Rutland Place - Anne Perry [57]
“She didn’t kill herself,” she said brutally. “She was murdered.”
There was total silence. The light died from Caroline’s face, and her body hunched into itself; suddenly she looked thinner.
“Murdered?” She repeated the word. “How could you know? Are you trying to frighten me, Charlotte?”
It was precisely what she was trying to do, but to admit it would rob at least half its effect.
“Thomas told me, of course,” she answered. “She died of belladonna poisoning, but the dose was far more than there had been in the house. It must have come from somewhere outside. No one else would give her poison for her to kill herself, so it can only have been murder, can’t it?”
“I don’t understand.” Caroline shook her head. “Why should anyone kill Mina? She did no harm to anyone. She didn’t have any money to leave, nor was she in line to inherit anything, so far as I know.” There was confusion in her face. “It doesn’t make any sense. Alston is the last sort of man to—to be having an affaire with another woman and wish to—No, it’s ridiculous!” Her voice regained its conviction and she looked up. “Thomas must have made a mistake—there is another explanation. We simply have not found it yet.” She sat a little straighter in her chair. “She must have brought it from somewhere. I’m sure if he looks—”
“Thomas is an excellent policeman and he does not make mistakes,” Emily said, to Charlotte’s amazement. It was a very sweeping statement, and less than true, but Emily continued regardless: “He will have thought of all those things. If he says it is murder, then it is! We had best face it, and conduct ourselves accordingly.” She opened her eyes wide and stared at Caroline, then shifted them a little, unable to look at her and deal the final blow. “And of course that means police all over the place, investigating everything and everyone! There won’t be any secrets left in the entire neighborhood.”
Caroline did not immediately understand. She saw the unpleasantness of it; indeed she could hardly have forgotten Cater Street, and she saw the dangers to those closely involved with Mina, but not her own peril.
Emily sat back, her face tight with pity, feeling a sense of guilt because she did not intend to be the one hurt.
“Mama,” she said slowly, “Charlotte says you have lost a pendant, and that it is of such a nature that you would prefer, if you were not the one to find it, that it was not found at all. This is a time when the utmost discretion is necessary. Even quite innocent acts can look very odd if they become public and everyone in Society begins to discuss them. Stories frequently grow in the telling, you know.”
They always grow in the telling, Charlotte thought miserably, and almost without exception for the worse—unless, of course, one is telling them oneself! She wondered now if she had done the right thing in bringing Emily here. She might have said the same things herself, but sitting and looking on, listening, it sounded so much harsher than she would have wished. Indeed it had a ring of selfishness to it, as if it were Emily’s reputation that was the first fear and Charlotte were merely self-righteous and inquisitive, carried away with her own imagination of herself as a detective.
They had not been very subtle.
She looked across at Emily and saw the pink in her skin, warm even up to her eyes, and she knew that Emily was suddenly conscious of it too.
Charlotte leaned forward and clasped Caroline’s hands. They were stiff, and she made no effort to respond.
“Mama!” Charlotte said. “We must find out all we can about Mina’s death, so that the investigation can be over with before there is time for Thomas, or anyone else, to start thinking about other people’s lives! She must have been killed for some reason— either love or hate, jealousy, greed—something!” She let out her breath in a sharp little noise. “Or most probably fear. Mina was clever, you said that. She was worldly wise, she observed a lot. Maybe she knew something about somebody that was worth killing to hide. There is a thief here, that is inescapable. Perhaps