“You would still be shuffling me round endless polite and disgusting parties hoping to persuade some unfortunate young man’s mother that I am really better than I sound!”
“Charlotte! Please!”
“What have you had stolen, Mama?”
“Oh dear! I simply can’t imagine how you ever detect anything. You couldn’t trick a policeman into telling you the time!”
“I shouldn’t need to, Mama. Policemen are always perfectly willing to tell you the time, in the unlikely event they know it. I can be devious if I wish.”
“Then you have changed since I ever knew you!”
“What did you lose, Mama?”
Caroline’s face changed, the laughter dying out of it. She hesitated as if trying to choose exactly the right words for something that was surely simple enough.
“A piece of jewelry,” she began. “A small locket on a gold bow. It is not of especial value, of course. It’s not very large, and I don’t imagine it is solid gold for a moment! But it was very pretty. It had a little pearl set in the front, and of course it opened.”
Charlotte voiced her first thoughts. “Do you not think one of the maids could have borrowed it, meaning to return it immediately, and forgotten?”
“My dear, don’t you imagine I’ve thought of that?” Caroline’s tone was more anxious than irritated. “But none of them had an evening off between the time I last saw it and when I missed it. And quite apart from that, I really don’t believe any of them would. The kitchenmaid would have no opportunity—and she’s only fourteen. I really don’t think it would occur to her. The parlormaid”—she smiled a little bleakly—“is as handsome as most parlormaids are. I did not realize Maddock had such excellent taste in employing our staff! Nature has endowed her quite well enough not to need the assistance of stolen jewelry, with all its risks. And my own maid I trust absolutely. I’ve had Mary since we moved here, and she came from Lady Buxton, who’d known her since she was a child. She’s the daughter of their cook. No.” Her face creased in distress again. “I’m afraid it is someone outside this house.”
Charlotte tried the next avenue. “Are any of your maids courting? Do they have followers?”
Caroline’s eyebrows rose. “Not so far as I know. Maddock is very strict. And certainly not inside the house, with access to my dressing room!”
“I suppose you’ve asked Maddock?”
“Of course I have! Charlotte, I’m perfectly capable of doing the obvious myself! If it were so simple, I should not have troubled you.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, shaking her head a little. “I’m sorry. It’s just— the whole affair is so wretched! I can’t bear to think one of my friends could have taken it, or someone in their households, and yet what else is there to think?”
Charlotte looked at her unhappy mother, her fingers knotted together in her lap, twisting her handkerchief until the lace threatened to tear. She understood the dilemma now. To institute inquiries, even to allow the loss to be known, would sow doubt among all her acquaintances. The whole of Rutland Place would imagine Caroline suspected them of theft. Old friendships would be ruined. Perhaps perfectly innocent servants would lose their jobs, or even their reputations. The rebounding unpleasantness would be like ripples in a pool, troubling and distorting everything.
“I would forget it, Mama,” she said quickly, reaching to touch Caroline’s hand. “The regaining of a locket would be far less valuable than avoiding all the pain inquiry would cause. If anyone asks, say the pin was loose and it must have fallen out. What did you wear it on?”
“The coat to my plum-colored outfit.”
“Then that’s easy. It could have fallen anywhere—even in the street.”
Caroline shook her head.
“The pin was excellent, and it had a chain with a small extra safety catch, which I always fastened as well!”
“For goodness’ sake, you don’t need to mention that—if anyone should ask, which they probably won’t. Who gave it to you? Papa?”
Caroline’s eyes moved slightly to look over Charlotte’s shoulder out the window at the spring sun dappling the laurel bush.
“No, I would explain it to him easily enough. It was your grandmama, for last Christmas, and you know what a precise memory she has when she chooses to!”
Charlotte had a peculiar feeling that some essence had eluded her, that she had heard something important and had failed to understand it.
“But Grandmama must have lost things herself,” she said reasonably. “Explain to her before she misses it. She’ll probably be a bit self-righteous, but that’s not unbearable. She’ll be that sometime or another anyway.” She smiled. “This will only give her an excuse.”
“Yes,” Caroline said, blinking, but a certain tone in her voice belied any conviction.
Charlotte looked around the room, at the pale green curtains and soft carpet, the warm bowl of daffodils, the pictures on the walls, the piano in the comer that Sarah used to play, with the family photographs on it. Caroline was sitting on the edge of the sofa, as if she were in a strange place and were keeping herself ready to leave.
“What is it, Mama?” Charlotte asked a little sharply. “Why does this locket matter so much?”
Caroline looked down at her hands, avoiding Charlotte’s eyes.
“I had a memento in it—of—of a quite personal nature. I should feel most—embarrassed if it should fall into anyone else’s hands. A sentimental thing. I’m sure you can understand. It is not knowing who has it! Like having someone else read your letters.”
Charlotte breathed out in relief. She did not know now what she had been afraid of, but suddenly her muscles
