Callander Square tp-2 Read online

  He picked up some paper and began furiously to read, although it was fully five minutes before the words began to create pictures for him, and take on a life separate from the tumult in his mind.

  Even at dinner time the conversation passed him by. He would pay for the wedding, naturally, but he left all the arrangements, both social and practical, to Augusta. He would do as he was directed and be as charming as was required of him, but the preparations were out of his grasp.

  He did not even really hear the rather unpleasant exchange between Christina and Brandy about the governess next door. As much of it as penetrated his mind seemed to consist of Christina’s disparaging her in some way and Brandy’s defending her with a vigor that would have drawn a request for explanation from him at any other time. It did trouble the back of his consciousness that perhaps Brandy was developing what seemed to be a family taste for affairs with servants. Of course for a man it was quite different, but it would show considerably more sense if he were to indulge himself a little less close to home.

  After dinner he sent for Brandy to see him in the library. The butler brought the port and retired, closing the door behind him.

  “Port?” Balantyne offered.

  “No, thank you, bit heavy,” Brandy shook his head.

  “I understand your inclinations,” Balantyne began. “Natural enough-”

  “Just don’t like port a lot,” Brandy said easily.

  “Not about the port!” Was he deliberately being obtuse? “About Miss whatever-her-name-is, the governess next door. Charming little thing-”

  “She’s not a ‘little thing’!” Brandy said with a sudden flare of anger. “She’s a woman, just like Christina, or your Miss Ellison, or anyone else!”

  “Hardly like Christina,” Balantyne said coldly.

  “No, you’re right,” Brandy snapped. “She doesn’t sleep with the footmen!”

  Balantyne raised his hand to strike him, outrage knotting his body. Then he saw Brandy’s calm face, set hard, unmoving. He let his hand fall. There was truth in the jibe, and he did not wish to quarrel with his son. They were utterly different, and yet he liked Brandy deeply.

  “That was unnecessarily unkind,” he let his voice drop. “I dare say you have lain where you should not, at some time or other.”

  To his surprise Brandy blushed deeply.

  “I apologize, sir,” he said quietly. “It was a filthy thing to say. It’s just that I have a high regard for Jemima; not of the sort you supposed. As I suspect you have for Miss Ellison. And I would not insult either of them by making an advance of that nature.” He smiled a little bleakly. “I daresay one would get a thick ear if one tried. I certainly feel Miss Ellison capable of it!”

  Balantyne grudged it, desperately embarrassed by Brandy’s perception. His inside was in turmoil, but he forced a smile in return.

  “I dare say,” he agreed thickly. “Perhaps we had better discuss something else.”

  They were not long launched on something less fraught with pitfalls when the footman announced Sir Robert Carlton, and Brandy, with unusual tact, excused himself.

  Carlton also declined port, and stood a little awkwardly in the center of the floor. His face showed the fine lines of emotional strain.

  “Dreadful thing about the poor Doran child,” he said jerkily. “Poor creature, poor woman. An appalling thought that she was there all the time, and we had no idea; went about our business.”

  Balantyne had not thought of it in precisely that light before, and it revolted him: their obliviousness, the immediacy of life and death. They had passed so close to and so unheeding of another creature’s extremity. Dear God, did they regularly pass each other like that? Instinctively he met Carlton’s eyes. There was something entirely new in them and he could not yet understand what it was.

  “About Euphemia-” Carlton said hesitantly.

  Balantyne tried to show in his face some of the gentleness he wanted to feel, did feel. He said nothing, thinking it better merely to wait.

  “I-” Carlton was stumbling for words. “I didn’t understand. I must have seemed-very cold-to her. She wanted a child. I–I didn’t know that. I wish-I wish she could have felt she could tell me so. It must have been my fault that she couldn’t. I was too-I put her on a pedestal-I didn’t realize what a-comfortless thing respect is. She wanted a child-that’s all.”

  “I see.” Balantyne did not see at all, but he felt Carlton’s need, his groping toward belief that it was understandable, and that he himself understood. “Yes, I see,” he repeated.

  “I find it,” Carlton swallowed. “I find it hard to come to terms with, but in time I shall. I shall consider the child to be mine. Balantyne-you will?” His skin colored deeply. He could not put it into words.

  “Of course,” Balantyne said immediately. “To do anything else would be monstrous, and quite wrong!”

  “Thank you,” Carlton’s hand was clenched by his side and there was a nervous flick in his temple. “I–I love her very much, you know.”

  “She’s a very fine woman,” Balantyne said generously, and he meant it. “And she will love you the more for your understanding.”

  Carlton looked up quickly.

  “Do you think so?” There was a stab of hope in his voice that was painful to hear.

  “I’m sure,” Balantyne said firmly. “Now are you sure you won’t have some port? Very good, you know. Reggie Southeron recommended it, and he may know damn all else, but he does know his palate.”

  Carlton took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  “Thank you, perhaps I will.”

  NINE

  Reggie Southernon was not visited by Pitt until late the following afternoon. He was just settling into his deep chair to thaw out from the unpleasantness of travel, the hard springs, the drafts, the rain down the neck, when Pitt was announced. He seriously gave thought to the possibility of refusing to see him; but perhaps it would be unwise. It might make him dig the harder into matters preferably left alone: and of course not to see him would be to lose an opportunity to put his own case, defend himself before he was attacked. Damn Freddie Bolsover!

  “Send him in,” he said a little irritably. “And you’d better put away the good sherry and bring some of that other stuff.” Silly to insult him by not offering him any at all, but no need to waste the good.

  Pitt came in, untidy as usual, his coat flapping, wet across the shoulders; his face was genial, good-tempered, but his eyes were sharper than Reggie had noticed before.

  “Good evening, sir,” he said easily. Odd that such a fellow should have so fine a voice, such diction. Ideas above himself, shouldn’t wonder; aping his betters.

  “Evening,” Reggie replied. “I suppose you’ve come about Helena Doran, poor creature? Can’t tell you anything; don’t know.”

  “No, of course not,” Pitt agreed civilly. “I’m sure if you had known anything, you would have told us long before we came and sought you out. Still,” he smiled suddenly with what would, at another time, have been charm-had he been a social equal, of course! “Still, you might be able to fill in a few blanks.”

  “Sherry?” Reggie offered, holding up the decanter.

  “No, thank you,” Pitt declined with a small wave of his hand.

  Reggie poured himself some in considerable annoyance. He had got in this wretched kitchen stuff, and now the damned fellow did not want it. He was obliged to stand here like a fool and drink it himself.

  “I’ve told you,” he said petulantly. “I don’t know anything about Helena Doran.”

  “Not about her death, perhaps; but you must know something about her life,” Pitt said easily. “Maybe more than you realize. I would like your opinions. You’re a man of the world, you must have to make judgments about people, as a banker.”

  Reggie should not have been surprised. Of course the fellow would have found out what he did. It was true, he was a pretty good judge, in the general way of things. Made a mistake about Freddie, thoug
h!

  “Tell you anything I can, naturally,” he mellowed a bit. “Shocking thing; very young, you know.”

  “And pretty, they say.” Pitt raised his eyebrows questioningly.

  “Very, in a pale sort of way. A bit fair for my taste, a bit fragile looking, but very nice for those who like that type. Prefer something a bit more robust, myself.” Must not let it even cross his mind that Reggie would be the one. Good idea to clear that up right at the outset.

  “Not fond of blondes myself,” Pitt agreed. “Not the very fair ones. Always look a little cold to me.”

  Maybe the fellow was not so bad; human, anyway.

  “Quite,” Reggie agreed. “Nice girl, always civil and conducted herself well, far as I know. Pity. Great pity.”

  Pitt’s bright eyes were still on him.

  “Who did admire her, do you know? There must have been some who did.”

  “Oh, of course,” Reggie agreed. Good opportunity, this. “Alan Ross was very much in love with her, at the time. But I suppose you knew that?”

  “Alan Ross?”

  “Yes. Fellow who just married Christina Balantyne, this morning, in fact.”

  “Oh yes, of course; yes, I had heard he was fond of Helena Doran.”

  “Damn sight more than fond of her; crazy about her. Terribly upset when she ran off-or I suppose I should say, was murdered.” He looked up at Pitt. “I suppose she was murdered?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m afraid there is no doubt.”

  “How can you tell? Thought the body was-well-”

  “So it was. But a few rags of the clothes left, and of course the bones. The flesh was eaten away, but the bones were all there. The neck was broken. Must have been very powerful hands to do it so neatly.”

  Reggie flinched in disgust.

  “Yes, nasty, isn’t it?” Pitt agreed, although Reggie detected a tone in his voice he could not entirely place. Peculiar fellow. Still, no doubt he served his purpose; and with care, he could serve Reggie’s as well.

  “Very cut up, he was,” Reggie went on. “Quite unhinged the poor chap for a while. Not that I want to suggest-of course-!”

  “But it’s a possibility,” Pitt finished for him.

  Reggie assumed an air of reluctance. “Have to admit it,” he said slowly.

  “Did he ever say anything to you about another man, a lover?”

  Reggie screwed up his face in an effort to bring something to mind.

  “Can’t recall. But my dear fellow, you can’t expect me to repeat some casual word, even if I could remember it, that might hang a chap!” he protested.

  “Won’t hang anybody on a few words,” Pitt said softly, smiling again. “And you have a moral duty, after all.”

  “Oh, quite,” Reggie agreed. This was turning out very well: unfortunate about Alan Ross, but then he might very well have killed Helena in a fit of jealousy. It was the most likely explanation, after all!

  Pitt was waiting.

  “Well-” Reggie hesitated, not through reluctance, but because he had not yet thought of anything suitable to say. “Can’t bring back words, of course,” he lifted his voice a little at the end, as if to question whether Pitt really wished him to continue; then he hurried on, in case Pitt, by chance, should take it into his mind to stop him. “Just the general meaning. He was very much in love with her. We all thought they would marry, quite soon, in fact. Of course the rest of us had no idea there was another lover. I suppose Ross found out. No idea how. Never said anything to us; but then he wouldn’t, would he? Make rather a fool of him, what? Woman you loved taking some other fellow into her bed.”

  “Yes,” Pitt agreed solemnly. “Very painful. A man might react on the spur of the moment.”

  “Quite,” Reggie said quickly. “Quite.”

  “Then,” Pitt said after a moment’s thought, “on the other hand, it could have been the lover.”

  “Lover?” Reggie was taken aback. “Why, for heaven’s sake? Would think he had everything his way, what?” He tried to smile, but felt it a bit stiff on his face. “No reason to hurt her, far as I can see.”

  “She was with child,” Pitt reminded him. “The lover’s child.”

  “So?” A dark thought had come into Reggie’s mind, a beginning of a very unpleasant fear.

  “Would have married her, if he were free to, don’t you suppose?” Pitt was staring at him, bright eyes wide.

  Reggie’s mind whirled. This was stupid. He had never touched the girl. No need whatsoever to be nervous. But there was always Freddie and his damned tongue. If the police ever got to know that Reggie played around a little, they might not understand the difference!

  “Perhaps he wasn’t suitable, as a husband, I mean,” he faced Pitt squarely. “Might have been a tradesman, or something. Couldn’t marry a tradesman, could she?” No time to be worrying about Pitt’s sensibilities now. Fellow would have to understand there were social distinctions. Must know that anyway; bound to.

  But instead of taking offense Pitt merely considered the matter thoughtfully.

  “Did she have a liking for tradesmen, then?” he inquired.

  “Good God!” Reggie scrambled wildly-what to say? If he said yes, others would give him the lie. Pitt was bound to speak to everyone in the square. Helena had never looked at a tradesman in her life! She was a little over-refined, if anything. Only man, apart from Ross, that Reggie had ever seen her show any admiration for was old Balantyne next door. Liked his bit of pomp and military glamour, no doubt.

  “No,” he said as calmly as he could, “no, not at all.” Yes, that was the answer. “In fact never saw her show any interest in anyone that I can recall,” he weighed his words carefully, “except old Balantyne next door. Fine-looking chap, the general. Natural a young girl should be impressed.” Let him take it from there. No need to point out that the general was married. Pitt himself had made the observation about not being free, safe to leave him to infer the rest.

  “I see.” Pitt looked down at his feet, then up again, quizzically. “No admiration for you, sir?”

  “Me?” Reggie looked shocked. “Good gracious, no. Merchant banker, you know. Not nearly as exciting as the army. No glamour in it, what?” He forced a rather sickly smile. “Nothing to appeal to a romantic young girl.”

  “You think Balantyne might have been the unknown lover?”

  “Oh, now I didn’t say that!”

  “Of course not; you wouldn’t: loyalty and so forth,” Pitt shook his head. “Very admirable.”

  Why was the damn fellow smiling inside himself?

  “And I take it she was not a type of beauty that especially appealed to you.”

  “What?”

  “I mean you would not have been jealous, or anything of that nature.”

  “God, no! I mean, pardon; certainly not. Too pale, too bloodless-looking for me. Prefer something a little-I’m a married-” No, that sounded too pompous. He let it die.

  “Uncommonly handsome parlormaid you have,” Pitt said conversationally. “Couldn’t help noticing. Best-looking girl I’ve seen for a long time.”

  Reggie felt his face color. Damn the fellow’s impertinence. Wasn’t driving at something, was he? He looked at the man closely, but there seemed to be nothing beyond innocent appreciation in his eyes.

  “Yes,” he agreed after a moment. “Pick them for their appearance, you know. Whole point of a parlormaid.”

  “Is it?” Pitt affected interest. “Somebody else said you had a good eye for a parlormaid.”

  Reggie froze. Surely Freddie could not have-? He avoided Pitt’s eye.

  “Freddie Bolsover, was it?”

  “Dr. Bolsover?” Pitt seemed not to understand what he meant.

  “Yes. Was it Dr. Bolsover who made the remark about me-and-er, parlormaids?” Reggie cleared his throat. “You don’t want to take too much notice of anything he says, you know. Young. Got rather an unreliable sense of humor.”

  Pitt frowned.

  “Don’t think I
quite understand you, sir.”

  “Makes odd jokes,” Reggie explained. “Says things he thinks are funny, doesn’t realize people who don’t know him could take them seriously.”

  “What sort of thing? I mean, what would he really mean, and what would be just a joke?”

  “Oh,” Reggie thought rapidly, mustn’t panic. Keep cool. “Anything medical, of course, perfectly serious. But might make a joke about me and parlormaids, just for an example.”

  “You mean he might say perhaps you had an affair with a parlormaid, or something like that?” Pitt inquired.

  Reggie could feel the blood burn in his face, and he turned away.

  “That sort of thing,” he tried to sound casual, and nearly choked.

  “Sure you won’t have a sherry? Think I’ll have another.” He suited the action to the word.

  “Dangerous sense of humor,” Pitt remarked. “No, thank you,” he glanced at the sherry. “I would talk to him about that, if I were you. Could be embarrassing for you, just at the moment.”

  “Oh, I will,” Reggie said immediately. “Yes, must do that. Good advice.”

  “Surprised you haven’t done it already,” Pitt went on. “You haven’t, I suppose.”

  “What?” Reggie nearly dropped the decanter.

  “Haven’t spoken to him already?” Pitt raised his eyebrows.

  “Did-did he say I had?” Reggie realized as soon as he had said it that it was a stupid question. “I mean-er-”

  “Have you?”

  “Well-” What in hell should he say? Damn the man, what did he know? If only Reggie could ascertain how much he already knew, then he could tailor his replies! This fishing round in the darkness was frightful.

  Pitt pulled a small face-extraordinary face the fellow had-and looked at his fingernails.

  “Normal enough, a bit of admiration for a good-looking maid,” Pitt went on thoughtfully. “Lot of men do it. Nothing to remark on. Just could be made to look a bit unfortunate right now.” He looked up, his brilliant, penetrating gaze fixed on Reggie. “Hasn’t been bothering you-Dr. Bolsover-has he?”

  Reggie stared. His brain seemed to melt and freeze again. What should he say? Could he trust Freddie? This was an opportunity to get rid of all of it! Or was it? Just a moment! What if Pitt went to Freddie and charged him? Then Freddie would tell them all about Dolly, and that was quite different! Or did they already know that he had been to the bank and drawn out the hundred pounds? Had he spoken to the footman? Was that the thing? Careful, Reggie, think before you speak. Nearly fell into a trap there.