He sat down on the end of the bed, his shirttails hanging out, his tie undone.
“Is Ada Church really Ottilie Charrington?” he asked seriously. “Charlotte, are you absolutely sure? It wasn’t some obscure joke?”
“No, I’m sure. For one thing, she looked a lot like Inigo. You could see they were related. And something else I forgot! Ambrosine is the thief! Apparently she’s been doing it for some time. Inigo always puts everything back as soon as he can, when he knows who they belong to. I suppose nobody admitted to finding them this time in case you suspected them of having murdered Mina for the things.”
“Ambrosine Charrington?” He stared at her, confused and disbelieving. “But why? Why ever should
Charlotte took a deep breath. “Do you mind if I lie down again? Grace will look after Jemima. I don’t think I can. If I stand up, my head will fall off.”
“Why should Ambrosine Charrington steal things?” he repeated.
She tried to remember what Ottilie had said. As far as she could recall, she had understood it very well at the time.
“Because of Lovell.” She struggled for a way of explaining it. “He’s ossified!” She lay down very carefully, and a little of the pain subsided.
“He’s what?”
“Ossified,” she said again; the word pleased her. “Gone to bone. He doesn’t listen and he doesn’t look. I think part of her hates him. After all, her daughter’s gone away and they have to pretend she’s dead—”
“For heaven’s sake, Charlotte, people of that class don’t have daughters on the halls! It would be unthinkable to him!”
“I know that!” She pulled the covers closer around her chin. Quite suddenly she was cold. “But that wouldn’t stop Ambrosine from loving Ottilie. I’ve met her. She’s really very nice—the sort of person you want to smile at. She makes everything seem a little better. Maybe if Lovell wasn’t such a prune she wouldn’t have gone on the halls. She might have found it all right just to kick over the traces at home every now and again.”
Pitt sat still for a few moments. “Poor Ambrosine,” he said presently.
A dreadful thought occurred to Charlotte. She sat bolt upright, dragging all the clothes with her.
“You aren’t going to arrest her?” she demanded.
He looked appalled. “No, of course not! I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. There’s no proof. And Inigo would certainly deny it. Not that I shall ask him.” He pulled a face. “Still, it removes the thefts as a motive for Mina’s death—although the Charringtons could still have killed her, I suppose.”
“Why? Ottilie isn’t dead!”
His face took on a look of infinite scorn. “And how do you imagine Lovell would care for it to be known in Society that Ada Church, the toast of the halls, is his daughter? He’d probably sooner be charged with her murder! At least it wouldn’t be so damned funny!”
She twisted up her face painfully, torn between irony and frustration. She wanted to laugh, but the very idea hurt.
“What are you going to do?” she asked.
“Write a letter to Dr. Mulgrew.”
She did not understand; the answer seemed ridiculous.
“Dr. Mulgrew? Why?”
He smiled at last. “Because he is in love with Ottilie. He might like to know she’s alive after all. I don’t imagine he’ll care very much about her being on the halls. Anyway, he should have the right to find out.”
Charlotte leaned back on the pillow with a deep sigh of satisfaction.
“You are interfering,” she said pleasantly. She liked to think of Ottilie finding someone who would love her.
He grunted and tucked in his shirttails rather untidily.
“I know that.”
Just before eleven o’clock, when Charlotte was still asleep, she dimly heard a knock on the door, and the next moment Emily was beside her.
“What’s the matter with you?” Emily demanded. “Gracie wouldn’t let me in! Are you ill?”
Charlotte opened her eyes. “She didn’t make a very good job of it!” She squinted up at Emily sideways without moving. “I’ve got a terrible headache.”
“Is that all? Never mind that.” Emily dismissed it and sat down on the bed. “What happened? What about Ottilie Charrington? How did she die, and did her family do it? If you don’t tell me, I shall shake you till you are really sick!”
“Don’t touch me! I’m sick now! She isn’t dead. She’s excellently alive, and singing in the music halls.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Emily’s face creased with disbelief. “Who told you that?”
“Nobody told me. I went to the music hall and saw her myself. That’s why I feel so awful now.”
“You what?” Emily was incredulous. “You went to a music hall? What on earth did Thomas say? Honestly!”
“Yes, I did. And Thomas wasn’t very pleased.” Then memories came back, and Charlotte began to smile. “Yes, I did. With Inigo Charrington, and I drank champagne. Actually it was rather fun, once I got started.”
