Rutland Place - Anne Perry [55]
Emily shut her eyes and pushed her soup dish away.
“Charlotte, it’s awful!” she said in a tight, pained voice. “It would be total disaster. Have you any idea what happens to a woman who is known to be—without morals? Oh, it might be all right if it were with some earl or duke or something, and one was important enough oneself—but for someone like Mama— never! Papa could even divorce her! Oh, dear heaven! It would be the end for all of us. I should never be received anywhere again!”
“Is that all you care about?” Charlotte said furiously. “Being invited out? Can’t you think about Mama? And how do you imagine Papa would feel? Not to mention whatever it is that has happened to Mina Spencer-Brown!”
Emily’s face was white, anger lost in a sudden sense of shame for her own thoughts.
“You can’t possibly think Mama had anything to do with murder,” she said, lowering her voice considerably. “That’s inconceivable.”
“Of course I don’t,” Charlotte said. “But it’s perfectly conceivable, even probable, that the murder had something to do with the thefts. And that isn’t all. Mama said she has had the feeling for some time that someone has been watching her, spying on her. That could have something to do with the murder as well.”
Two spots of color appeared in Emily’s cheeks.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?” Her indignation was back again, embarrassment forgotten. “You should have sent for me straightaway. I don’t care how clever you think you are, you should not have tried it on your own. Look what a mess you have let it grow into! You have an overblown opinion of yourself, Charlotte. Just because you have stumbled on the truth in one or two of Thomas’ cases, you think you are so clever nobody can deceive you. And look what you have allowed to happen now!”
“I didn’t know it was murder until the day before I wrote to you.” Charlotte kept her temper with difficulty. She knew Emily was frightened, and she was also aware at the back of her mind that perhaps she had been a little overconfident of her own abilities. It might really have been better if she had called Emily sooner, at least about Caroline and Paul Alaric.
Emily reached for her soup dish again.
“This is cold. I don’t know why you can’t have a craving for something reasonable, like pickles. When I was carrying, I wanted strawberry jam. I had it with everything. Will you add some more hot from the pan to this, please?”
Charlotte stood up and ladled out some for both of them. She put Emily’s in front of her, then sat down to her own.
“What shall we do?” she asked quietly.
Emily looked back at her, all the anger evaporated. She was aware of her own selfishness, but it was unnecessary for either of them that she should say so.
“Well, we had better go immediately, this afternoon, and persuade Mama of the danger she is in, and stop her from seeing Monsieur Alaric again—except in the most casual way, as it is unavoidable, of course. We do not want to be obvious. It would occasion talk. Then in case it has anything to do with the thefts, and somebody has this wretched locket, we had better see if we can find out who killed the woman—Spencer-Brown. I have enough money. I can buy the locket back if it is blackmail.”
Charlotte was surprised. “Would you do that?”
Emily’s blue eyes widened. “Of course I would! We should buy back the locket first, then call in the police. It wouldn’t matter what they said afterwards—without the locket, nobody would believe them. They would only damn themselves the further for malice. We would destroy the picture, and Mama would deny it. Monsieur Alaric would hardly contradict! Even if he is foreign, he is most certainly a gentleman.” A shadow passed over Emily’s face. “Unless, of course, it was he who killed Mrs. Spencer-Brown.”
That Paul Alaric could be the murderer was an idea peculiarly repugnant