Charlotte beamed at her, daggers in her mind.
'Thank you,' she said sweetly. 'You flatter me.' She stood up. 'And now I, at least, must leave or I shall not have left myself time to call upon Mrs. Charrington, and I do find her so charming. Do you care to come with me, Mama? Or shall I tell her that you felt it your duty to remain here with Mr. Spencer-Brown-and Monsieur Alaric?'
Since it was manifestly ridiculous for Caroline to think any shy;thing of the sort, she had no alternative but to rise as well.
'Of course not,' she said tartly. 'I should be delighted to come with you. I am very fond of Ambrosine and would like very much to call upon her. I must introduce her to Emily. Or do you know her already as well?' she added waspishly.
Emily was not in the least deterred. 'No, I don't believe I do. But Charlotte has spoken of her so kindly, I have been looking forward to meeting her.'
That was also untrue: Charlotte had never mentioned her, but it was an excellent parting line.
Alaric stood up, very straight, shoulders beautifully square, a flicker of the old laughter in his eyes, seeing them all so clearly, as a foreigner sometimes does.
'You will find her unique,' he said with a little bow. 'And above all things, never, ever a bore.'
'Such a rare quality,' Charlotte murmured, blushing. 'Never to be boring.'
Caroline lost her temper in frustration and reached out to kick Charlotte underneath her skirts. She missed, but the second time she caught her sharply on the ankle. The corners of her mouth lifted with satisfaction. 'Quite,' she said. Then she looked at Alston, who had also risen to bid them goodbye. 'If there is anything we can do, please do let me know.' Curiously she did not mention Edward, except by implication. 'We are so close by and would be happy in any help or comfort we could offer- perhaps in practical arrangements?'
'How very kind of you,' Alston replied. 'I should be most grateful.'
Charlotte looked straight at Alaric and met his eyes. She took a deep breath.
'I'm sure if you felt my father could offer you any help with regard to your assistance at the funeral, he would be delighted to do so.' She lifted her chin. 'Perhaps he should call upon you and see what would be convenient? We have suffered bereave shy;ments ourselves, and he is a most sensitive person. I am quite convinced you would like him.' She did not look away, al shy;though she could feel the heat creeping up her face.
At last she was rewarded by an answering flash of understand shy;ing in the depths of Alaric's eyes, and a slow color under his skin.
'Indeed.' His voice was very quiet. 'I respect your purpose, Mrs. Pitt. I shall consider it gravely.'
She tried to smile, and failed. 'Thank you.'
They said their formal farewells and walked to the entrance where the parlormaid was waiting, Alston having rung for her. Both doors were opened so that they might pass through without being forced into single file. Charlotte turned as they stepped into the hall and found to her considerable embarrassment that Paul Alaric was still facing them, and his eyes, wide and black, were not on Caroline, or Emily, who had also looked back, but upon herself.
The last thing she wanted was to look at Caroline, yet she found herself doing precisely that. The gaze that met hers was of one woman to another, no more; they might never have met before. The only element there was the sudden and complete knowledge of rivalry.
7
Charlotte could hardly wait until Pitt returned. She made the easiest of meals, placed it in the oven to cook itself, and then flitted from one job to another, accomplishing nothing. It was quarter past six when at last she heard the front door open, and she instantly dropped the linen cloth in her hand and ran from the kitchen to meet him. Usually she forced herself to let him come to the warmth of the big cooking range, take off his coat, and sit down before speaking to him of the day, but this time she shouted as soon as his foot was in the passage.
'Thomas! Thomas, I saw Alston Spencer-Brown today, and I discovered something!' She ran down the corridor and grasped at both his hands. 'I think I know something about Mina- perhaps why she was killed!'
He was wet and tired, and not in the best of moods. His superiors were still clinging to the belief that it must have been suicide while the balance of her mind was upset by some private distress. It could all be so much more decently disposed of, and without turning over a lot of people's lives to investigate affairs that were far preferably left alone. Uncovering causes for enmity was always an ugly and unpopular occupation, and seldom prof shy;ited the career of whoever undertook it-at least not if he was of a rank sufficiently advanced that there was no validity in the shield that he was merely following orders.
Pitt's superior, Dudley Athelstan, was a younger son who had married well and had an ambition that fed on its own success. He had spent the latter part of the day trying to persuade Pitt that there was no case to investigate. There were any number of ways an unbalanced woman might come by sufficient poison to take her own life if that was what she had determined to do. When Pitt had left him, Athelstan had been in growing ill-humor because he could not convince even himself, let alone Pitt and Sergeant Harris, that the matter had been answered beyond reasonable doubt, for no chemist or apothecary could be found who had sold such a substance, and certainly no doctor had prescribed it, no matter how diligently they had searched.
Now Pitt started to undo his coat. It was dripping in the hallway, and the day before he had received a very wounded and sober criticism from Gracie about the amount of labor it took to get the floor to its degree of polish, without inconsiderate people spilling water all over it.
'Why did you go and see Alston Spencer-Brown?' he in shy;quired a little sourly. 'He's surely nothing to do with you, or your mother?'
Charlotte could feel the irritation in him as if he had brought the cold in from the street, but she was too excited to take heed.
'The murder is to do with Mama,' she said briskly, taking the coat and putting it on a hook to drip further, instead of carrying it through to the kitchen to dry. 'We have to get the locket back. Anyway, Emily wanted to visit Mama, and I went with her!' If the flame of the gas lamp in the hallway had been brighter, he might have seen her blush at the half-truth. She turned and walked smartly back to the kitchen and the fire. 'Mama went to call upon him to express her sympathy,' she explained. 'Anyway, that's not important!' She swung around and faced him. 'I know at least one good reason why Mina Spencer-Brown might have been killed-maybe two!' She waited, glowing with excitement.
'I can think of a dozen,' he said soberly. 'But no proof for any of them. It never lacked possibilities, but they are not enough. Superintendent Athelstan wants the case closed. Suicide leaves them decently alone with their grief.''
'Not possibilities,' she burst out with impatience. 'I mean real reasons! Do you remember I told you Mama said she felt as if she were being followed, watched all the time?'
'No,' he said honestly.
'I told you! Mama was aware of someone-most of the time! And Ambrosine Charrington said the same thing. Well, I believe it was Mina! She spied on people-she was what is called a Peeping Tom. Alston said so, in a roundabout sort of way- although of course he didn't realize what he was meaning. Don't you see, Thomas? If she followed someone with a secret, a real secret, she may have learned something that was worth killing over. And I know from Alston of at least two possibilities!'
He sat down and took off his wet boots. 'What?'
'Don't you believe me?' She had expected him to receive the news eagerly, and now he looked as if he were listening only to humor her.
He was too tired to be polite.
'I think your mother's affaire is probably not as serious as you imagine. Plenty of people have a little flirtation, especially Society women who have little else to do. You should know that by now. I expect it's all dropped handkerchiefs and bunches of flowers-about as real as a piece of embroidery. And I daresay if anyone was watching her, it was only out of boredom. You are making too much of it, Charlotte. If she were not your mother, you would take no notice.'
