Rutland Place - Anne Perry [9]
Caroline stared at her as if frozen.
Charlotte put out her hands and touched her mother gently. Caroline’s body was stiff under the fine material of her dress.
She let out her breath slowly and stared past Charlotte toward the light coming through the hall windows.
“I’m not really sure—it sounds so hysterical—but I feel as if there were someone watching me—and—waiting!”
Charlotte did not know what to say. Caroline was right; it did sound hysterical.
“I know it’s foolish,” Caroline went on, hunching her shoulders and shivering a little although the hall was perfectly warm, “but I can’t get rid of the sensation. I’ve told myself not to be so fanciful, that everyone else has far too much to do to be interested in my comings and goings. But it’s still there—the feeling that there are eyes, and a mind—a mind that knows—and waits!”
The idea was horrible.
“Waits for what?” Charlotte asked, trying to bring some rationality into it.
“I don’t know! A mistake? Waits for me to make a mistake.”
Charlotte felt a chill of real fear. This was unhealthy, even morbid. It carried a faint whiff of madness. If her mother was as overwrought as this, why on earth had Edward not noticed and called both her and Emily to do something? Even called a doctor! Certainly Grandmama was always watching and criticizing, but then she had done that for as long as Charlotte could remember, and no one had ever really minded before. She did it to everyone: to know better than anybody else was part of her satisfaction in living on when so many of her friends were dead.
Caroline shook herself. “I believe you’ll get home before the rain. In fact, I don’t think it’s going to rain after all.”
It was of total indifference to Charlotte whether it rained or even snowed.
“Do you know who took the locket and the other things, Mama?”
“No, of course not! What on earth makes you ask such a thing? I should hardly have asked you to help me in the matter if I already knew!”
“Why not? You might have wished to get it back without bringing in the police if it were a friend, or even a good servant of someone else.”
“Well, I told you, Charlotte, I have no idea!”
Suddenly Charlotte had a glimpse of the obvious, and wondered why she had been so blind as not to have seen it before.
“What is in the locket, Mama?”
“In”—Caroline swallowed—“in the locket?”
“Yes, Mama, what is in it?” She almost wished she had not asked. Caroline’s face was white, and she stood perfectly still for several seconds. Outside, the carriage wheels rattled on the road and a horse snorted.
“A photograph,” Caroline said at last.
Charlotte looked at her. She heard her own voice almost against her will, sounding disembodied and remote.
“Of whom?”
“A—friend. Just a friend. But I would rather it was not found by anyone else. They might misunderstand my feelings and cause me embarrassment, and even—” She stopped, and her eyes came up to meet Charlotte’s at last.
“Even what, Mama?” Charlotte asked very softly. Maddock was back in the hall, standing with her cloak, and the footman was at the door.
“Even perhaps—a little pressure,” Caroline whispered.
Charlotte was used to ugly words, and ugly thoughts. Crime was part of Pitt’s life, and she was too close to him not to share much of his pain, confusion, or pity.
“You mean blackmail?” she asked.
Caroline winced. “I suppose I do.”
Charlotte put her arms around her and held her tightly for a moment. To Maddock and the footman it must have looked like an affectionate goodbye.
“Then we must find out where it is,” she said almost under her breath. “And see that it does no harm. Don’t worry! We’ll manage.” Then she raised her tone to normal and stepped back. “Thank you for a most pleasant afternoon, Mama. I hope I shall come again sooner next time.”
Caroline blinked and sniffed in a manner she would have abhorred, had she been aware of it.
“Thank you, my dear,” she said. “Thank you so much.”
Chapter Two
IT WAS THREE DAYS after this that Charlotte received another letter from Caroline