Rutland Place - Anne Perry [3]
Charlotte tried the next avenue. “Are any of your maids courting? Do they have followers?”
Caroline’s eyebrows rose. “Not so far as I know. Maddock is very strict. And certainly not inside the house, with access to my dressing room!”
“I suppose you’ve asked Maddock?”
“Of course I have! Charlotte, I’m perfectly capable of doing the obvious myself! If it were so simple, I should not have troubled you.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, shaking her head a little. “I’m sorry. It’s just—the whole affair is so wretched! I can’t bear to think one of my friends could have taken it, or someone in their households, and yet what else is there to think?”
Charlotte looked at her unhappy mother, her fingers knotted together in her lap, twisting her handkerchief until the lace threatened to tear. She understood the dilemma now. To institute inquiries, even to allow the loss to be known, would sow doubt among all her acquaintances. The whole of Rutland Place would imagine Caroline suspected them of theft. Old friendships would be ruined. Perhaps perfectly innocent servants would lose their jobs, or even their reputations. The rebounding unpleasantness would be like ripples in a pool, troubling and distorting everything.
“I would forget it, Mama,” she said quickly, reaching to touch Caroline’s hand. “The regaining of a locket would be far less valuable than avoiding all the pain inquiry would cause. If anyone asks, say the pin was loose and it must have fallen out. What did you wear it on?”
“The coat to my plum-colored outfit.”
“Then that’s easy. It could have fallen anywhere—even in the street.”
Caroline shook her head.
“The pin was excellent, and it had a chain with a small extra safety catch, which I always fastened as well!”
“For goodness’ sake, you don’t need to mention that—if anyone should ask, which they probably won’t. Who gave it to you? Papa?”
Caroline’s eyes moved slightly to look over Charlotte’s shoulder out the window at the spring sun dappling the laurel bush.
“No, I would explain it to him easily enough. It was your grandmama, for last Christmas, and you know what a precise memory she has when she chooses to!”
Charlotte had a peculiar feeling that some essence had eluded her, that she had heard something important and had failed to understand it.
“But Grandmama must have lost things herself,” she said reasonably. “Explain to her before she misses it. She’ll probably be a bit self-righteous, but that’s not unbearable. She’ll be that sometime or another anyway.” She smiled. “This will only give her an excuse.”
“Yes,” Caroline said, blinking, but a certain tone in her voice belied any conviction.
Charlotte looked around the room, at the pale green curtains and soft carpet, the warm bowl of daffodils, the pictures on the walls, the piano in the comer that Sarah used to play, with the family photographs on it. Caroline was sitting on the edge of the sofa, as if she were in a strange place and were keeping herself ready to leave.
“What is it, Mama?” Charlotte asked a little sharply. “Why does this locket matter so much?”
Caroline looked down at her hands, avoiding Charlotte’s eyes.
“I had a memento in it—of—of a quite personal nature. I should feel most—embarrassed if it should fall into anyone else’s hands. A sentimental thing. I’m sure you can understand. It is not knowing who has it! Like having someone else read your letters.”
Charlotte breathed out in relief. She did not know now what she had been afraid of, but suddenly her muscles relaxed and she felt a wave of warmth ripple through her. It was all so easy, now that she understood.