Rutland Place tp-5 Read online

  There were some half-dozen highly exotic weapons displayed above the fireplace.

  Ambrosine caught Charlotte's glance. "Horrible, aren't they?" she said. "But my husband insists. His younger brother was killed in the first Afghan War, forty-five years ago, and he's set them up there as a sort of memorial. The maids are always complaining that they are the perfect devil to clean. Collect dust like mad, above the fire."

  Charlotte looked up at the knives in their ornamental sheaths and scabbards, and had nothing but sympathy for the maids.

  "Quite!" Ambrosine said fervently, observing her expression. "And they are in excellent condition. Bronwen swears someone will wind up with their throat cut one of these days. Although of course it is not her task to clean them. Heathen weapons, she calls them, and I suppose they are."

  "Bronwen?" Caroline was at a loss.

  "My maid." Ambrosine invited them all to be seated with a gesture of her arm. "The excellent one with the reddish hair."

  "I thought her name was Louisa," Caroline said.

  "I daresay it is." Ambrosine arranged herself gracefully on the chaise longue. "But the best maid I ever had was called Bronwen, and I don't believe in changing a good thing. I always call my personal maids Bronwen now. Also it saves confusion. There are dozens of Lilies and Roses and Marys."

  There was no argument to this, and Charlotte was obliged to turn and look out of the window in order to hide her amusement.

  "Finding a really good maid is quite an achievement," Caro shy;line said, pursuing the subject. "So often those who are compe shy;tent are less than honest, and those whom one can really trust are not as efficient as one would like."

  "My dear, you sound most despondent," Ambrosine said with sympathy. "A current misfortune?"

  "I'm really not quite sure," Caroline plunged on. "1 have missed a small article of jewelry, and I don't know whether it is a theft or merely mischance. It is a wretched feeling. I don't wish to be unjust when the whole affair may be quite accidental."

  "Was it of value?" Ambrosine inquired with a little frown.

  "Not especially, except that it was a gift from my mother-in-law, and she might be hurt that I had been careless with it."

  "Or flattered that of all your pieces someone chose that to take," Ambrosine pointed out.

  Caroline laughed without pleasure.

  "I hadn't even thought of that. I'm obliged to you. If she makes any observation, I must say that to her."

  "I still think you may have mislaid it, Mama," Charlotte said, trying to allow the subject to die. "It may well turn up in a day or two. If you let Grandmama think it has been stolen, she will begin to accuse people, and she will never let the-matter rest until someone is blamed."

  Caroline caught the sharpness in her voice and perceived the danger she was inviting upon herself.

  "You are quite right," she said. "It would be wiser to say nothing."

  "People with not enough business of their own to mind will be quick enough to mind yours if you start word of things like theft," Charlotte added for good measure.

  "I see your estimate of people's charity matches my own, Mrs. Pitt." Ambrosine reached for the bell cord and pulled it. "I hope you will take tea? As well as a good maid, I also have an excellent cook. I employed her for her ability with cakes and desserts. She makes the most dreadful soups, but then since I don't care for soup, I am perfectly happy to overlook that."

  "My husband is extremely fond of soup," Caroline remarked absently.

  "So is mine," Ambrosine said. "But one cannot have everything."

  The parlormaid came and Ambrosine sent her for the tea.

  "You know, Mrs. Pitt," Ambrosine continued, "your obser shy;vations about other people's curiosity are peculiarly apposite. I have had the disturbing sensation lately that someone is taking a marked interest in me-not a kindly one, but purely inquisitive. If anything, I have the feeling it is malicious."

  Charlotte sat perfectly still. She was conscious of Caroline's body stiffening beside her. '

  "How distressing," Charlotte said after a moment. "Have you any notion who it may be?"

  "No, none at all. That is what makes it so unpleasant. It is merely a repeated impression."

  The door opened, and the maid came in with tea and at least a dozen different kinds of cakes and tarts, many of them with whipped cream.

  "Thank you," Ambrosine said, eyeing one particular fruit pastry with satisfaction. "Perhaps I am being fanciful," she went on as the maid disappeared again. "I daresay there is no one with as much interest in me as such a thing supposes."'

  Caroline opened her mouth as if to speak, then said nothing after all.

  "You are quite right," Charlotte said, hurrying to fill the silence, her eyes on the tea table. "You have a most accom shy;plished cook. I vow I should grow Out of every garment I possess if I were to live with such a woman."

  Ambrosine observed Caroline's still slender figure.

  "I hope that does not mean you will not call upon me again?"

  Charlotte smiled. "On the contrary, it means that I shall now have two reasons for calling instead of one." She accepted her tea and an enormous cream sponge. No one bothered with the polite fiction of taking bread and butter first.

  They had been at tea only a matter of five minutes or so when the door opened again and a gray-haired, middle-aged man came in. Charlotte immediately recognized the short-nosed, rather se shy;vere face from the photographs. This man was even wearing the same kind of stiff-winged collar and black tie as the man in the photographs. He had to be Lovell Charrington.

  Introductions proved her correct.

  "No sandwiches?" He looked at the plates critically.

  "Didn't know you would be joining us," Ambrosine replied. "I can always call cook for some if you wish."

  "Please! I cannot imagine that all this cream is good for you, my dear. And we should not restrict our visitors to indulging in your somewhat eccentric tastes."

  "Oh, we are equally eccentric," Charlotte answered without thinking. Her impulse was to side with Ambrosine; moreover, she had quite enough bread at home. "I am delighted to be able to enjoy them in such happy company."

  Ambrosine rewarded her with a smile of satisfaction and surprise.

  "If you will not be offended by my saying so, Mrs. Pitt, you remind me of my own daughter, Ottilie. She enjoyed things so much and was not averse to saying so."

  Charlotte did not know whether it would be all right to admit knowing of the girl's death, or if it might seem as if she had been talking of the Charringtons' affairs too familiarly. She was saved from her dilemma by Lovell.

  "Our daughter has passed on, Mrs. Pitt. I'm sure you will understand if I say that we find it distressing to discuss."

  Since Charlotte had not spoken, she thought his manner less than courteous, but for Ambrosine's sake she restrained herself.

  "Of course," she said. "I myself seldom speak of those I have lost, for the same reason."

  To her satisfaction, he looked a little taken aback. Obviously he had not considered the possibility that she might have feelings on the subject.

  "Quite," he said hastily. "Quite!"

  Charlotte deliberately took another cream cake, and was forced to spend the next few moments concentrating on eating it without dropping the cream down her bosom.

  Conversation became polite and stilted. They discussed the weather, what the newspapers were reporting in the Society columns, and the possibility-or, in Lovell's opinion, the impossibility-of there being any lost treasures in Africa, such as those that were portrayed in Mr. Rider Haggard's novel King Solomon's Mines, published the previous year.

  "Nonsense," he said firmly. "Dangerous imagination. Fellow ought to employ his time to better purpose. Ridiculous way for a grown man to earn his living, spinning fantasies to beguile foolish women and girls who are susceptible enough to take him seriously. Overstimulating the minds of such persons is bad for their health. . and their morals!"

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sp; "I think it is an excellent way to employ oneself," said a young man of perhaps twenty-nine or thirty, coming into the room with a wave of his arm. He helped himself to the last cake, ate it almost in one gulp, and flashed a dazzling smile at Charlotte, then at Caroline. He picked up the teapot to test if there was anything still in it. "Harms no one and entertains thousands. Brings a little color into lives that might ordinarily never have a dream worth indulging. Without dreams their lives might be unbearable."

  "Never heard such nonsense!" Lovell replied. "Panders to overheated imaginations, and to greed. If you wish for tea, Inigo, please ring for the maid and request it instead of swinging the pot around like that. That is what servants are for. I don't think you have been introduced to Mrs. Pitt?"

  Inigo looked at Charlotte. "Of course not. If I had, I would most certainly have remembered. How do you do, Mrs. Pitt. I will not ask how you are. You are obviously in excellent health- and spirits."

  "Indeed I am." Charlotte tried to keep up the front of dignity she knew Caroline would wish, if not expect. "And if you said less for yourself, I should find it hard to believe," she added.

  "Oh!" His eyebrows went up with evident pleasure. "A woman of opinions. You would have liked my sister Tillie. She always had opinions. A few rather odd ones, mind, but she always knew what she thought, and usually said so."

  "Inigo!" Lovell's face was deeply flushed. "Your sister has passed away. Kindly remember that, and do not speak of her in that flippant and overfamiliar manner!" He swung round. "I apologize, Mrs. Pitt. Such indelicacy must be embarrassing to you." His tone lacked conviction. In his mind, Charlotte was already hardly better than his son.

  "On the contrary." Charlotte settled more comfortably into her seat. "I find it very easy to understand how one still thinks with great vividness and affection of those whom one has loved. We all bear our losses in different ways-however is easiest for us-and afford others the same comfort."

  Lovell's face paled, but before he could reply Caroline stood up, setting her cup and saucer on the table.

  "It has been most charming," she said to no one in particular. "But we have other calls it would be only civil to make. I trust you will excuse us? My dear Ambrosine, I do hope I shall see you again soon. Good afternoon, Mr. Charrington, Inigo."

  Lovell rose from his chair and bowed. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Ellison, Mrs. Pitt. So delightful to have made your acquaintance."

  Inigo opened the door for them and followed them out into the hall.

  "I'm so sorry if I caused you distress, Mrs. Pitt," he said with a little frown. "It was not my intention in the least."

  "Of course not," Charlotte answered him. "And I think from what I have heard of her that I should have liked your sister very much indeed. I certainly find your mother the most comfortable person I have met for a long time."

  "Comfortable!" he said in amazement. "Most people find her quite the opposite."

  "I suppose it must be a matter of taste, but I assure you, I like her a great deal."

  Inigo smiled broadly, all the anxiety slipping out of his face. He shook her hand warmly.

  The footman was helping Caroline with her coat. She fastened it and Charlotte accepted hers. A moment later they were outside in the sharp March wind.

  An open carriage rattled by, and the man inside raised his hat to them. Caroline had a brief impression of a dark, elegant head, with thick hair curving close to the nape of his neck, sleek and beautiful, and of dark, level eyes. She caught only a glimpse, and then the carriage had passed, but it woke a memory in her so sharp it left her tingling. The man in the carriage was Paul Alaric, the Frenchman who had lived in Paragon Walk, only a hundred yards from Emily, and who had stirred so many pas shy;sions that summer of the murders. Poor Selena had been so obsessed with him it had almost deranged her.

  Against all her common sense, Charlotte herself had felt at shy;tracted by his cool wit, the charm that seemed almost unconscious, and the very fact that they all knew so little about him-no family, no past, no social category in which to fit him. Even Emily, with all her grace and elan, had not been entirely impervious.

  Could it really have been he just now?

  She turned and found Caroline standing very straight, her head high, the wind whipping color into her cheeks.

  "Do you know him?" Charlotte asked incredulously.

  Caroline began to walk again, her steps sharp on the pavement.

  "Slightly," she replied. "He is Monsieur Paul Alaric."

  Charlotte felt the heat flood through her-so it was he. …

  "He is acquainted with quite a few residents in the Place," Caroline continued.

  Charlotte was about to add that it seemed beyond question that Caroline was one of them; then, without being sure why, she changed her mind.

  "He seems to be a person of leisure," she said instead. It was a pointless remark, but suddenly sensible words had left her.

  "He has business in the city." Caroline walked more rapidly, and further conversation was whipped away from them by the wind. Twenty or thirty yards on, they were at the Lagardes' front entrance.

  "Are they French?" Charlotte whispered under her breath as the door opened and they were conducted into the hall.

  "No," Caroline whispered as the parlormaid went to an shy;nounce them. "Great-grandfather, or something. Came over at the time of the Revolution."

  "The Revolution? That was nearly a hundred years ago!" Charlotte whispered back, then fixed her face in an appropriately expectant expression as they were ushered into the withdrawing room.

  "All right, then it was further back. I have heard so much history from your grandmother I am tired of it," Caroline snapped.

  "Good afternoon, Eloise. May I present my daughter Mrs. Pitt," she continued with a total change of voice and expression, without drawing breath.

  The girl who faced Charlotte was indeed, as Caroline had said, darkly lovely, with the translucence of moonlight on water. Her hair was soft and full, without sheen, quite unlike Charlotte's, which gleamed like polished wood and was hard to keep pinned because of its weight.

  "How delightful of you to call." Eloise stepped back, smiling and by implication inviting them to sit down. "Will you take tea?"

  It was a little late, and perhaps it was merely a courtesy that she asked.

  "Thank you, but we would not wish to be of inconvenience," Caroline said, declining in an accepted formula. It would be less than flattering to say that they had already taken tea elsewhere. She turned to the mantelshelf. "What a delightful picture! I don't believe I have noticed it before."

  Personally, Charlotte would not have given it houseroom, but tastes varied.

  "Do you like it?" Eloise looked up, a flicker of amusement in her face. "I always think it makes the house look rather dark, and it isn't really like that at all. But Tormod is fond of it, so I let it hang there."

  "That is your country house?" Charlotte asked the obvious question because there was nothing else she could think of to say, and she knew that the reply would provide material for several minutes' polite discussion. They were still on the subject of town and country differences when the door opened and a young man came in who Charlotte knew immediately must be Eloise's brother. He had the same mass of dark hair and the same wide eyes and pale skin. The resemblance in features was not so great, however; he had a higher brow, with the hair sweeping away from it in a broad wave, and his nose was rather aquiline. His mouth was wide, quick to laugh, and, Charlotte judged, quick to sulk. Now he came forward with easy, quite natural grace.

  "Mrs. Ellison, what a pleasure to see you." He slipped — his arm around Eloise. "I don't believe I have met your companion?"

  "My daughter Mrs. Pitt." Caroline smiled back. "Mr. Tormod Lagarde."

  He bowed very slightly.

  "Welcome to Rutland Place, Mrs. Pitt. I hope we shall see you often."

  "That is most kind of you," Charlotte replied.

  Tormod sat next to Eloise on a broad sofa.<
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  "I expect I shall call upon my mother more often as the spring approaches," Charlotte added.

  "I'm afraid the winter is very grim," he answered. "One feels far more like remaining close to the fire than venturing out to go visiting. In fact, we quite often retreat altogether to our house in the country and simply close the doors all January and February."

  Eloise's face warmed as if at some sweet and lingering memory. She said nothing, but Charlotte imagined she could see reflected in her eyes the light of Christmases with trees and lanterns, pinecone fires and hot toast, and long, happy companionship too easy to need the communication of words.

  Tormod fished in his pocket and brought out a small package.

  "Here." He held it out to Eloise. "To replace the one you lost."

  She took it, looking up at him, then down at the little parcel in her hands.

  "Open it!" he commanded. "It's not so very special."

  Slowly she obeyed, anticipation and pleasure in her face.

  Inside the parcel was a small, silver-handled buttonhook.

  "Thank you, dear," she said gently. "That really was most thoughtful of you. Especially since it might so easily have been my own fault. I shall feel dreadfully guilty now if the other one turns up and I had merely been careless all the time." She looked over at Charlotte, apology and a touch of embarrassment in her face. "I lost my old one that I had for years. I think it went from my reticule, but I suppose I might have put it some shy;where else and forgotten."

  Charlotte's desire to know was stronger than her good judg shy;ment to keep silent on the subject. "You mean you think it could have been stolen?" she asked, feigning surprise.

  Tormod dismissed it. "These things happen sometimes. It's an unpleasant thought, but one must face reality-servants do steal from time to time. But since it appears to have happened in someone else's house, it is far better to say nothing. It would be in very poor taste to embarrass a friend by letting it be known. Besides, as Eloise says, it may turn up-although I doubt it now."

  Caroline cleared her throat nervously. "But should theft be condoned?" she said a little hesitantly. "I mean-is that right?"