It was not necessary to explain all the differences of class, sex, and the whole framework of customs and values that lay between Pitt and Mina. Both Charlotte and Caroline understood that all the sensitivity or imagination he was capable of would not guide him to see with Mina’s eyes or recognize what it was that had accomplished her death.
“I wish I didn’t have to know,” Caroline said wearily, looking away from Charlotte. “I would so much rather bury her in peace. I have no curiosity. I can abide a mystery perfectly well. I have learned that one is not very often happier for having found all the answers.”
Charlotte knew that at least half her mother’s feeling sprang from a desire for privacy herself, the need to keep her own secrets. So much of the pleasure of a flirtation was that other people should see your conquest, and this realization added to her fear. Caroline must be very enchanted with Paul Alaric if she was content for the relationship to be unobserved. That meant it was far more than a game; there was something in it that Caroline wanted very much, something more than admiration alone.
“You cannot afford not to know!” Charlotte said sharply, wanting to shock her mother into fear acute enough to bring her to some sense. “If Mina were the thief, then she may still have your locket! When her possessions are sorted out, Alston will find it—or Thomas will!”
This had all the jarring effect she intended. Caroline’s face tightened into a mask. She swallowed with difficulty.
“If Thomas finds it—” she began; and then the enormity of it hit her. “Oh, dear heaven! He might think I killed Mina! Charlotte—he couldn’t think that—could he?”
The danger was too real for soft words and lies.
“I don’t suppose Thomas himself would think so,” she answered quietly. “But other police might. There must have been some reason why Mina died, so we had better find it first, before the locket turns up and anyone else has the chance to think anything at all.”
“But what?” Caroline shut her eyes in desperation, searching blindly for some explanation in the darkness of her mind. “We don’t even know if it was suicide or murder! I did tell Thomas about Tormod Lagarde.”
“What about him?” Thomas had not mentioned Tormod or any possible connection.
“That Mina might have been in love with him,” Caroline replied. “She definitely had an admiration for him. It could have been more than we thought. And she did go to the Lagardes’ house just before she died. Perhaps she had some kind of interview with him and he rejected her in a way that she could not bear?”
The idea of a married woman finding the end of such a relationship cause for suicide disturbed Charlotte. It was frightening and pathetic in a way that repelled her, especially since she could not put Caroline and Paul Alaric from her mind. But then she did not know how disagreeable or empty the Spencer-Browns’ marriage might have been. She had no right to judge. So many marriages were “appropriate”—and even those born of love could sour. She reproved herself for making too hasty a judgment, an act she despised in others.
“I suppose Eloise Lagarde might know,” Charlotte said thoughtfully. “We shall have to be very tactful in inquiring. No one would wish to believe they might have been the cause, however unintentionally, of someone else’s taking her own life. And Eloise is bound to protect her brother.”
The hope faded from Caroline’s face. “Yes. They are very close. I suppose it comes from having only each other when their parents died so young.”
“There are several other possibilities,” Charlotte continued. “Someone has been stealing. Perhaps they took from Mina some lover’s keepsake from Tormod, and the fear that it might become public was unbearable to her. Perhaps they even went to her and threatened to give it to Alston if she did not give them money—or whatever else they wished.” Her imagination went on to thoughts that might drive a person into thinking of death. “Perhaps it was another man who desired her. And that was the price of his silence.”
“Charlotte!” Caroline sat bolt upright. “What a truly appalling mind you have, girl! You would never have been capable of such thoughts when you lived in my house!”
Charlotte had on her tongue a few pointed words about Caroline, Paul Alaric, and the question of morality, but she refrained from speaking them.
“Some truly appalling things happen, Mama,” she said instead. “And I am a few years older than I was then.”
“And you also appear to have forgotten a great deal about the sort of people we are. No man in Rutland Place would stoop to such a thing!”
“Not so openly, perhaps,” Charlotte said quietly. She had her own ideas about what was done but would be called by a pleasanter name. “But he doesn’t have to be one of you. Why not a footman—or even a bootboy? Can you answer for them so surely?”
“Oh, dear God! You can’t be serious!”
“Why not? Might not that have been enough to make Mina, or any other woman, think of suicide? Might you not?”
“I—” Caroline stared at her. She let out her breath very slowly, as if she had given up some fight. “I don’t know. I should think it is one of those things that would be so dreadful you could not know how you would feel unless it happened to you.” She moved her eyes to look down at the floor. “Poor Mina. She so hated anything in the least unseemly. Something like that would have—shriveled her to the heart!”
“We don’t know that that was what happened, Mama.” Charlotte leaned forward and touched her. “There are other things it could have been. Perhaps Mina was the thief, and she could not face the shame of being discovered.”
“Mina? Oh, surely—” Caroline began, then stopped, suspicion fighting incredulity in her face.
“Someone is,” Charlotte pointed out soberly. “And considering where the articles were stolen from, it doesn’t appear that any one servant could have taken them. But someone like Mina could!”
“But she lost something herself,” Caroline argued. “A snuffbox.”
“You mean she said she did,” Charlotte corrected. “And it was her husband’s, not hers. Surely the most intelligent way to direct suspicion from oneself would be to take something of your own as well? It does not take a great deal of brains to work that out.”
“I suppose not. And you think this person who is watching knew about it?”
“It is a possibility.”
Caroline shook her head. “I find it terribly hard to believe.”
“Do you find any of it easy? Yesterday Mina was alive.”
“I know! It’s all so ugly and useless and stupid. Sometimes it seems impossible to believe how so much can change irrevocably in a few hours.”
Charlotte tried another line of thought. “Do you still have the sensation of being watched?”
Caroline looked startled. “I’ve no idea! I haven’t even considered it. What does a Peeping Tom matter now, compared with Mina’s death?”
“It might have something to do with it. I’m just trying to think of everything I can.”
“Well, none of it seems worth anyone dying over.” Caroline stood up. “I think it is time we took luncheon. I asked for it to be ready at quarter to one, and it is past that now.”
Charlotte followed her obediently and they repaired to the breakfast room where the small table was set and the parlormaid ready to serve.
After the maid had gone, Charlotte began her soup, at the same time trying to recall some of the conversation that had taken place when she had met Mina a week ago. Mina had made a number of remarks about Ottilie Charrington and her death, possibly even implying that there was something mysterious about it. It was an ugly idea, but once it was in Charlotte’s mind it had to be explored.
“Mama, Mina had lived here for some time, had she not?”
“Yes, several years.” Caroline was surprised. “Why?”