Rutland Place (2 page)

“I shouldn’t need to, Mama. Policemen are always perfectly willing to tell you the time, in the unlikely event they know it. I can be devious if I wish.”

“Then you have changed since I ever knew you!”

“What did you lose, Mama?”

Caroline’s face changed, the laughter dying out of it. She hesitated as if trying to choose exactly the right words for something that was surely simple enough.

“A piece of jewelry,” she began. “A small locket on a gold bow. It is not of especial value, of course. It’s not very large, and I don’t imagine it is solid gold for a moment! But it was very pretty. It had a little pearl set in the front, and of course it opened.”

Charlotte voiced her first thoughts. “Do you not think one of the maids could have borrowed it, meaning to return it immediately, and forgotten?”

“My dear, don’t you imagine I’ve thought of that?” Caroline’s tone was more anxious than irritated. “But none of them had an evening off between the time I last saw it and when I missed it. And quite apart from that, I really don’t believe any of them would. The kitchenmaid would have no opportunity—and she’s only fourteen. I really don’t think it would occur to her. The parlormaid”—she smiled a little bleakly—“is as handsome as most parlormaids are. I did not realize Maddock had such excellent taste in employing our staff! Nature has endowed her quite well enough not to need the assistance of stolen jewelry, with all its risks. And my own maid I trust absolutely. I’ve had Mary since we moved here, and she came from Lady Buxton, who’d known her since she was a child. She’s the daughter of their cook. No.” Her face creased in distress again. “I’m afraid it is someone outside this house.”

Charlotte tried the next avenue. “Are any of your maids courting? Do they have followers?”

Caroline’s eyebrows rose. “Not so far as I know. Maddock is very strict. And certainly not inside the house, with access to my dressing room!”

“I suppose you’ve asked Maddock?”

“Of course I have! Charlotte, I’m perfectly capable of doing the obvious myself! If it were so simple, I should not have troubled you.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, shaking her head a little. “I’m sorry. It’s just—the whole affair is so wretched! I can’t bear to think one of my friends could have taken it, or someone in their households, and yet what else is there to think?”

Charlotte looked at her unhappy mother, her fingers knotted together in her lap, twisting her handkerchief until the lace threatened to tear. She understood the dilemma now. To institute inquiries, even to allow the loss to be known, would sow doubt among all her acquaintances. The whole of Rutland Place would imagine Caroline suspected them of theft. Old friendships would be ruined. Perhaps perfectly innocent servants would lose their jobs, or even their reputations. The rebounding unpleasantness would be like ripples in a pool, troubling and distorting everything.

“I would forget it, Mama,” she said quickly, reaching to touch Caroline’s hand. “The regaining of a locket would be far less valuable than avoiding all the pain inquiry would cause. If anyone asks, say the pin was loose and it must have fallen out. What did you wear it on?”

“The coat to my plum-colored outfit.”

“Then that’s easy. It could have fallen anywhere—even in the street.”

Caroline shook her head.

“The pin was excellent, and it had a chain with a small extra safety catch, which I always fastened as well!”

“For goodness’ sake, you don’t need to mention that—if anyone should ask, which they probably won’t. Who gave it to you? Papa?”

Caroline’s eyes moved slightly to look over Charlotte’s shoulder out the window at the spring sun dappling the laurel bush.

“No, I would explain it to him easily enough. It was your grandmama, for last Christmas, and you know what a precise memory she has when she chooses to!”

Charlotte had a peculiar feeling that some essence had eluded her, that she had heard something important and had failed to understand it.

“But Grandmama must have lost things herself,” she said reasonably. “Explain to her before she misses it. She’ll probably be a bit self-righteous, but that’s not unbearable. She’ll be that sometime or another anyway.” She smiled. “This will only give her an excuse.”

“Yes,” Caroline said, blinking, but a certain tone in her voice belied any conviction.

Charlotte looked around the room, at the pale green curtains and soft carpet, the warm bowl of daffodils, the pictures on the walls, the piano in the comer that Sarah used to play, with the family photographs on it. Caroline was sitting on the edge of the sofa, as if she were in a strange place and were keeping herself ready to leave.

“What is it, Mama?” Charlotte asked a little sharply. “Why does this locket matter so much?”

Caroline looked down at her hands, avoiding Charlotte’s eyes.

“I had a memento in it—of—of a quite personal nature. I should feel most—embarrassed if it should fall into anyone else’s hands. A sentimental thing. I’m sure you can understand. It is not knowing who has it! Like having someone else read your letters.”

Charlotte breathed out in relief. She did not know now what she had been afraid of, but suddenly her muscles relaxed and she felt a wave of warmth ripple through her. It was all so easy, now that she understood.

“For goodness’ sake, why didn’t you say so to begin with?” There was no point in suggesting the thief might not open it. The first thing any woman would do on finding a locket would be to look inside. “Perhaps that day you forgot to do up the safety clasp, and it really did fall off? I suppose you’ve looked thoroughly in the carriage?”

“Oh yes, I did that immediately.”

“When do you last remember it?”

“I went to an afternoon party at Ambrosine’s—Ambrosine Charrington. She lives at number eighteen, a most charming person.” Caroline smiled fleetingly. “You would like her. She is quite markedly eccentric.”

Charlotte ignored the implication. At the moment the locket was more important.

“Indeed!” she said dryly. “In what way?”

Caroline looked up in surprise.

“Oh, she’s perfectly respectable—in fact, more than respectable. Her grandfather was an earl, and her husband, Lovell Charrington, is a most notable man. Ambrosine herself was presented at Court when she came out. Of course, that was a long time ago, but she still has many connections.”

“That doesn’t sound very eccentric,” Charlotte said skeptically, thinking that Caroline’s view of eccentricity was probably quite different from her own.

“She likes to sing,” Caroline explained. “And some of the oddest songs. I cannot imagine where she learned them. And she is extremely forgetful, even of things one would have thought any woman in Society would remember—such as who called in the last week or so, and who is related to whom. She sometimes makes quite startling mistakes.”

Charlotte warmed to her immediately.

“Good for her. That must be most entertaining.” She remembered endless afternoons before she was married when Caroline had taken her three daughters to meet the mothers of suitable young men, and they had all sat in overstuffed chairs drinking lukewarm tea, sizing each other up with regard to income, dress sense, complexion, and agreeability, while the girls wondered which callow young man they would be introduced to next, and which iron-eyed prospective mother-in-law would inspect them. She shivered at the recollection and thought of Pitt in his linoleum-floor office with its brown desk and files of papers; Pitt stalking in and out of alleys and tenements after forgers and dealers in stolen goods, and just occasionally walking the smarter streets after a safebreaker, or embezzler, or even a killer.

“Charlotte?” Caroline’s voice recalled her to Rutland Place and the warm withdrawing room.

“Yes, Mama. Perhaps it would be better if you said nothing at all. After all, if it was stolen, the thief is hardly going to admit it, and anyone decent enough to return it to you would not have looked at what they would know is personal. And even if they did, they would not find it remarkable. After all, we all have private matters.”

Caroline forced a smile, overlooking the fact that the thief would not even know it was hers without some natural investigation, which would be bound to include opening it to see the inscription.

“No, of course not.” She stood up. “Now I’m sure it must be nearly time to eat. You look very well, my dear, but you mustn’t neglect your health. Remember, you are eating not only for yourself!”

The meal was delicious and far more delicate than Charlotte would have had at home, where she tended to skimp on midday meals. She ate with enjoyment. Afterward they repaired to the garden for a short breath of air, and in the shelter of the walls it was very pleasant. A little before three o’clock they went back to the withdrawing room, and within half an hour received the first caller of the afternoon.

“Mrs. Spencer-Brown, ma’am,” the parlormaid said formally. “Shall I tell her you are at home?”

“Yes, by all means,” Caroline agreed quickly, then waited a moment until the girl left before she turned to Charlotte. “She lives opposite, at number eleven. Her husband is a terrible bore, but she is very lively. Pretty creature, in her own way—”

The door opened again and the parlormaid ushered in the visitor. She was perhaps thirty-three or thirty-four, very slender with fine features, the longest, most graceful neck Charlotte had ever seen, and fair hair that was swept to the back of her head and piled in the latest fashion. She was dressed in ecru-colored lace.

“My dear Mina, how delightful to see you,” Caroline said as easily as if no thought had troubled her all day. “How opportune you should call.”

Mina turned immediately to Charlotte, her eyes bright.

“I don’t believe you have met my daughter Mrs. Thomas Pitt.” Caroline performed the awaited introductions. “Charlotte, my dear, this is my most excellent neighbor, Mrs. Spencer-Brown.”

How do you do, Mrs. Spencer-Brown.” Charlotte inclined her head a little in something like half a curtsy, and Mina made the same gesture of recognition.

“I have been so interested to meet you,” she said, looking Charlotte up and down, mentally taking note of everything she wore, from her slightly scuffed boots to the sleek styling of her hair, in order to assess the skill or otherwise of her maid, and thus the standard of her whole household. Charlotte was used to such judgments, and she met this one with unflickering coolness.

“How kind of you,” she said, her eyes amused and frank. “I’m sure had I known of you a little more, I should have looked forward to our meeting just as much.” She knew Caroline was regarding her anxiously, trying to get close enough to kick her under her skirts without being observed. Charlotte smiled even more candidly. “How fortunate Mama is to have such an agreeable neighbor. I hope you will stay and take tea with us?”

Mina had had every intention of staying, but was momentarily disconcerted to have the subject mentioned when she was hardly through the door.

“Why—why, thank you, that would be delightful, Mrs. Pitt.” They all sat down, Mina opposite Charlotte where she could face her without appearing to stare. “I haven’t seen you in Rutland Place before. Do you live far away?”

Charlotte was careful not to make Jemima an excuse. People in Mina’s position were not obliged to care for their children themselves; there would be first a wet-nurse, then a child’s nurse, then at five or six a nanny, and finally a governess or a tutor, and thus every possible need would be tended to.

“A little distance,” she said composedly. “But one gets involved with one’s own circle, you know?”

Caroline shut her eyes, and Charlotte heard her give the faintest of sighs.

Mina was temporarily at a loss. The reply had not elicited the information she had expected, nor yet led to another avenue of exploration.

“Yes,” she said. “Naturally.” She took a deep breath, smoothed her skirts, and began again. “Of course we have had the pleasure of meeting your sister Lady Ashworth—a most charming person.”

The implication was being made, very delicately, that if someone of Emily’s social distinction could find the time, then Charlotte certainly ought to.

“I’m sure she must have enjoyed it.” Charlotte knew quite well that Emily would have been bored to tears, but Emily had always been skilled at hiding her feelings; in fact, she seemed to have the entire family’s share of tactfulness.

“I do hope so,” Mina replied. “Does Mr. Pitt have interests in the city?”

“Yes,” Charlotte said quite truthfully. “I imagine he is there at this moment.”

Caroline slid a little down in her chair, as if she were pretending she was absent.

Mina brightened. “Indeed! How sensible. An idle man can so quickly fall into unfortunate company, and end up wasting both his time and his substance, don’t you think?”

“I have no doubt of it,” Charlotte said, wondering what had prompted the remark.

“Although naturally the city has its pitfalls as well,” Mina continued. “Indeed, some of our own neighbors here in the Place have the oddest of habits, with comings and goings in the city! But then, of course, young men are prone to do such things, and I suppose one must expect it of a certain sort. Family background always tells, you know—sooner or later!”

Charlotte had no idea what she was talking about.

Caroline sat up. “If you mean Inigo Charrington,” she said with only the barest edge to her voice, although Charlotte noticed her ankles cross and her knees tighten as she deliberately kept her face smooth, “I believe he has friends in the city, and no doubt he cares to dine with them on occasion, or possibly go to the theater, or a concert.”

Mina’s eyebrows went up.

“Of course! One only hopes he has chosen wisely, and his friends are worthy of him. You didn’t know poor Ottilie, did you?”

“No.” Caroline shook her head.

Mina made a little face of sympathy. “The poor creature died the summer before you arrived, as I recall. She was so young, not more than twenty-two or twenty-three.”

Charlotte looked from one to the other of them, waiting for an explanation.

“Oh, you wouldn’t know her,” Mina said, seizing the chance. “She was Ambrosine Charrington’s daughter—Inigo’s sister. Really a most tragic affair altogether. They were away for a few weeks during the summer. Ottilie was in perfect health when they left—at least she seemed so. And then within a mere fortnight she was dead! Quite dreadful! We were all completely at a loss!”