Rutland Place (26 page)

C
HARLOTTE WOKE UP
with the most appalling headache she could ever remember. Pitt was standing at the far side of the bedroom opening the curtains, and she could not even see the red flowers on them. The light was painful; she closed her eyes in defense against it, then rolled over to hide her face in the pillow. The movement was a mistake. Hammer blows shivered through her skull and shot round her forehead, tightening the very bones.

She had never felt like this carrying Jemima! A little sickness in the mornings certainly—but never a head as if her brains were trying to beat their way out!

“Good morning.” Pitt’s voice cut through the thick silence, cold and definitely far from solicitous.

“I feel awful,” she said pathetically.

“I’m sure you do,” he said.

She sat up very slowly, holding her head with both hands.

“I think I may be sick.”

“I shouldn’t be in the least surprised.” He was distinctly unmoved.

“Thomas!” She hauled herself out of bed, ready to cry with misery and an awful feeling of unexplained rejection. Then suddenly the whole evening returned to her—the music hall, Ottilie, Inigo Charrington, the champagne, and the silly song.

“Oh God!” Her legs folded under her, and she sat down on the edge of the bed sharply. She was still in half her underwear, and there were pins in her hair, uncomfortable, poking into her head. “Oh, Thomas! I’m so sorry!”

“Are you going to be sick?” he asked with only slightly more concern.

“Yes, I think so.”

He came over and picked up the chamber pot from under the bed. He put it in her lap for her and pushed back her hair.

“I suppose you realize what could have happened to you?” he said, the ice in his voice changing to anger. “If Inigo Charrington or his father had killed Ottilie, it would have been the simplest thing in the world for them to have killed you too!”

It was several minutes before Charlotte was well enough to defend herself, to explain all her precautions.

“I took Emily’s carriage and Emily’s footman!” she said at last, gulping to get her breath. “I’m not entirely stupid!”

He took the pot from her and offered her a glass of water and a towel.

“That’s a subject I wouldn’t try debating just now if I were you,” he said sourly. “Do you feel better now?”

“Yes, thank you.” She would like to have been dignified, even aloof, but she had placed herself in an impossible position for it. “Everyone knew I was with him! He couldn’t have done anything and got away with it, and I made sure he was as aware of that as I.”

“Everyone?” His eyebrows rose, and there was a dangerously light tone in his voice.

Mercifully she realized her omission before he was obliged to tell her.

“I mean Mama and Emily,” she corrected. It occurred to her to say she had sent the footman with a message for him, but she had never been able to lie to him successfully, and her head was too thick to be able to sort out enough wit to be consistent now. And consistency was vital to a good lie. “I didn’t tell you because I thought I should be home before you were.” She began to sound indignant. “I didn’t know it was going to be a music hall! He simply said he would show me what had happened to Ottilie and prove they had not harmed her!”

“A music hall?” For a moment he forgot to be angry.

She sat upright on the edge of the bed. At least the nausea had gone, and it was easier to achieve a little dignity.

“Well, where did you imagine I had been? I was not in a public house, if that’s what you think!”

“And why was it necessary to look for Ottilie Charrington in a music hall?” he said skeptically.

“Because that’s where she was,” she answered with some satisfaction. “She ran away to go on the halls! She’s Ada Church.” A sudden memory came back to her. “You know, the one with the nice legs!” she added spitefully.

Pitt had the grace to color. “I saw her professionally,” he said tartly.

“Your profession or hers?” Charlotte inquired.

“At least I came home sober!” His voice rose with offended justice.

Her head was splitting, like a boiled egg being sliced off at the top, and she did not in the least wish to quarrel with him any further.

“Thomas, I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t realize it would affect me like this. It was just fizzy and nice. And I went there to find Ottilie Charrington.” She pushed her hair back and began to take out the most painful of the pins. “After all, someone killed Mina! If it wasn’t the Charringtons, then maybe it was Theodora von Schenck.”

He sat down on the end of the bed, his shirttails hanging out, his tie undone.

“Is Ada Church really Ottilie Charrington?” he asked seriously. “Charlotte, are you absolutely sure? It wasn’t some obscure joke?”

“No, I’m sure. For one thing, she looked a lot like Inigo. You could see they were related. And something else I forgot! Ambrosine is the thief! Apparently she’s been doing it for some time. Inigo always puts everything back as soon as he can, when he knows who they belong to. I suppose nobody admitted to finding them this time in case you suspected them of having murdered Mina for the things.”

“Ambrosine Charrington?” He stared at her, confused and disbelieving. “But why? Why ever should
she
steal things?”

Charlotte took a deep breath. “Do you mind if I lie down again? Grace will look after Jemima. I don’t think I can. If I stand up, my head will fall off.”

“Why should Ambrosine Charrington steal things?” he repeated.

She tried to remember what Ottilie had said. As far as she could recall, she had understood it very well at the time.

“Because of Lovell.” She struggled for a way of explaining it. “He’s ossified!” She lay down very carefully, and a little of the pain subsided.

“He’s what?”

“Ossified,” she said again; the word pleased her. “Gone to bone. He doesn’t listen and he doesn’t look. I think part of her hates him. After all, her daughter’s gone away and they have to pretend she’s dead—”

“For heaven’s sake, Charlotte, people of that class don’t have daughters on the halls! It would be unthinkable to him!”

“I know that!” She pulled the covers closer around her chin. Quite suddenly she was cold. “But that wouldn’t stop Ambrosine from loving Ottilie. I’ve met her. She’s really very nice—the sort of person you want to smile at. She makes everything seem a little better. Maybe if Lovell wasn’t such a prune she wouldn’t have gone on the halls. She might have found it all right just to kick over the traces at home every now and again.”

Pitt sat still for a few moments. “Poor Ambrosine,” he said presently.

A dreadful thought occurred to Charlotte. She sat bolt upright, dragging all the clothes with her.

“You aren’t going to arrest her?” she demanded.

He looked appalled. “No, of course not! I couldn’t, even if I wanted to. There’s no proof. And Inigo would certainly deny it. Not that I shall ask him.” He pulled a face. “Still, it removes the thefts as a motive for Mina’s death—although the Charringtons could still have killed her, I suppose.”

“Why? Ottilie isn’t dead!”

His face took on a look of infinite scorn. “And how do you imagine Lovell would care for it to be known in Society that Ada Church, the toast of the halls, is his daughter? He’d probably sooner be charged with her murder! At least it wouldn’t be so damned funny!”

She twisted up her face painfully, torn between irony and frustration. She wanted to laugh, but the very idea hurt.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“Write a letter to Dr. Mulgrew.”

She did not understand; the answer seemed ridiculous.

“Dr. Mulgrew? Why?”

He smiled at last. “Because he is in love with Ottilie. He might like to know she’s alive after all. I don’t imagine he’ll care very much about her being on the halls. Anyway, he should have the right to find out.”

Charlotte leaned back on the pillow with a deep sigh of satisfaction.

“You are interfering,” she said pleasantly. She liked to think of Ottilie finding someone who would love her.

He grunted and tucked in his shirttails rather untidily.

“I know that.”

Just before eleven o’clock, when Charlotte was still asleep, she dimly heard a knock on the door, and the next moment Emily was beside her.

“What’s the matter with you?” Emily demanded. “Gracie wouldn’t let me in! Are you ill?”

Charlotte opened her eyes. “She didn’t make a very good job of it!” She squinted up at Emily sideways without moving. “I’ve got a terrible headache.”

“Is that all? Never mind that.” Emily dismissed it and sat down on the bed. “What happened? What about Ottilie Charrington? How did she die, and did her family do it? If you don’t tell me, I shall shake you till you are really sick!”

“Don’t touch me! I’m sick now! She isn’t dead. She’s excellently alive, and singing in the music halls.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Emily’s face creased with disbelief. “Who told you that?”

“Nobody told me. I went to the music hall and saw her myself. That’s why I feel so awful now.”

“You what?” Emily was incredulous. “You went to a music hall? What on earth did Thomas say? Honestly!”

“Yes, I did. And Thomas wasn’t very pleased.” Then memories came back, and Charlotte began to smile. “Yes, I did. With Inigo Charrington, and I drank champagne. Actually it was rather fun, once I got started.”

A comical mixture of expressions chased across Emily’s face: shock, laughter, and even envy.

“Serves you right you’re sick,” she said with some satisfaction. “I wish I’d been there! What was she like?”

“Marvelous. She really can sing, and in a way that makes you want to sing with her. She’s—so very alive!”

Emily tucked up her legs more comfortably.

“So no one murdered her. Then that can’t be why Mina was killed.”

“Yes, it could.” Charlotte recalled Pitt’s argument. “They might have wanted to keep that hidden. After all, she’s Ada Church!”

“Well, who is Ada Church?” Emily was puzzled.

“Ottilie is! Don’t be stupid!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emily was too curious to be offended.

“Ada Church is one of the most famous singers on the halls.”

“Is she? I don’t know the music halls as well as you do!” There was distinct acid in her tone. “But that would be worth hiding. And there’s always Theodora’s income to look into. I expect Thomas is doing that. But we still have to do something about Mama and Monsieur Alaric!”

“Oh yes, I forgot about the locket. She has it back.”

“She never told me!” Emily was angry, affronted by the callousness of it.

Charlotte sat up very slowly and was surprised that her head felt considerably better.

“She didn’t tell me either. Inigo Charrington did. It was his mother who took it, and he put it back.”

“Ambrosine Charrington took it? Whatever for? Explain yourself! Charlotte, did you get drunk?”

“Yes, I think I did. On champagne. But that’s what he said. I wasn’t drunk then.” She explained with care what she could remember. “But that doesn’t mean Mama can go on with her relationship with Monsieur Alaric.”

“No, of course not,” Emily said. “We’d better do something, and before it gets any worse. I’ve been giving it some thought lately, and I’ve come to a decision. We must try to persuade Papa to pay more attention to her, flatter her more, spend time with her. Then she will have no need of Monsieur Alaric.” She looked up at Charlotte, challenging her to argue. She would leave the matter of Ambrosine Charrington and Charlotte’s champagne to another time.

Charlotte considered it for a moment or two in silence. It would not be easy to convey to Edward the importance of such a course, and the change it would necessitate in his behavior, without allowing him to understand the reason for their concern, the danger of Caroline beginning a real affaire with Paul Alaric— not just suppressed passion anymore, but something that might end up in the bedroom. She frowned and took a deep breath.

“Oh, not
you!”
Emily said immediately. “I just want you for moral support, to agree with me. Don’t you say anything, or you’ll bring on a complete disaster.”

It was not a time to take issue: defense could wait for a more suitable time.

“When are you going?” Charlotte asked.

“As soon as you have dressed. And you had better wash your face with cold water and pinch your cheeks a bit. You are very pasty.”

Charlotte gave her a sour look.

“And you’d better wear something bright,” Emily went on. “Do you have a red dress?”

“No, of course I don’t.” Charlotte crawled out of bed. “Where should I wear a red dress to? I’ve got a wine-colored skirt and coat.”

“Well, put it on and have a cup of tea. Then we’ll go and call on Papa. I’ve arranged it. I know he is at home today, and Mama has a luncheon engagement with a friend of mine.”

“Did you arrange that as well?”

“Of course I did!” Emily spoke with deliberate patience, as if to a rather tiresome child. “We don’t want her coming home in the middle! Now hurry up and get ready!”

Edward was delighted to have the company of both his daughters and sat at the head of the luncheon table with a smile of complete contentment on his face.

“How very pleasant to see you, my dear,” he said to Charlotte. “I’m so glad Emily found you at home and able to come. It seems a long time since I saw you last.”

“You have not been home when we have called lately.” Charlotte took her cue without waiting for Emily.

“No, I suppose not,” Edward said without giving it thought.

“We have been quite frequently,” Emily said casually, taking a little roast chicken on her fork. “And then gone out visiting with Mama. Quite an agreeable way to spend one’s time, providing one is not required to do too much of it. It can become tedious—the conversations are so much the same.”

“I thought it was an occupation you enjoyed?” Edward looked mildly surprised. He had not considered the matter greatly, merely taken it for granted.

“Oh, we do.” Emily ate the chicken and then frowned at him. “But incessant female company has very limited pleasures, you know. I’m sure that if George did not offer me his companionship in the evening and take me to dinner elsewhere occasionally, I should find myself longing for the conversation of some other gentleman. A woman is not at her best unless there is a man she admires to observe her, you know?”