Rutland Place - Anne Perry [60]
“Of course,” Emily said, nodding sagaciously, “mysteries always make for gossip. It is bound to follow. I cannot blame Mina in the least. I confess to wondering myself how Theodora has so improved her circumstances. You must admit—it lacks an explanation?” She leaned forward expectantly. “It is only human to speculate! You must not feel badly for it.”
Charlotte blushed for her and, at the same time, felt a little tinge of pride. She really was very adroit.
Alston rose to the temptation perfectly.
“Oh, that is where Mina was so perceptive,” he said with an air of sad satisfaction. “She did not speak of it, because she was very discreet, you know—not in the least uncharitable. But she saw a great deal, and it is my private belief that she knew the truth—about a number of things!” He sat back, looking from one to another of them.
Emily’s eyes widened at the marvel. “Do you really think so? You know she never whispered a word of it! Oh, how I admire her restraint!”
An ugly, squalid idea intruded into Charlotte’s mind and would not be dismissed. She too sat forward, staring at Alston, her face hot with the repugnance of the thought inside her.
“She must have been very observant,” she said quietly. “She must have seen a great deal.”
“Oh yes,” Alston said. “It was remarkable how much she saw. I am afraid a great deal must have passed by me without my having the least idea of it.” Suddenly memories overwhelmed him and he was riddled with guilt because his blindness might have held him from preventing the ultimate tragedy. If only he also had seen and understood, then Mina might not have been murdered. It was plain in his face, in the puckering and downturn of his mouth and the evasion of his eyes as they filled with embarrassing tears.
Charlotte could not bear it. Even though she thought she knew the truth, and there was as much anger as pity in her for Mina, she leaned forward and without self-consciousness put her hand on Alston’s sleeve.
“But as you remarked, and indeed as we all know,” she said firmly, “she was no gossip. She was far too wise to repeat her observations. I am sure you are the only one who had any idea of her—perceptions.”
“Do you think so?” He looked at her eagerly, seeking to be absolved from the blame for blindness. “I should so dislike to think she—she gossiped! One should—prevent such things.”
“Of course,” she reassured. “Do you not agree, Mama? Emily?”
“Oh yes,” they answered, although she knew from their eyes that they had only a partial idea of what they were supposed to mean by it.
Charlotte took her hand from his sleeve and stood up. Now that she had learned as much as he knew, she wanted to leave; it seemed indecent to stay here muttering sympathy that did not help, knowing that none of them really cared, except quite impersonally, as they would have for anyone.
Emily stayed firmly in her seat.
“You must take great care of yourself,” she said with concern, looking directly at Alston. “Of course you cannot go out for some time. It would not be appropriate, and I am sure you would have no desire to.” Emily knew her social conventions perfectly. “But you must not permit yourself to become ill.”
Caroline stiffened, her hands tightening on the arms of her chair. She stared across at Charlotte.
Charlotte felt her own muscles knot. Was Emily hinting at another murder?
Alston’s eyes widened, and his grief was swallowed entirely by fear.
Before anyone could collect decent words to say that would not make the appalling thought irretrievable, the parlormaid opened the door and announced that Monsieur Alaric had called and would Mr. Spencer-Brown receive him?
Alston muttered something incoherent, which the girl took to be assent, and after a moment’s agonized silence in which Charlotte glanced at Emily but dared not look at Caroline, Paul Alaric came in.
“Good afternoon . . .” He hesitated; obviously the maid had not warned him that there were other guests. “Mrs. Ellison, Mrs. Pitt.” He turned to Emily, but before he could speak, Alston