Rutland Place - Anne Perry [82]
Charlotte was appalled to hear herself reply, “And your own sister—”
“What?” His quicksilver face was blank, almost comically empty.
This time embarrassment made her hold her tongue.
“Oh,” Then he realized what she had said. “Oh yes. You mean Ottilie.”
She wanted to apologize, to undo her intrusion, but she knew how close it could lie to Mina’s death, and murder. And she had learned only too dreadfully how one murder could beget another—and another. Mina was not necessarily the last victim.
“I believe her death was very sudden—I mean, quite unexpected. It must have been a devastating shock.” She had meant to be subtle, and ended by sounding crass.
“Unexpected?” Again he repeated her words. “Mrs. Pitt! Of course, how stupid of me. The policeman! But why the interest in Ottilie? She was eccentric, to put it at its mildest, but she certainly never harmed anyone—least of all Mina.”
“That is the third time someone has said that she was eccentric,” Charlotte said thoughtfully. “Was she really so very unusual?”
“Oh yes.” He smiled at the memory. “She did some appalling things. Once she got up on the dining table at dinner and sang a bawdy song. I thought Papa would die of it. Thank God no one else was there but the family, and one or two of my friends.” His eyes were alight, gleaming with the memory, laughter and softness in them.
“Embarrassing, if it were to be repeated.” Charlotte was confused by him; surely no man could act affection so perfectly and be lying? “One cannot afford a great deal of that if one is to remain in Society.”
His face was bright, with mockery in it, but no malice, as if he himself were part of the joke.
“You know, Mrs. Pitt, I have the strongest feeling that in spite of your afternoon-tea behavior, you are a good deal more your husband’s wife than your mother’s daughter! You think we quietly suppressed Ottilie somewhere, don’t you? Perhaps imprisoned her in our country house, locked in a disused wing, with an old family retainer to guard her?”
Charlotte felt the crimson heat flood up her face. She was blundering, and yet she must not stop; there would not be another chance.
“Actually, I thought you might have murdered her,” she said tartly, furious with herself for her clumsiness. “And perhaps Mina knew it? She was a Peeping Tom, you know. And maybe a thief as well!”
His eyes opened wide in surprise.
“A Peeping Tom, yes, but a thief? Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Several things have gone missing in Rutland Place recently.” She could still feel the scarlet under her skin. “None of them are very valuable of themselves, but at least one holds a secret which would be most embarrassing if it were to become known. Perhaps Mina was the thief, and she was killed to retrieve whatever it was?”
“No,” he said with conviction. “Whatever she was killed for, it had nothing to do with the thefts. Anyhow, most of the things have been returned. They always are.”
She stared at him. “Returned? How do you know?”
He took a long, slow breath. “I do. Just accept that. I have seen the things. Ask the people who lost them, they’ll tell you.”
“My mother lost something. She did not say she has it back.”
“Presumably it was the article containing the embarrassing secret you spoke of, since you are aware of it. Maybe she was afraid you would think she stole it back. You have a highly suspicious mind, Mrs. Pitt!”
“I would hardly suspect my own mother of—” She stopped.
“Killing Mina?” he finished for her. “Perhaps not—but would the police be so well-disposed?”
“Where did Ottilie die? It was not at your country house, as you said.”
“Oh.” For several minutes he remained silent, standing with one foot on the hearth, and she waited. “Tell you what,” he said at last. “Come with me and I’ll show you!”
She exploded in frustration. “Don’t be ridiculous! If it is something so secret—”
“Bring your own carriage,” he interrupted. “And your own footman if you like.”
“Policemen do not have carriages!” she snapped. “Or footmen!”
“No, I suppose they don’t. Sorry. Bring your mother’s. I’ll prove to you we didn