Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [99]
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?”
“For the same reason you went to see Celeste and Angeline, of course,” Charlotte replied. “To indulge your curiosity.”
For a moment the old lady was so angry she was robbed of words.
Charlotte smiled sweetly and turned around and went after her mother out across the landing and downstairs.
“Charlotte.” The old lady’s voice followed after her, sharp and plaintive. “Charlotte. How dare you speak to me like that! Come back here! Do you hear me? Charlotte!”
Charlotte ran down the last few steps and caught up with Caroline.
“Are we going to Pimlico?” she said quietly.
“Of course,” Caroline replied, looking around for her cloak. “There’s nowhere else we can begin.”
“Are you sure that is wise? There is no point in going simply to ask the same questions again.”
“Of course I’m sure,” Caroline said urgently. “We can see Clio Farber at this time of day. Theater people rise late, compared with most, take a good luncheon, which they call dinner, and rehearse in the afternoon.” Charlotte was about to say something, but Caroline hurried on. “She already understands the situation; she may have found a way in which we can meet this Devlin O’Neil. He is the only one we know of who is a definite suspect. That is the right word, isn’t it?”
“Yes—yes, it is.” Charlotte reached for the cloak and held it while Caroline put it over her shoulders. She put her own coat back on again. “How do you know Miss Farber is aware of the situation?”
“Maddock!” Caroline called out. “Maddock! Will you please call the carriage for me? No—no, on second thought don’t bother. I will take a hansom.” She glanced up towards the landing where the grim figure of the old lady was staring down the stairs, her stick striking at the banisters.
“Caroline,” she said loudly. “Caroline!”
“I am going out,” Caroline replied, grasping Charlotte by the arm. “Come, Charlotte. We cannot waste time, or we shall miss them.”
“You’re going to run about after that actor again?” Grandmama called from halfway down the stairs. “That Jew!”
Caroline turned around in the front doorway. “No, Mama-in-law, I am going to see Miss Farber. Please don’t make an exhibition of yourself by raising your voice in front of the servants. I shall be out for luncheon.” And without waiting for anything further, she gripped Charlotte by the arm again and went outside, leaving Maddock to close the door behind her.
For ten minutes they walked briskly along the pavement, past acquaintances to whom Caroline nodded briefly with a word of greeting.
“Good morning, Mrs. Ellison.” A large lady in green with a fur tippet stood squarely in the way, and it was impossible to continue