by Anne Perry
“You look a little bashed this morning, Mother. In fact you look the way I feel after a night at the club.”
“Don’t be impertinent,” she said, but without sharpness. She was extremely fond of her son, indeed she might say with honesty she liked him best of all her family. There was a cheerfulness about him that was gentler then Christina, and warmer than his father. Also he was one of the few people who could make her laugh even when she did not wish to.
Now he was squinting at her thoughtfully.
“Hope you haven’t caught Christina’s chill.”
“That is hardly likely,” she said with a shudder.
“I don’t suppose you’d take a day in bed,” he reached for another piece of toast and started a second breakfast. “That would be too much like admitting frailty. But it might show sense. Give it a thought, Mother.” He smiled. “If you like, I’ll swear blind you’ve gone to the races, or shopping!”
“Where on earth should I go to the races, at this time of the year?”
“All right, I’ll say you’ve gone cockfighting, then!” he grinned.
“They’ll be more likely to believe it if you left a note saying we’d both gone,” she replied, meeting his eyes with a smile, in spite of herself.
He shivered.
“Nonsense. I’ve no stomach for blood sports.”
“And do you think that I have?”
“Certainly. You’d have scared the hell out of Napoleon, if he’d met you on a social occasion.”
She sniffed. “Have you just poured yourself the last of the tea?”
“Wouldn’t dare. Really, Mother, you do look a bit dragged out. Take a day off. It’s a decent day, a bit cold, but quite dry. I’ll take you for a drive. We’ll get out the best horses!”
She was tempted. There was nothing she would like better than a drive away from Callander Square, with Brandy. She lingered on the idea, savoring it.
“Come on!” he urged. “Crisp air, fast horses, crunch of wheels on a new road. Last of the beech leaves are still red on the trees.”
She looked at his smooth, olive-skinned face and saw the child in him now, as twenty years ago she had seen the man in him then. Before she could accept, the door opened and Max came in.
“Inspector Pitt is here again, my lady, from the police. Will you see him?”
The crisp air, the flying hooves, and the laughter collapsed.
“I suppose I have no choice,” she pushed her chair back and stood up. “If not now, it will only put him off until later. Put him in the morning room, Max, I’ll see him in a few minutes.”
Brandy was still eating.
“Is it about the wretched babies still? I don’t know why they persist, they’ll never find out whose they were, poor little beggars. I suppose they have to try, but it must be a rotten job. Do you want me to see him? He probably only wants permission to question the servants again.”
“No, thank you, but I appreciate the offer, my dear. I would love to come driving with you, but I cannot.”
“Why not? He’s hardly likely to run off with the silver!”
“I cannot leave him,” she repeated mechanically. She did not want to have to tell him. “How well do you know Alan Ross, Brandy?”
“What?” His hand with the toast in it dropped in surprise.
“How well do you know Alan Ross? The question is simple enough.”
“He’s a good fellow. I suppose I know him pretty well. He closed up rather after Helena took off; but he’s beginning to come out of it now. Why?”
“I wish him to marry Christina.”
He stopped all pretense of eating and put the toast down.
“Your father doesn’t know about it yet,” she went on. “But I have excellent reasons. If you could do anything to further that end, I should be very pleased. Now I suppose I had better see this policeman again,” and she left him still staring after her.
Pitt was waiting for her by the fire, licking its first flames in a still cold grate. She closed the door behind her and stood with her back to it. He looked up, smiling. Did nothing discompose this wretched man? Perhaps he had no sense of what was proper, and thus neither of what was improper? He was enormous and untidy, too many layers of clothes on, and he greeted her with an air of easiness she did not expect, even from her friends.
“Good morning, Lady Augusta,” he said cheerfully. “I would be obliged if I could ask you a few questions.”
“Me?” She had intended to freeze him, but she was overtaken by surprise. “I know nothing about it, I assure you!”
He moved away from the fire to make room for her, and unreasonably the courtesy irritated her, perhaps because she would have preferred to find fault with him.
“I’m sure you are not aware of knowing anything,” he replied, “or you would have told me; but there may be things you have noticed, without at the time realizing their import.”
“I doubt it, but still I suppose, if you must—”
“Thank you. It is proving extremely difficult to trace the woman in the affair—”
“I’m hardly surprised!”
“No,” his mobile face fell into a wry expression, “nor I. We might have better success approaching it from another direction—to find the man.”
The thought flashed through her mind that there might be an opportunity to get rid of Max—
She looked up to find his brilliant gray eyes on her face, disconcertingly. She was conscious above all things of his intelligence; it was an unpleasant feeling to her, and quite new. She could not dominate him.
“You have thought of something?” There was a small smile on the corners of his lips.
“No,” she denied immediately. Then she decided to qualify it, in case an idea about Max came to her later. “I don’t believe so.”
“But you are a discerning woman—”
For a moment she was afraid he was going to flatter her.
“—and you have a young and attractive daughter.” There was no intent to deceive in his face, which in itself was unusual. Society was conducted on mutually agreed deceits. “You must have formed opinions as to the habits, the inclinations of the men in your circle,” he continued, “those who would be suitable for your daughter to associate with, and those who would not; above all, those whose morals were not acceptable to you.”
It was a statement she could not reasonably contradict. His conclusion was inescapable.
“Of course,” she agreed. “But I would hesitate to pass to the police as suspicions such personal dislikes or misgivings as I may entertain myself. They may be groundless, and I might thus unwittingly cause an injustice,” she raised her eyebrows slightly, questioning him in turn, giving him back the onus.
The smile on his mouth flickered upward. She wished he would not look at her so frankly. If Christina had become enamored of this man, she could have understood it a great deal more easily. But then he would very likely have sent her packing! She pulled herself together. The thought was ridiculous—and offensive.
“I will take your advice as merely that, my lady,” he said gently. “Sound advice as to where I might begin. You will agree that I have so far been extremely discreet?”
“I have no idea that you know anything about which to be indiscreet,” she said levelly, with a touch of chill.
His smile broadened into a grin.
“Which makes my point perfectly.”
“On the contrary,” she was terse. “It begs it.”
He retreated gracefully, again annoying her.
“I think you are right. Still, the sooner I can finish my investigations, the sooner the matter can either be resolved, or buried as insoluble.”
“I take your line of reasoning, Mr. Pitt. What is it that you wish to know from me?”
Before he could reply, the door opened and Brandy came in. Pitt had not seen him before, and she saw a momentary flash of interest cross his face.
“My son, Brandon Balantyne,” she said briefly.
“Surely you don’t suspect Mother?” he said flippantly. “Or are you consulting her for gossip?”
“You think that would be a good idea?”
“Oh, excellent. She affects to be above it, but in truth she knows everything.”
“Brandon, this is not an occasion for levity,” she said tartly. “Two children are dead, and someone is responsible.”
His humor vanished instantly. He looked at Pitt with an unspoken apology.
“Gossip is most useful,” Pitt covered the moment and raised a hand to dismiss it. “You would be surprised how often the solution to a crime lies in some small thing that has been known to the neighborhood from the beginning, they have merely not mentioned it to us because they believed it such common knowledge that we must also have known it.”
Brandy relaxed. He made some small remark in reply, and before Pitt could return the conversation to his interrupted questions, Christina came in.
Augusta was annoyed; she knew it was only curiosity that brought her, and the fear that something was happening that she was missing. Being in bed had made her feel that the whole of society was passing her by. Now she was dressed meticulously, her eyes shining, she even had color on her cheeks, as if she were expecting a suitor! She was smiling at Pitt—practicing her technique! Really, had the girl no sense?
“Good morning, Inspector—Pitt?” she hesitated, affecting to be unsure of his name; then came forward, almost as though she were going to offer him her hand. Then she remembered he was a policeman, on a social equal with tradesmen or artisans, and let it fall. It was petty, a little arrogant; without the smile it would merely have been rude.
“Good morning, Miss Balantyne,” Pitt bowed very slightly. “I’m happy to see you so obviously recovered. You appear in most perfect health.”
“Thank you.”
“Perhaps you also can help me. There must be men of your acquaintance whose reputation is less than upright. I imagine you know very well whom you would trust, and whom you could not. Young women discuss among themselves such things, for mutual protection.” He turned without warning to Brandy. “Or you, Mr. Balantyne. Have any of your friends become involved with a girl not suitable to marry?”
“Good heavens, dozens, I should think,” Brandy was surprised into complete honesty. “But usually one has sense enough not to do it on one’s own doorstep!”
Pitt was obliged to smile.
“Quite,” he agreed. “What about your servants? That footman of yours looks a lusty fellow.” He swiveled till his probing eyes were on Christina.
Augusta could feel the blood drain from her own face, at the same time the rich color heightened in Christina’s. The stroke had come out of nowhere, and she had had no defenses ready. Augusta opened her mouth to intercept, and saw Pitt’s quick glance at her, wide, waiting; and she bit her tongue. Her very act of speech would betray her, its eagerness, where she should have been indifferent.
“He’s merely a footman,” Christina said coldly, but there was a small catch in her voice, as if it stuck in her throat. “I have never considered his private life. Perhaps you do not understand, if you have no resident servants of your own, but people of our station do not discuss things with servants. They are here to work, to run the house, that is all that one ever speaks to them about; and even so, usually through the butler. That is what butlers are for. You had better speak to the servants themselves. Those sorts of girls would be a little more in his line, don’t you think?”
“Oh, without doubt,” Pitt was unaffected by her arrogance. His face was perfectly smooth, his tone warm. “But perhaps not to his taste.”
“I have no idea what his tastes might be!” Christina snapped. “It is hardly a matter that interests me.”
Pitt grunted, apparently turning the consideration over in his mind. He was still looking at her, and she avoided his eyes.
“How long has he been in Callander Square?” he asked.
“About six years.” It was Brandy who replied, his face innocent. Augusta weighed the idea of sending him out, finding some excuse to get rid of him; but seeing Pitt’s clever, watchful face, knew it would be a misjudgment, a reinforcement of any suspicion he might be entertaining.
“A good footman?” Pitt inquired.
“Excellent,” Brandy answered. “Don’t like the fellow, but can’t fault him. Believe me, if I could, I’d have thrown him out!”
“Couldn’t you throw him out anyway?” Pitt assumed ignorance.
“I suppose so,” Brandy was still casual. “Doesn’t bother me enough, really. And he seems to satisfy everyone else.”
“No complaints from female staff?”
“No, none at all.”
“Maids willing? Or does he seek his pleasures elsewhere?”
“Mr. Pitt!” Augusta stepped in at last. “I do not permit fornication in my house, willing or unwilling! Whatever appetites my footmen may have, I assure you they exercise them elsewhere!”
But Pitt was watching Christina. Merciful heaven! Surely he could not possibly know anything? There was no way—was there?
“If you think Max may be responsible, Inspector,” she said with as much composure as she could manage, and without looking at Christina, “I would suggest that you look for the woman beyond this house. Perhaps if you resume your questioning in the other establishments in the square?”
“Much easier to ask Max,” Brandy offered. “The poor girl will not be likely to admit anything, certainly not now. Press Max a bit, make him squirm. Find out who his lady loves are—”
Augusta gasped, but it was Christina who broke.
“No!” she gulped. “That would be foolish,” she said, her tongue fumbling over the words. “And unfair! You have no reason to suppose it has anything to do with Max. I won’t have you upsetting our servants. Mother, please!”
“It does seem unwarranted,” Augusta chose her words very carefully. “Have you any cause for your suspicions, Inspector? Because if not, I must refuse you permission to harass my staff. Come back with proof, and of course I shall give you every assistance.”
Christina took a deep breath and let it out.
The door opened and the general came in. He stopped in surprise.
“Good morning, sir,” Pitt said courteously.
“What are you doing here again?” Balantyne asked. “Found out something?”
“He’s looking for the man,” Brandy answered him. “Thinks it could be Max, and he wants to speak to him.”
“Good idea,” Balantyne said decisively. “Get it cleared up one way or the other.” He leaned over, and before Augusta could stop him, he pulled the bell cord. A moment later Max came in. He must have been standing in the hall.
Pitt’s eyes met his, surveyed the dark, sensual face, the immaculate clothes.
“Yes, sir?” Max inquired.
“Any romantic interests, any woman?” Balantyne spoke, abruptly, with all the tact of a heavy cavalry charge. Augusta winced.
Max’s face altered only barely.
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Aren’t I plain enough, man? Have you any romantic attachments? Do you have any lady friends, call them what you will?”
”I have no intention of marrying, sir.”
“That is not what I asked, damn it! Don’t play the fool with me.”
“My most recent romantic attachment has just ended, I fear,” Max was smiling under the heavy lids, and he looked almost imperceptibly at Christina.
“Who was she?”
“With the greatest respect, sir that can be of no interest to the police. She is a woman of respectability, of very good family.” His voice was rich with his own suppressed amusement.
Augusta could only stand and let disaster come. Perhaps Max himself would protect his own interest, and thus protect Christina. It was her only hope.
Pitt merely waited, letting it play itself out in front of
him, watching.
“Good family?” the general said with incredulity.
“Yes, sir.”
“Who?”
“I would prefer to protect her, sir. There is no need for her name to be discussed in front of the police. Lady Augusta knows, if you wish to ask her—” He let it hang.
Christina was white-faced, the painted color on her cheeks standing out like a clown’s.
“Will that be all, sir?” Max inquired.
Balantyne was staring at Augusta.
Augusta collected herself.
“Yes, thank you, Max. If we require anything, we shall call again.”
“Thank you, my lady,” he bowed very, very slightly and left, closing the door silently behind him.
“Well?” Balantyne demanded.
“He is quite correct,” she replied quickly. “It can be of no possible interest to the police.”
Pitt spoke very courteously, softly.
“Why did you not tell me that in the beginning, my lady?”
She felt the cold run through her.
“I beg your pardon?” She played for time, a few seconds to think of an answer.
“Why did you not tell me that when the subject was first raised, Lady Augusta?”
“I—I had temporarily forgotten. It is not important.”
“Who is this woman—of good family, Lady Augusta?”
“I do not feel free, nor do I wish, to disclose her name.”
“Oh, come on, Augusta,” Balantyne said exasperatedly. “If she’s not involved, Pitt isn’t going to do anything to her. You’ll be discreet, won’t you? Besides, Max’s idea of a ‘good family’ and ours will be quite different things.”
“I prefer not to.” She could not lie and blame some totally innocent woman—it would be immoral, even if it were practicable.
Pitt turned and looked at Christina, frozen where she stood.
“Miss Balantyne?” he said slowly. “Perhaps you would care to tell me?”
She was speechless.
“Christina?” For the first time there was doubt in the general’s voice.
“Never mind,” Pitt said quietly. “I shall pursue my investigations elsewhere for a while, and perhaps return here later.”
“Yes, by all means,” Augusta agreed. She could hear the tension slip out of her voice, and try as she would, she could not control her relief. She understood what he meant—that he knew about Christina and Max, and would seek other ways of discovering whether it was she who had borne the children. But Augusta was sure that it was not. She would have known; Christina had neither the nerve nor the art to have concealed it from her. And now that she had had time to consider it, neither had she the opportunity. She had not spent the appropriate times where such a thing could have been hidden.