Anne Perry - Rutland Place

"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.

"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?"

Tormod was still casual, his voice light. He smiled at her with a little twist of regret.

"I suppose not, if one knew for sure who it was and had proof that it had occurred," he said. "But we haven't. All we would do is rouse suspicion, and perhaps quite unjustly. Better to let the matter lie. Once one begins an inquiry into evil, one can start a train of events that is very difficult to stop. A silver-plated buttonhook is hardly worth all the anger and fear, and the doubts, that inquiry would raise."

"I think you are quite right," Charlotte said quickly. "After all, a case of something missing-one has no idea where-is very different from actually knowing beyond question that a particular person has stolen it."

"How wise of you." Tormod flashed her a rapid smile. "Justice is not always best served by shouting 'thief.' "

Before Caroline could defend her view, the maid announced another caller.

"Mrs. Denbigh, ma'am," she said to Eloise. "Shall I say that you will receive her?"

Eloise's face tightened almost imperceptibly. In another light, farther from the window, the change in her expression might not have been visible at all.

"Yes, of course, Beryl, please do."

Amaryllis Denbigh was the sort of woman Charlotte felt quite uncomfortable with. She came into the room with assurance, carrying with her an air of always having been successful, always valued. She was not beautiful, but there was an appeal in her face of wide eyes and slightly too round, curved lips, the innocence of an adolescent who does not yet understand her own potential for excitement and hunger. She had an abundance of fair, wavy hair that was dressed just casually enough not to look unnatural. It required a very skilled maid to achieve such an effect. Her dress was undeniably expensive-not in the least ostentatious, but Charlotte knew how much it cost to have a dressmaker cut it so cleverly that the bust looked just that much fuller, the waist those few inches smaller.

Introductions were formal and very complete. Amaryllis weighed Charlotte to an exactness, and dismissed her. She turned to Tormod.

"Shall you be coming to Mrs. Wallace's soiree on Thursday? I do so hope so. I have heard the pianist she has invited is quite excellent. I'm sure you would enjoy it. And Eloise too, of course," she added as an afterthought, a politeness without conviction.

Charlotte noted the tone in her voice and drew conclusions of her own.

"I think we will," Tormod replied. He turned to Eloise. "You have nothing else prepared, have you, dear?"

"No, not at all. If this pianist is good, it will be a great pleasure. I only hope they do not all make such a noise we cannot hear him."

"My dear, you cannot expect conversation to cease just to listen to a pianist-not at a soiree," Amaryllis said gently. "After all, it is primarily a social event, and the music is merely a diversion, a pleasantness. And of course it gives people some shy;thing to talk about without having to think too hard for a suitable subject. Some people are so awkward, you know." She smiled at Charlotte. "Do you not think so, Mrs. Pitt?"

"Indeed, I am sure of it," Charlotte agreed frankly. "Some cannot think of anything suitable to say at all, while others speak far too much and at all the wrong times. I greatly like a person who knows how to be silent comfortably, especially when there is good music playing."

Amaryllis' face tightened. She ignored the implication.

"Do you play, Mrs. Pitt?" she asked.

"No," Charlotte answered blandly. "I regret I do not. Do you?"

Amaryllis regarded her chillingly.

"I paint," she replied. "I prefer it. So much less intrusive, I think. One can look or not, as one chooses. Oh"-she widened her eyes and bit her lip-"I'm so sorry, Eloise. I had forgotten that you play. I did not mean you, of course! You have never played at anyone's soiree!"

"No, I think I should be very nervous," Eloise said. "Although it would be an honor to be asked. But I rather think I should be irritated if everyone talked so much that no one else could listen." She spoke with some feeling. "Music should be respected, not treated like street sounds, or wallpaper, no more than a sort of background. Then one becomes bored with it, without ever having appreciated its beauty."

Amaryllis laughed, a high, pretty sound that irked Charlotte unreasonably-perhaps because she would have liked to have such a laugh, and knew she did not.

"How philosophical you are!" Amaryllis said brightly. "I warn you, my dear, if you start saying things like that at a soiree, you will become most unpopular. People will not know what to make of you!" /

Charlotte gave her mother a sharp nudge on the ankle, and as Caroline bent to touch the place, thinking something had fallen on her, Charlotte pretended to assume she was preparing to leave.

"May I help you, Mama?" she offered, then rose and gave Caroline her arm.

Caroline glanced at her. "I am not yet in need of assistance, Charlotte," she said crisply. But although the idea of sitting down again, out of contrariness, lingered quite clearly in her eyes, after a moment she excused herself politely, and a few minutes later they were both outside in the street again.

"I dislike Mrs. Denbigh," Charlotte said with feeling. "Very much!"

"That was obvious." Caroline pulled her collar up. Then she smiled. "Actually, so do I. It is completely unfair, because I have no idea why, but I find her most irritating."