Reluctantly he forced his mind to that problem. He did not want to face it. He had enough to occupy his mental and emotional energy with Paterson’s death and the fact that Godman was innocent, but he heard the fear in her voice and he knew it was well founded.
“To begin with, don’t tell her that Godman is innocent,” he said slowly, thinking as he spoke. “If it is Fielding, she is much safer if he has no reason to think he is suspected.”
“But if it is?” she said urgently, panic rising inside her. “If he murdered Blaine, and Judge Stafford, and Paterson—Thomas, he’s—he’s absolutely ruthless. He’ll murder Mama, if he thinks he needs to, to be safe!”
“Which is exactly why you don’t tell her Godman is innocent!” he replied decisively. “Charlotte! Listen to me— there is no point whatever in telling her Fielding might be guilty. She is in love with him.”
“Oh, rubbish!” she said hotly, feeling a strange choking inside her, a sense of loneliness, almost of betrayal, as though she had been abandoned. It was absurd, and yet there was an ache in her throat at the thought of Caroline really in love, as she was in love with Pitt—emotionally, intimately. She took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. “That’s nonsense, Thomas. She is attracted to him, certainly. He is interesting, a kind of person we don’t even meet in the normal way of things. And she was concerned that justice should be done.”
His voice cut across her. “Charlotte! I haven’t time to argue with you. Your mother is in love with Joshua Fielding. I know you have been trying hard not to accept that, but you will have to. It is a fact, however you dislike it.”
“No, it isn’t!” She thrust it away from her. “Of course it isn’t. Thomas, Mama is well over fifty!” She could feel the choking in her throat again, and a revulsion against the pictures that were forming in her imagination. Thomas should understand that. “It is friendship, that is all!” Her voice was growing higher and louder. She knew it was unfair, but she resented Emily being away in the west country and avoiding all this. She should have been here to help. This was a crisis.
Pitt was staring at her, irritation in his eyes.
“Charlotte, there is no time for self-indulgence! People don’t stop falling in love because they are fifty—or sixty—or any other age!”
“Of course they do.”
“When are you going to stop loving me? When you are fifty?”
“That’s different,” she protested, her voice thick.
“No, it isn’t. Sometimes we grow a little more careful in what we do, because we have learned some of the dangers, but we go on feeling the same. Why shouldn’t your mother fall in love? When you are fifty Jemima will think you as old and fixed as the framework of the world, because that is what you are to her—the framework of all she knows and that gives her safety and identity. But you will be the same woman inside as you are now, and just as capable of passions of all sorts: indignation, anger, laughter, outrage, making a fool of yourself, and of loving.”
Charlotte blinked fiercely. It was stupid to feel so close to tears, and yet she could not help it.
Pitt put his hand over hers. Her fingers were stiff. She pulled away.
“What am I going to do about her?” she asked abruptly, sniffing hard. “If he killed Kingsley Blaine, not to mention Judge Stafford, and now poor Paterson, then he’s about as dangerous as a man could be! He wouldn’t think twice about killing her if he thought she was a threat to him.” She sniffed again. “And if he didn’t, how can I stop her behaving like a fool? People can, when they fall in love. I should have tried to discourage her sooner. I should have warned her—told her his faults. And she can’t possibly marry him, even if he’s totally innocent.” She shook her head fiercely. “Even if he were to ask her—which of course he won’t.”
“If he asks her to marry him, you are going to do nothing,” Pitt replied with a hard edge to his voice that took her by total surprise, leaving her staring at him in amazement.
“Nothing!” she protested. “But Thomas—”
“Nothing,” he repeated. “Charlotte, I will tell her what we know of the case, in a few days, when I have weighed the evidence further. Then she will make her own decisions as to what to do.”
“But, Thomas—”
“No!” His hand was warm and hard over hers. “I know what you are going to say, but it would do no good. My dear, when did anyone in love listen to the good advice of their families? When you point out that he may be dangerous, guilty, unsuitable, unworthy, anything else you think of, the more she will be inclined to be loyal to him, even against her own better judgment.”
“You make her sound so foolish.” She pulled away, but he would not let her go.
“Not foolish, just in love.”
She glared at him, tears prickling in her eyes. “Then you have got to find out whether he killed Kingsley Blaine or not. And if it wasn’t he, then who was it?”
“I don’t know. I suppose Devlin O’Neil.”
She pushed her chair back, scraping the legs on the floor, and stood up. “Then I am going to find out more about them.” She drew in her breath quickly. “And don’t you dare tell me I mayn’t. I shall be very discreet. No one will have the slightest idea why I am interested, or that I have the least suspicion of anything even immoral, let alone criminal.” And before he could argue she swept out and raced up the stairs to start sorting through her gowns to see what she should wear to visit Caroline, Clio Farber, Kathleen O’Neil, or anyone else who might prove helpful in solving the Farriers’ Lane case.
Actually she did not succeed in arranging anything until the day after, and that was with great difficulty, and the assistance of Clio Farber. It was something of a contrivance. Clio invited Kathleen O’Neil to meet her at the British Museum, a place Adah Harrimore much enjoyed visiting. It gave her the opportunity to walk around slowly (her health was still excellent), to gossip and stare at other people, while at the same time feeling that she was improving her mind, without obligation to any hostess, or the need for invitation, or a return of hospitality. One could wear what one pleased, come at any hour, and leave when one had had sufficient. It was the perfect answer to all the intricate rules and restrictions of social hierarchy and etiquette.
Clio informed Charlotte of this arrangement, and accidentally Charlotte bumped into them at the Egyptian exhibit at exactly quarter to three, with a show of surprise and pleasure. She had considered asking Caroline to come, and then rejected it, because she was not sure enough of her own ability not to betray her knowledge that
