“Did he give her many presents?”
“No—no, I don’t think so.”
“Isn’t it possible someone else was in love with her also, and was sufficiently jealous of Kingsley Blaine that he might have killed him?”
Caroline looked up, her face pink, her eyes defensive. “You mean Joshua, don’t you?”
“I mean anyone that could apply to,” Charlotte said as levelly as she could. “Does that mean Joshua?”
“He was in love with her once,” Caroline said with a gulp, looking at the linen again. She snapped a pillowcase sharply, and it slipped out of her fingers. “Drat!” she said angrily.
“Mama, don’t you think we should find out a little more? After all, that’s not surprising, is it? If people are attractive, and see each other a great deal, it is most probable they will have feelings for each other, at least for a while? Perhaps it passes, and then they may find the person who is right, not merely familiar. That doesn’t mean that Joshua still felt anything for her afterwards except a friendly affection.”
“Do you think so?” Caroline bent and picked up the pillowcase, keeping her eyes down. “Yes—yes, I suppose so. Of course you are right. We do need to know more. I shall lose my wits staying here wondering. But how can we do it without being appallingly intrusive?” She frowned, regarding Charlotte anxiously.
Grandmama appeared in the doorway, her stick hitting the lintel sharply. They were startled and stepped apart instantly. Neither of them had heard her footsteps.
“You are appallingly intrusive,” she said to Caroline. “Which is socially unforgivable, as you must be aware! Goodness knows, I have told you so often enough. But immeasurably worse than that, you are giving the absurd impression that you are in love with this—this—actor!” She snorted. “It is not only ludicrous, it is disgusting! The man is half your age—and he is a Jew! You seem to have lost your wits. Good morning, Charlotte. What are you doing here? You didn’t come to fold the laundry.”
Caroline gulped, her breast rising and falling as she strove to control herself.
Charlotte opened her mouth to retort, and then thought it would be wiser to allow Caroline to defend herself; otherwise Grandmama would think she was unable to. Then when Charlotte was gone, Caroline would be even more vulnerable.
“You are the only person who thinks such a thing.” Caroline stared at Grandmama, her cheeks flooded with hot color. “And that is because you have a cruel and quite mistaken mind.”
“Indeed?” Grandmama said with exquisite sarcasm. “You are capering around in extravagant new clothes, to Pimlico, of all places. Nobody goes to Pimlico! Why should they?” She leaned heavily on her black stick, her face tight. “Simply because suddenly you have nothing better to do? I could most assuredly find you something. Yesterday’s dinner was totally unplanned. I don’t know what Cook was thinking of. Blancmange, at this time of the year? And artichokes! Ridiculous! And what, may I ask, could you possibly want in Pimlico?”
“There’s nothing wrong with early artichokes,” Caroline replied. “They are delicious.”
“Artichokes?” Grandmama banged her stick on the floor. “What have artichokes to do with anything? As I have just said, you are pursuing a man young enough to marry your daughter—and a Jew, to boot. Do you drink, Caroline?”
“No, I do not, Mama-in-law,” Caroline replied, her face stiff and growing paler. “You appear to have forgotten, but I was in the theater when Judge Stafford died, and I was quite naturally interested in seeing that justice is done and there is no unnecessary pain caused to innocent persons.”
“Balderdash!” Grandmama said fiercely. “You are besotted on that wretched poseur. On the stage. For heaven’s sake, what next?”
Silently Charlotte folded the linen and slid it onto the shelf.
“You seem to have forgotten your own interest in the murder in Highgate,” Caroline attacked the old lady. “You forced the acquaintance of Celeste and Angeline—”
“I did not!” Grandmama exploded with indignation, her voice quivering with offense. “I merely went to offer them my condolences. I had known them half my life.”
“You went out of curiosity,” Caroline replied with a harsh thread of amusement. “You hadn’t seen or spoken to them in thirty years.”
They both ignored Charlotte totally.
“They were hardly actresses cavorting about on the public stage.” Grandmama took up the fight in earnest. “They were the maiden daughters of a bishop. One can hardly be more respectable than that. And I never chased after a man in my life. Let alone one half my age!”
Caroline lost her temper.
“That is your misfortune,” she snapped, shoving the pile of pillowslips across the shelf. “Perhaps if you had ever met anyone as interesting, charming and totally full of wit and imagination as Joshua is, then you wouldn’t be the bitter old woman you are now—with no pleasure left except making other people miserable. And I shall go to Pimlico as often as I choose.” She smoothed down her skirts sharply and stood very straight. “In fact Charlotte and I are off there now—not to see Mr. Fielding, but to find out more about who killed Kingsley Blaine—and why!” And with that statement she swept past Grandmama, leaving both Charlotte and the old lady staring after her.
Grandmama swung around to Charlotte, glaring at her.
“I hold you to blame for this. If you hadn’t married a policeman, and taken to meddling in disgusting matters which no decent woman would even have heard about—let alone concerned herself with—then your mother wouldn’t be taking leave of her senses now and behaving like this.”
“We cannot take you this time, Grandmama, no matter what you say.” Charlotte smiled at her tightly, looking straight into her black eyes. “The subject is far too delicate. I am sorry.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” the old lady snapped. “Why on earth should I wish to go to Pimlico?”
