Rutland Place - Anne Perry [53]
Dear Emily,
I have been calling upon Mama more frequently in the last two weeks, and something quite appalling has happened which may hurt her irreparably if we do not step in and take some action to prevent it. I would prefer not to put it into writing, as it is a long and complicated affair. I feel I must explain it to you in person, and ask your advice as to what we may do before a tragedy occurs and it is too late to do anything!
I know that you are busy, but new events have transpired which make it urgent that we act without delay. Therefore please cancel any plans you may have and call upon me as soon as you receive this. We both know from the past in Paragon Walk, and other places, that when disaster strikes it does not wait upon the decent end of soirées and other such enjoyments.
There has already been one death.
Your loving sister,
Charlotte.
She folded it up, put it into an envelope, and addressed it to Lady Ashworth, Paragon Walk, London, and sent Gracie to put it in the postbox immediately.
She had exaggerated, and she knew it. Emily might well be angry, even accuse her of lying by implication. There was no reason whatever to suppose that Mina’s death had anything to do with Caroline, or that Caroline herself was in any danger.
But if she had simply written that Caroline was running grave risk of making a fool of herself over a man, even Paul Alaric, it would have little effect. Of course, if their father found out it would hurt him deeply—he would be quite unable to understand. The fact that he had in times past taken at least one romance considerably further would be to him completely different. What was acceptable for a man to do, providing he was discreet, had nothing whatsoever to do with what that same man’s wife might do. And, to be honest, Caroline was not even being particularly discreet! All of which would not fetch Emily in any haste, simply because she would not believe it.
Whereas mention of death, and a rather unsubtle reminder of the hideous events at Paragon Walk, would almost certainly bring her as fast as her carriage could negotiate the streets.
And indeed it did. Emily knocked very sharply on the front door before noon the following day.
Charlotte opened it herself.
Emily looked elegant, even at that hour, her fair hair swept fashionably high under a delicious hat, and a dress of the limpid shade of green that suited her best.
She pushed her way in past Charlotte and marched down to the kitchen, where Gracie bobbed a quick curtsy and fled upstairs to tidy the nursery.
“Well?” Emily demanded. “What on earth has happened? For goodness’ sake, tell me!”
Charlotte was genuinely pleased to see her; it had been some little while since they had spent any time together. She put her arms around her in a swift hug.
Emily responded warmly but with impatience.
“What has happened?” she repeated urgently. “Who is dead? How? And what has it to do with Mama?”
“Sit down.” Charlotte pointed to one of the kitchen chairs. “It’s quite a long story, and it won’t make a lot of sense unless I tell it from the beginning. Would you like some luncheon?”
“If you insist. But tell me who is dead, before I explode! And what has it to do with Mama? From the way you wrote, she is in danger herself.”
“A woman called Mina Spencer-Brown is dead. At first it looked like suicide, but now Thomas says it is almost certainly murder. I have onion soup—would you like some?”
“No, I would not! Whatever possessed you to cook onion soup?”
“I felt like it. I’ve wanted onion soup for days now.”
Emily regarded her with a look of pain.
“If you had to have a craving because of your condition, couldn’t you have made it for something a little more civilized? Really, Charlotte! Onions! They are socially impossible! Where on earth can we go calling after onion soup?”
“I can’t help it. At least they are not out of season, or ridiculously expensive. You can afford to have a craving for fresh apricots or pheasant under glass if you wish, but I cannot.”
Emily’s face tightened. “Who is Mina Spencer-Brown? And what has she