Emily sat back, her face tight with pity, feeling a sense of guilt because she did not intend to be the one hurt.
“Mama,” she said slowly, “Charlotte says you have lost a pendant, and that it is of such a nature that you would prefer, if you were not the one to find it, that it was not found at all. This is a time when the utmost discretion is necessary. Even quite innocent acts can look very odd if they become public and everyone in Society begins to discuss them. Stories frequently grow in the telling, you know.”
They always grow in the telling, Charlotte thought miserably, and almost without exception for the worse—unless, of course, one is telling them oneself! She wondered now if she had done the right thing in bringing Emily here. She might have said the same things herself, but sitting and looking on, listening, it sounded so much harsher than she would have wished. Indeed it had a ring of selfishness to it, as if it were Emily’s reputation that was the first fear and Charlotte were merely self-righteous and inquisitive, carried away with her own imagination of herself as a detective.
They had not been very subtle.
She looked across at Emily and saw the pink in her skin, warm even up to her eyes, and she knew that Emily was suddenly conscious of it too.
Charlotte leaned forward and clasped Caroline’s hands. They were stiff, and she made no effort to respond.
“Mama!” Charlotte said. “We must find out all we can about Mina’s death, so that the investigation can be over with before there is time for Thomas, or anyone else, to start thinking about other people’s lives! She must have been killed for some reason— either love or hate, jealousy, greed—something!” She let out her breath in a sharp little noise. “Or most probably fear. Mina was clever, you said that. She was worldly wise, she observed a lot. Maybe she knew something about somebody that was worth killing to hide. There is a thief here, that is inescapable. Perhaps Mina knew who the thief was and was foolish enough to let the person see that she knew. Or maybe she was the thief herself and stole something someone would kill to retrieve.”
Emily rushed in, glad to have something practical to say to overlay the emotions. “For goodness’ sake, hasn’t Thomas searched the house? He should have thought of that! It’s simple enough!”
“Of course he has!” Charlotte snapped, then realized how her voice sounded. She did not need to defend Thomas; Emily thought well enough of him and, in her own way, liked him considerably. “They didn’t find anything,” she continued. “At least not anything they could understand to be important. But if we ask questions and investigate a little, we may perceive things that they could not. People are not going to tell the police more than they can help, are they?”
“Of course not!” Emily said eagerly. “But they will talk to us! And we can hear things Thomas would not—inflections, lies—because we know the people. That’s quite definitely what we must do! Mama, we shall come calling with you this afternoon, immediately! Where shall we begin?”
Caroline smiled bleakly. There was no point in fighting.
“With Alston Spencer-Brown,” Charlotte replied for her. “We shall express our deepest sympathy and shock. It would be quite appropriate. We will be overcome with the tragedy and not able to think of anything else.”
“Of course,” Emily said, standing up and pulling her skirt into the order she wished it. “I am quite desolated.”
“You didn’t even know her!” Caroline pointed out.
Emily looked at her coolly.
“One must be practical, Mama. I have met her at several soirees. I was most fond of her. Indeed I am convinced we were just at the beginning of a long and intimate friendship. He is not to know the difference. What did she look like? I will appear foolish if I do not recognize a portrait or a photograph. Although I could always say I was short-sighted— But I don’t wish to do that. Then I should have to fall over things to make it seem true.”
Caroline shut her eyes and put her fingers wearily over them.
“She was about your height,” she said, “but very slender, almost thin, and she had a very long neck. She looked younger than she was. She was fair, with an excellent complexion.”
“What about her features, and her hair?”
“Oh, she had regular enough features—a little small, perhaps? And very soft hair, sort of light mouse. She was really quite charming, when she chose. And she dressed excellently, nearly always in pale shades, especially creams. Very clever of her. It gave her an air of delicate innocence that appeals to men.”
“Good,” Emily said. “Then we are ready to go. We don’t want to be there with a whole lot of other people. We must not stay too long or we will make him suspicious, but we must see him alone. Goodness! I hope he is receiving? He hasn’t taken to his bed or anything?”
“I don’t think so.” Caroline stood up reluctantly. “I suppose I would have heard if he had. Servants always talk.”
Charlotte saw the hesitation in her, the desire even now to escape the necessity.
“You must come, Mama. We can hardly go alone. It would be most awkward. You are the only one who knows him.”
“I am coming,” Caroline said wearily. “But I won’t pretend I wish to. This whole thing is horribly ugly, and I wish we had nothing to do with it. I wish it had been suicide and we could let her rest in peace—be sorry, but not keep on thinking about it.”
“I daresay!” Emily said a little sharply. “But we can’t. And if we wish to have an acceptable outcome to the affair, then we must make it for ourselves! Charlotte is perfectly right.”
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 darkened room. All the blinds were drawn halfway down the windows, and there was black crêpe 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 imagined 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 soirées 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 frequently 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.”