possibly matter-would misunderstand that." She lifted her chin. "People do misconstrue some associations, of course, but that is more often so when it is a friendship between a lady and a gentleman. Then people are bound to talk, no matter how innocent it may be in truth. Do you not agree, Monsieur Alaric?"
Charlotte watched him closely to see if she could detect in his face even the faintest degree of comprehension of what they really meant, the purpose under their superficial words.
He remained completely at ease; seemingly his attention was still upon Alston.
"There are always those who will think evil, Lady Ash worth," he answered her. "Whatever the circumstances. One cannot possibly afford to cater to all of them. One must satisfy one's own conscience and observe the most obvious conventions so as not to offend unnecessarily. I believe that is all. Beyond that, I think one should please oneself." He turned to Charlotte, his eyes penetrating, as if he understood in some sense that she would have said exactly the same, were she to be truthful. "Do you not agree, Mrs. Pitt?"
She was caught in a dilemma. She hated equivocation, and her own tongue had caused enough social disasters to make anything but concurrence with him laughable. Also she would like to have been agreeable because there was a quality in him far beyond elegance, or even intellect, which drew her-a reserve of emo shy;tion as yet unreached that fascinated, like a thunderstorm, or the splendor of a rising wind far out at sea: dangerous and over shy;whelmingly beautiful.
She shut her eyes, then opened them wide.
"I think that can be a very selfish indulgence, Monsieur Alaric," she said with primness that made her sick even as she was speaking. "Much as one would like to on occasion, one cannot ignore Society. If it were ever to be only oneself who paid the price for outraging people's sensibilities, no matter how misplaced, it would be quite a different matter. But it is not. Gossip also hurts the innocent, more often than not. We are none of us alone. There are families upon whom every stain rubs off. The notion that you can please yourself without harming others is an illusion, and a most immature one. Too many people use it as an excuse for all manner of self-indulgences, and then plead ignorance and total amazement when others are dragged down with them, as if it could not have been foreseen with an ounce of sense!" She stopped for breath, not daring to look at any of them, least of all at Alaric.
"Bravo," Emily whispered so softly that to the others it must have seemed as if she were no more than sighing.
"Charlotte!" Caroline was stunned, unable to think what to say.
"How very perceptive of you." Emily rushed in to fill the hot silence. "And you have expressed it so well! It is a subject which has long needed some plain speaking! We delude our shy;selves so often to give us excuse for all sorts of behavior.
Perhaps I should not, since you are my sister, but I do so commend your honesty!"
Since it was a precept Charlotte had been the last to obey in her own life, Emily's remark could only be ironic, although there was nothing but translucent candor in her blue eyes now.
Charlotte beamed at her, daggers in her mind.
"Thank you," she said sweetly. "You flatter me." She stood up. "And now I, at least, must leave or I shall not have left myself time to call upon Mrs. Charrington, and I do find her so charming. Do you care to come with me, Mama? Or shall I tell her that you felt it your duty to remain here with Mr. Spencer-Brown-and Monsieur Alaric?"
Since it was manifestly ridiculous for Caroline to think any shy;thing of the sort, she had no alternative but to rise as well.
"Of course not," she said tartly. "I should be delighted to come with you. I am very fond of Ambrosine and would like very much to call upon her. I must introduce her to Emily. Or do you know her already as well?" she added waspishly.
Emily was not in the least deterred. "No, I don't believe I do. But Charlotte has spoken of her so kindly, I have been looking forward to meeting her."
That was also untrue: Charlotte had never mentioned her, but it was an excellent parting line.
Alaric stood up, very straight, shoulders beautifully square, a flicker of the old laughter in his eyes, seeing them all so clearly, as a foreigner sometimes does.
"You will find her unique," he said with a little bow. "And above all things, never, ever a bore."
"Such a rare quality," Charlotte murmured, blushing. "Never to be boring."
Caroline lost her temper in frustration and reached out to kick Charlotte underneath her skirts. She missed, but the second time she caught her sharply on the ankle. The corners of her mouth lifted with satisfaction. "Quite," she said. Then she looked at Alston, who had also risen to bid them goodbye. "If there is anything we can do, please do let me know." Curiously she did not mention Edward, except by implication. "We are so close by and would be happy in any help or comfort we could offer- perhaps in practical arrangements?"
"How very kind of you," Alston replied. "I should be most grateful."
Charlotte looked straight at Alaric and met his eyes. She took a deep breath.
"I'm sure if you felt my father could offer you any help with regard to your assistance at the funeral, he would be delighted to do so." She lifted her chin. "Perhaps he should call upon you and see what would be convenient? We have suffered bereave shy;ments ourselves, and he is a most sensitive person. I am quite convinced you would like him." She did not look away, al shy;though she could feel the heat creeping up her face.
At last she was rewarded by an answering flash of understand shy;ing in the depths of Alaric's eyes, and a slow color under his skin.
"Indeed." His voice was very quiet. "I respect your purpose, Mrs. Pitt. I shall consider it gravely."
She tried to smile, and failed. "Thank you."
They said their formal farewells and walked to the entrance where the parlormaid was waiting, Alston having rung for her. Both doors were opened so that they might pass through without being forced into single file. Charlotte turned as they stepped into the hall and found to her considerable embarrassment that Paul Alaric was still facing them, and his eyes, wide and black, were not on Caroline, or Emily, who had also looked back, but upon herself.
The last thing she wanted was to look at Caroline, yet she found herself doing precisely that. The gaze that met hers was of one woman to another, no more; they might never have met before. The only element there was the sudden and complete knowledge of rivalry.