by Anne Perry
Charlotte resented the implication that the whole thing was her idea, but there was nothing to be gained by arguing now. She followed them out obediently.
Alston Spencer-Brown received them in a traditionally dark shy;ened room. All the blinds were drawn halfway down the windows, and there was black crepe around the mirror, several of the photographs, and on the piano. He himself was dressed in the soberest clothes, the only touch of relief the white of his shirt.
"How kind of you to call," he said in a small voice. He looked stunned, shorter and narrower than Charlotte had imag shy;ined him.
"The least we could do," Caroline murmured unhappily as they accepted the seats he offered. "We were very fond of Mina."
Alston looked a little questioningly at Emily, obviously not sure who she was or why she was there.
Emily lied without blinking an eye; she was very good at it.
"Indeed we were," she said with a sad smile. "Very fond. I met her at several soirees and she was quite charming. We were just getting to know one another and found we had so much in common. She was such a discerning person."
"Indeed she was," Alston said with a lift of surprise that Emily should have noticed. "A most perceptive woman."
"Exactly." Emily put a wealth of understanding into the word. "She saw so much that passed by other, less sensitive people."
"Do you think so?" Charlotte looked from one to the other of them.
"Oh yes." Alston nodded. "I'm afraid poor Mina was fre shy;quently too astute for her own happiness. She was able to see in others traits and qualities that were not always attractive." He shook his head. "Not always to their credit." He sighed heavily and stared from Emily to Caroline, and back again. "I daresay you observed that yourselves?"
"Of course." Emily sat straight-backed, rather prim. "But one cannot help a certain"-she hesitated delicately-"wisdom in the ways of the world if one has the intelligence to possess it. I'm sure I never heard Mina speak ill of people, for all that. She was not a gossip!"
"No," he said flatly. "No, she knew how to keep her own counsel, poor creature. Perhaps that was her undoing." j
Charlotte took up the thread before the conversation became j maudlin. Mina had had a sly tongue, even if Emily had not had the wit to guess as much.
"But it is almost impossible not to hear things." Charlotte was surprised to hear her voice continue in precisely the same tone. "And to see them also, if one lives in a small area where everyone sees everyone else. I remember quite clearly poor Mrs. Spencer-Brown speaking with great sympathy"-she gulped on the words. Hypocrite! — "of the death of Mrs. Charrington's daughter. That must have been a dreadful shock, and one cannot help but wonder what awful event occurred, even if only to know what comfort to offer.''
Caroline sat up at a sharp poke from Emily.
"Yes, indeed," Caroline said. "No one knows what it was that struck her down so suddenly. Quite appalling. I recall Mina's mentioning it."
"She was very perceptive," Alston repeated. "She knew there was something terribly wrong there-far more than met the eye. Most people were fooled, you know, but not Mina." There was a^ perverse ring of pride in him. "She noticed everything." His face put on a sober look. "Of course she never spoke, except to me. But she knew that the Charringtons had some tragedy that they dared not speak of. She said to me more than once that she would not be surprised if Ottilie met her death by violence! Of course the family would conceal it if it happened somewhere else, where we did not see- I mean, if it were- shameful!"
Charlotte's mind raced. Did he mean another murder? Murder by a lover, perhaps? Or had Ottilie died bearing an illegitimate child-or, worse than that, as the result of a badly executed abortion? Or could she have been found in some appalling place, a man's bedroom-or even a brothel?
Could one die of a socially vile disease at such a young age?
She thought not.
Surely death by such things was long and very slow, a matter of years?
But one could discover one had contracted it-and perhaps even be quietly suffocated by one's own family before the ravages became obvious!
They were obscene thoughts, but not impossible. And any one of them worth killing for-if Mina had been foolish enough to let her knowledge be seen.
Emily was talking again, trying to draw out more details without betraying a vulgar curiosity. They had passed from Ottilie Charrington before it became too indiscreet, and were now discussing Theodora von Schenck. Charlotte and Caroline had prepared Emily thoroughly.
"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 hu shy;man 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 down shy;turn 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 parl
ormaid 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 rose hastily to the occasion, collecting himself in some relief at a clear-cut social duty.
"Lady Ashworth, may I present Monsieur Paul Alaric." He turned to Alaric. "Lady Ashworth is Mrs. Ellison's younger daughter."
Alaric shot a glance at Charlotte, brilliant with inquiry; then in perfect soberness he took the hand Emily offered him.
"How charming to see you, Lady Ashworth. I hope you are well?"
"Quite well, thank you," Emily replied coolly. "We called to express our sympathy to Mr. Spencer-Brown. Since we have done so, perhaps we should allow you to pay your visit uninhib shy;ited by the necessity of making courteous conversation with us." She rose gracefully and gave him a smile that was barely more than good manners.
Charlotte rose also; she had been on the point of excusing them when the parlormaid had come to announce Alaric.
"Come, Mama," she said briskly. "Perhaps we may call upon Mrs. Charrington? I did so like her."
But Caroline remained seated. "Really, my dear." She leaned back in her chair and smiled. "If we depart the moment Mon shy;sieur Alaric arrives, he will think us most uncivil. There is plenty of time yet for other calls."
Emily caught Charlotte's eye with a sudden appreciation of the perverseness that faced them. Then she turned back to her mother.
"I'm sure Monsieur Alaric will not think ill of us." This time she flashed a charming smile at him. "It is sensibility for Mr. Spencer-Brown that makes us withdraw, and not a lack of wish for Monsieur Alaric's company. We must think first of others, and not of ourselves. Is that not so, Charlotte?"
"Of course it is," Charlotte agreed quickly. "I am sure that if I were feeling distressed there would be times when the company of my own sex would be especially valuable to me." She also turned and smiled at Alaric, and was a little disconcerted to see his eyes, bright and faintly puzzled, regarding her so closely.
"I should be flattered beyond the point of vanity, ma'am, to believe any man would prefer my company to yours," he said with a softness in his voice, although whether it was irony or merely humor she could not tell.
"Then perhaps a little of each?" Charlotte suggested with her eyebrows raised. 'Even the sweetest things become boring after a while and one longs for a variety."
"The sweetest things," he murmured, and this time she knew unquestionably that he was laughing at her, although there was nothing to show it in his face and she believed it was lost upon everyone else in the room.
"Let alone those with considerable acid to them," she said.
Alston had not followed the conversation, but his innate good manners overrode his confusion. There was an ease in convention, the comfort of knowing the rules.
"I cannot imagine wishing you to leave, any of you." His gesture embraced them all. "Please do remain a little longer. You have been so kind."
Caroline accepted immediately, and there was nothing Char shy;lotte or Emily could do but reseat themselves and, with as rnuch grace as they could muster, begin a new conversation.
Caroline made it easy for them; from being merely polite and silently sympathetic, suddenly she was glowing, her intensity reaching out until it could be felt throughout the room.
"We were just encouraging Mr. Spencer-Brown to take the best care of himself," she said warmly, looking from Alston to Alaric. "It is so easy in one's grief for someone one has loved to forget oneself. I am sure you will be able to help him more than we can."
"That is why I called," Alaric said. "Social gatherings are unacceptable, naturally, but to remain alone inside the house makes everything harder to bear." He turned to Alston. "I thought in the next few days you might like to come for a carriage ride? It can be very pleasant if the weather is fine, and you would not be required to meet anyone."
"Do you think I should?" Alston seemed uncertain.
"Why not? Everyone must bear grief in his own manner, and those who wish you well will not grudge you whatever ease you can find. Music pleases me, and contemplating the great works of art, whose beauty survives the life and death of their creators to reach out to all pain and all aspiration. I would be happy to accompany you to any gallery you choose-or anywhere else."
"Do you not think people might expect me to remain in?" Alston frowned anxiously. "At least until after the funeral? That is not for several days yet, you know. Friday. Yes." He blinked. "Of course you know. How foolish of me."
"Would you care for me to ride with you?" Alaric asked quietly. "I shall not be in the least offended if you would like to be alone, but I rather think if I were in such a situation, I should prefer not to be."
The crease ironed out across Alston's brow. "Would you? That really is most generous of you."
Charlotte was thinking the same thing, and it annoyed her. She would much rather have disapproved of Paul Alaric, and have had grounds in her mind for doing so. She glanced side shy;ways at Caroline and saw the radiance in her eyes, the softness of approval.
Then she looked at Emily and knew that she had seen it also. — "How kind of you," Emily said with an edge to her voice that had far more to do with her own fears than any concern for Alston. "I am sure it is a most excellent act. Companionship is invaluable at such a time. I recall when I was bereaved, it was the company of my mother and my sister that gave me the most comfort."
Charlotte had no idea what she was talking about-surely not Sarah's death? That had affected them all equally-but she knew of no other bereavement.
Emily continued, regardless: "And I see no reason why you should not take a small drive if Monsieur Alaric is good enough to offer his company for that also. No one of any sensibility at all-no one who could possibly matter-would misunderstand that." She lifted her chin. "People do misconstrue some associations, of course, but that is more often so when it is a friendship between a lady and a gentleman. Then people are bound to talk, no matter how innocent it may be in truth. Do you not agree, Monsieur Alaric?"
Charlotte watched him closely to see if she could detect in his face even the faintest degree of comprehension of what they really meant, the purpose under their superficial words.
He remained completely at ease; seemingly his attention was still upon Alston.
"There are always those who will think evil, Lady Ash worth," he answered her. "Whatever the circumstances. One cannot possibly afford to cater to all of them. One must satisfy one's own conscience and observe the most obvious conventions so as not to offend unnecessarily. I believe that is all. Beyond that, I think one should please oneself." He turned to Charlotte, his eyes penetrating, as if he understood in some sense that she would have said exactly the same, were she to be truthful. "Do you not agree, Mrs. Pitt?"
She was caught in a dilemma. She hated equivocation, and her own tongue had caused enough social disasters to make anything but concurrence with him laughable. Also she would like to have been agreeable because there was a quality in him far beyond elegance, or even intellect, which drew her-a reserve of emo shy;tion as yet unreached that fascinated, like a thunderstorm, or the splendor of a rising wind far out at sea: dangerous and over shy;whelmingly beautiful.
She shut her eyes, then opened them wide.
"I think that can be a very selfish indulgence, Monsieur Alaric," she said with primness that made her sick even as she was speaking. "Much as one would like to on occasion, one cannot ignore Society. If it were ever to be only oneself who paid the price for outraging people's sensibilities, no matter how misplaced, it would be quite a different matter. But it is not. Gossip also hurts the innocent, more o
ften than not. We are none of us alone. There are families upon whom every stain rubs off. The notion that you can please yourself without harming others is an illusion, and a most immature one. Too many people use it as an excuse for all manner of self-indulgences, and then plead ignorance and total amazement when others are dragged down with them, as if it could not have been foreseen with an ounce of sense!" She stopped for breath, not daring to look at any of them, least of all at Alaric.
"Bravo," Emily whispered so softly that to the others it must have seemed as if she were no more than sighing.
"Charlotte!" Caroline was stunned, unable to think what to say.
"How very perceptive of you." Emily rushed in to fill the hot silence. "And you have expressed it so well! It is a subject which has long needed some plain speaking! We delude our shy;selves so often to give us excuse for all sorts of behavior.
Perhaps I should not, since you are my sister, but I do so commend your honesty!"
Since it was a precept Charlotte had been the last to obey in her own life, Emily's remark could only be ironic, although there was nothing but translucent candor in her blue eyes now.
Charlotte beamed at her, daggers in her mind.
"Thank you," she said sweetly. "You flatter me." She stood up. "And now I, at least, must leave or I shall not have left myself time to call upon Mrs. Charrington, and I do find her so charming. Do you care to come with me, Mama? Or shall I tell her that you felt it your duty to remain here with Mr. Spencer-Brown-and Monsieur Alaric?"
Since it was manifestly ridiculous for Caroline to think any shy;thing of the sort, she had no alternative but to rise as well.
"Of course not," she said tartly. "I should be delighted to come with you. I am very fond of Ambrosine and would like very much to call upon her. I must introduce her to Emily. Or do you know her already as well?" she added waspishly.
Emily was not in the least deterred. "No, I don't believe I do. But Charlotte has spoken of her so kindly, I have been looking forward to meeting her."
That was also untrue: Charlotte had never mentioned her, but it was an excellent parting line.
