“No,” he said flatly. “No, she knew how to keep her own counsel, poor creature. Perhaps that was her undoing.”
Charlotte took up the thread before the conversation became 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 human 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 downturn 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.
