Read Rutland Place for Free Online Page B

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 observations 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 accomplished 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 severe 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