“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 touching on the same subject. This time she did speak of it to Pitt. They were sitting in front of the fire after Jemima had been put to sleep; Charlotte was sewing, and Pitt was gazing into the flames and sinking gently lower and lower into his chair.
“Thomas.” Charlotte looked up from her work and held the needle in the air.
He turned his head and hitched himself a little higher before his feet slipped over the fender. The light flickered and jumped warmly in its glowing brass.
“Yes?”
“I had a letter from Mama today,” she remarked casually. “She is distressed about the recent loss of a piece of jewelry.”
His eyes narrowed. He knew Charlotte a great deal better than she suspected.
“When you say ‘loss,’ I take it you do not mean that she misplaced it?” he inquired.
Charlotte hesitated. “I’m really not quite sure. She may have.” She picked up her work again to give herself time to arrange her words. She had not expected him to perceive quite so quickly. Actually, she had thought he was very nearly asleep.
After a moment or two she looked across at him and found his eyes bright and waiting, watching her through his lashes. She took a long breath and abandoned the idea of subtlety.
“It was a locket and there was a picture of somebody inside it,” she went on. “She would not say who, but I gathered it was someone whose presence she would prefer not to explain.” She smiled a little self-consciously. “Perhaps it was an old love, someone she knew before Papa?”
He straightened up and took his legs off the fender; his feet were getting hot and he would scorch his slippers if he was not careful.
“And she thinks someone has taken it?” he asked the obvious.
“Yes,” Charlotte said. “I think she does.”
“Any idea who?”
She shook her head. “If she has, she won’t say so. And of course if she were to report the loss, it would cause far more unpleasantness than even having it returned would be worth.”
Pitt needed no further explanation. He was perfectly familiar with Society’s feelings about having police in the house, with the attendant vulgarity. One reported a break-in, of course, and that was regrettable enough, but at least a break-in was an outside affair, a misfortune that could happen to anyone with goods worth the taking. Domestic crime was different; it was something that might involve the questioning, and resultant embarrassment, of one’s friends, and therefore resorting to the police was unthinkable.
“Does she expect you to play discreet detective?” he asked with a broad smile.
“I’m not a bad detective,” she said defensively. “In Paragon Walk I knew the truth before you did!” As soon as she had spoken, memory came back and brought with it ugliness and pain, and self-congratulation became ridiculous, almost indecent.
“That was murder,” he pointed out soberly. “And you nearly got yourself killed for your cleverness. You can hardly go around asking your mother’s friends, ‘Do you happen to have stolen Mama’s locket, and if so, would you please give it back unopened, because it contains some indiscretion, or a picture that might be interpreted as such.’ ”
“You’re not being very helpful!” Charlotte said crossly. “If I could have done it as easily as that, I wouldn’t have needed to ask you about it!”
He sat up straight and leaned forward to take her hand. “My darling, if it really does contain something private, then the less said about it the better. Leave it alone!”
She frowned. “It’s more than that, Thomas. She feels someone is watching her, and waiting!”
He screwed up his face. “You mean someone has already opened it and is waiting for an opportunity to apply a little blackmail?”
“Yes, I suppose I do.” Her fingers grasped around his. “It’s horrid, and I think she’s really quite frightened.”
“If I come in, it will only make it worse,” he said softly. “And I can’t officially anyway, unless she calls me.”
“I know.” Her fingers tightened.
“Charlotte, be careful. I know you mean well, but, my dear, you have a transparent face and a tongue about as subtle as an avalanche.”
“Oh, that’s unfair!” she protested, although at least half of her knew it was not. “I shall be very careful!”
“I still think it would be better if you left it alone—unless someone actually does try blackmail. There may be nothing to it—no more than your mother’s own fears painting shadows on the wall. Perhaps a little conscience?”
“I can’t do nothing,” she said unhappily. “She has asked me to come see her, and I can’t leave her so distressed without doing all I am able to.”
“I suppose not,” he conceded. “But for goodness’ sake, do as little as you can. Questions will only arouse curiosity and are more likely than anything else to bring about the very speculations she is afraid of!”
Charlotte knew he was right and she nodded, but at the same time she was already making plans to call at Rutland Place the following day.
She found Caroline in and awaiting her anxiously.
“My dear, I’m so glad you were able to come,” she said, kissing Charlotte on the cheek. “I have planned for us to make a few calls this afternoon, so you can meet some of the other people in the Place—particularly those I am best acquainted with myself, and to whose houses I have been, or who have come here.”
Charlotte’s heart sank. Obviously, Caroline intended to pursue the pendant.
“Do you not think it would be better to be quite casual about it, Mama?” she asked as lightly as she could. “You do not wish anyone to realize how important it is to you, or their curiosity will be aroused. Whereas if you say nothing, it may pass almost without remark.”
Caroline’s lips tightened. “I wish I could believe that, but I feel terribly sure that whoever it is already knows—” She stopped.