Callander Square tp-2 Read online

  He returned a little after six. He knew it was inconvenient, but there is no convenient time for the sort of question to which he sought an answer.

  The footman received him coolly and showed him into the library. It was several minutes before the door opened and Sir Robert Carlton came in, closing it gently behind him. He was a little above average height, slender, stiff. His face was, as Charlotte had said, extremely distinguished, but the mildness of his expression robbed it of arrogance.

  “I understand you wish to see me?” he said quietly. His voice was clear and precise, and contained a slight lift of surprise.

  “Yes, sir,” Pitt replied. “If you please. I apologize for calling at this hour, but I wished to be sure of finding you in.” Carlton waited politely and he continued. “I’m afraid I have reason to believe that the mother of the babies found in the square may be a member of your household-” He stopped, ready for outrage, denials. Instead there was only a tightening of the skin across Carlton’s high cheeks, as if he anticipated pain. Pitt wondered quickly if either he already knew, or at least suspected his wife. Was it possible he had even personally accepted it, long since fought his private battle?

  “I’m sorry,” Carlton said quietly. “Poor woman.”

  Pitt stared at him.

  Carlton turned his face to look at Pitt. There was anxiety and compassion in his eyes. It was something he did not understand, but struggling to imagine, and for which he was deeply sorry. Pitt felt a surge of anger against Euphemia, and against young Brandon Balantyne, whom he had not yet met. Carlton was speaking again.

  “Have you any idea who it is, Mr. Pitt? Or what will happen to her?”

  “That rather depends on the circumstances, Sir Robert. If the children were born dead, there may be no criminal prosecution. But she will lose her character, and unless she is extremely fortunate, her position, and be without reference to obtain another.”

  “And if they were not born dead?”

  “Then there will be a charge of murder.”

  “I see. I suppose that is inevitable. And the wretched woman will be hanged.”

  Pitt realized too late that he should not have committed himself; he should have left it in doubt. Perhaps in that single carelessness he had forfeited Carlton’s help.

  “That is only an opinion,” he tried to withdraw. “There may be some mitigating circumstances, of course-” He could think of many, for himself; but none that would appeal to the lords justices.

  ”You said, someone in the house,” Carlton continued as if he had not spoken. “I take it you do not as yet know whom?”

  “No, sir. I thought perhaps Lady Carlton, knowing the servants better, might be able to assist me.”

  “I suppose it is necessary to bring her into this?”

  “I regret so.”

  “Very well,” Carlton reached for the bell cord and pulled it. When the footman appeared he gave instructions that Euphemia should be asked to come. They waited in silence until she arrived. She closed the door behind her and turned to them. Her face was smooth and utterly guileless, even when she saw Pitt. If she had any guilt, then she was either one of those rare creatures who genuinely see no interest but their own, or was the most accomplished actress.

  “My dear, Inspector Pitt believes that the mother of these unfortunate children may be someone in our house,” Carlton said courteously. “I regret it is necessary that you should endeavor to assist him.”

  Her face paled a little.

  “Oh dear, I’m so sorry. Of course it can really make no difference, but I hate to think of it being someone I know. Are you sure, Inspector?” She turned to look at him. She was a most attractive woman, there was a warmth about her more appealing than beauty.

  “No, ma’am, but I have cause to believe it.”

  “For what reason?” she asked.

  Pitt took a deep breath and plunged in.

  “It would seem that someone in this house is having an affair, a love affair.” He watched her face. For a moment she remained perfectly serene, merely interested: then there was a slight tightening of the hands on the plum-colored silk of her dress. A faint color spread up her throat. Pitt glanced across at Carlton, but he appeared detached, unobservant.

  “Indeed?” she said after the slightest hesitation.

  He went on.

  “There is a strong possibility that as a result of the attachment, she may have become with child.”

  The color deepened painfully in her face. She turned away so that the shadow fell across her.

  “I see.”

  Carlton still seemed unaware of anything but the concern of a mistress for her maids.

  “Perhaps you had better make inquiries, my dear. Is that what you wish, Inspector?”

  “If Lady Carlton feels she might discover something.” Pitt looked at her, deliberately choosing his words so that she should understand his meaning, in spite of his apparent casualness.

  Euphemia kept her face from the light.

  “What is it that you wish to know, Mr. Pitt?”

  “How long the-attachment-has existed,” he said quietly.

  She took a deep breath.

  “It may not be,” she struggled for precisely the right expression and failed, “of the nature, or the-the emotions that you suppose.”

  “The emotions are not our concern, my dear,” Carlton said quietly. “And the nature of it can hardly be in question, since there have been two dead children found in the square.”

  She swiveled round to stare at them, horror in her face, eyes wide.

  “You cannot suppose-I mean-you cannot leap to judge that because someone is-has an attachment, that they are responsible for those-deaths! There may be any number of people in the square who have some relationship or other- some-”

  “There is a world of difference between a mild flirtation and an affair that produces two children, Euphemia.” Carlton still did not lose his courtesy, his air of judiciousness, almost indifference. “We are not speaking of a mere admiration.”

  “Of course not!” she said sharply, then as his high face smoothed a little in surprise, she regained control of herself with an effort. Pitt, standing beside her, saw the muscles in her throat contract, the material of her dress strain as she held her breath in. He wondered if Carlton were as oblivious of her turmoil as he appeared. They seemed an ill-matched couple in more than years. Was she a young woman trapped by ambitious or impecunious parents in a marriage of convenience-their convenience? It flickered to his mind to wonder what Charlotte would have thought, even what she might have done, had it been she. He determined to meet young Brandon Balantyne as soon as possible.

  “I will discover what I can, Mr. Pitt,” Euphemia looked directly at him, meeting his eyes with a direct, golden amber glaze. “But if anyone in my house has an attachment of such a standing, I know nothing of it.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said softly. He knew what she was trying to say, that she had understood him, and that she was denying the length of her own involvement, but he could not afford to believe her, unsubstantiated. He excused himself and left with the same feeling of sadness he had felt innumerable times before when he first glimpsed the truth of a tragedy that had turned into a crime.

  Emily had no intention whatsoever of obeying Charlotte’s instructions, except insofar as she would exercise a little more caution than she had hitherto. She would no longer directly question anyone, although in truth, Sophie Bolsover had hardly required it. Instead she would cultivate friendships; and with such an end in view she again called at Callander Square, this time specifically to see Christina. She had acquired a piece of information regarding a dressmaker, which she knew would be of interest to Christina, and took the liberty of calling in the morning when she would not run into the social ritual of the afternoon.

  The door was answered by the footman Max.

  “Good morning, Lady Ashworth,” he said, showing only the slightest surprise. His dark eyes flickered down
her habit appreciatively, then up again to her face. She stared back at him coldly.

  “Good morning. Is Miss Balantyne at home?”

  “Yes, my lady. If you care to come in, I will tell her you are here.” He backed away, pulling the door wider. She followed him into the hall, and then into the morning room where there was already a fire burning.

  “Can I bring you anything, ma’am?” he asked.

  “No, thank you,” she replied, deliberately not looking at him.

  He smiled very slightly, inclined his head, and left her alone.

  She had been waiting about ten minutes and was beginning to become a little impatient when finally Christina came in. Emily turned to greet her, and was surprised to see her looking quite casual, almost disheveled. Her hair was less than perfectly done, there were dark wisps lopsidedly on her neck, and she looked unbecomingly pale.

  “My dear, have I caught you at an inconvenient time?” Emily had nearly asked if she were unwell, then realized that to suggest someone looked ill was less than flattering, and she did not wish to jeopardize Christina’s somewhat tenuous friendship so soon.

  “I confess,” Christina put her hand on the back of the chair and held it firmly, “I do not feel in the best of health this morning. Most unusual, for me.”

  “Pray sit down,” Emily went toward her, taking her hand. “I do most sincerely hope it is but a passing indisposition, a slight chill, perhaps? After all, the change in the weather can so easily cause such things.” She was doubtful in her mind as she said it. Christina was an extremely healthy girl and she showed none of the signs of a chill, no rasping in the throat, no running nose or feverishness.

  Christina slid into the chair. She looked uncommonly pale and there were the faintest of beads of perspiration on her skin.

  “Perhaps a little tisane?” Emily suggested. “I’ll call the footman.”

  Christina protested and shook her head, but Emily had already rung the bell. She stood by it, and when Max appeared she spoke over Christina’s head to him.

  “Miss Balantyne is feeling a little unwell. Will you please have cook brew her a tisane, and send it up?”

  The man’s heavy eyes looked across at Christina and Emily caught the glance. He looked away quickly and retreated to obey.

  “I am sorry to have found you so,” Emily said with the best mixture of cheerfulness and sympathy she could manage. “I only came to tell you the name of the dressmaker you were inquiring for. I managed to persuade her to consider us both, although she is in the most absolute demand. She has such skill in cutting she can make even the ugliest creatures look graceful,” she smiled at Christina’s white face. “And meticulous at finishing off, no threads or half-stitched buttons. And she is so clever at designing she can hide a few extra inches so one’s own mother would not know one had put on weight.”

  Christina blushed suddenly and deeply.

  “What on earth are you suggesting? I am not putting on weight,” she crossed her hands over her stomach.

  Emily’s mind raced.

  “You’re lucky,” she said lightly. “I fear I always do in the winter.” It was a complete fabrication. “It happens without fail,” she went on. “It must be all the hot puddings and things. And I have a dreadful weakness for chocolate sauce.”

  “If you will excuse me,” Christina climbed to her feet, still clutching her hands in front of herself. “I think I had better go upstairs. The mention of food has made me feel quite sick. I would be obliged if you would not tell Max. Drink the tisane yourself, if you wish.”

  “Oh my dear!” Emily caught hold of her. “I’m so sorry. Let me help you, you are in no condition to be by yourself. I shall assist you at least to your rooms, and your maid can wait upon you. Shall I have someone call for the doctor?”

  “No!” Christina was fierce, her eyes blazing. “I am perfectly well. It is nothing of any import. Perhaps something I have eaten does not entirely agree with me. Pray do not mention the matter. I would take it as a true sign of your friendship if you were to treat the whole incident in complete confidence,” she put out a cold little hand and grabbed Emily hard.

  “Of course,” Emily reassured her. “I shall not mention it. One does not wish one’s indispositions discussed about the place. The matter is quite private.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now you must come upstairs,” Emily guided her across the hall and up the wide staircase till they met her lady’s maid on the upstairs landing, who took charge of Christina.

  Emily had come down again and reached as far as the hall when she was nearly brushed aside by a tall man, broad-shouldered and wide-chested, who swept by her.

  “Perkins!” he shouted angrily. “Perkins, damn it!”

  Emily stood stock still.

  He swung round and saw her. He opened his mouth as if to shout again, then realized she was not the errant Perkins. His face was striking, with a great deal of bone. Now he colored faintly at having made an exhibition of himself. He raised his head still higher.

  “Good morning, ma’am. May I be of some assistance? For whom were you looking?”

  “General Balantyne?” she asked with magnificent composure.

  “At your service,” he said stiffly, his temper barely beneath the surface.

  Emily smiled with devastating charm.

  “Emily Ashworth,” she extended her hand. “I came to see Miss Balantyne, but she is a trifle indisposed this morning, so I shall take my leave. Have you lost a butler? I believe I saw him depart in that direction,” she pointed vaguely behind her. It was an invention, but she wished to appear helpful, and if possible even to engage him in some slight conversation.

  “No. Housemaid. Damn woman always moving my papers. Actually I can’t remember if her name is Perkins or not, but Augusta always calls downstairs housemaids Perkins, whatever they call themselves.”

  “Papers?” The beginning of an utterly brilliant idea was forming in Emily’s mind. “Are you engaged upon writing something?”

  “A family history, ma’am. The Balantynes have fought in all the great battles of the nation from the last two hundred years or so.”

  Emily breathed out, trying with all her considerable acting skill to invest her bearing with interest. Actually warfare bored her to tears; but she must make some intelligent remark.

  “How very important,” she replied. “The history of our men of war is the history of our race.” She was proud of that, it was an excellent observation.

  He looked at her narrowly.

  “You are the first woman I have met to consider it so.”

  “From my sister,” she said quickly. “My sister has always had an interest in such things. I learned from her of its great importance. One does not realize-but I keep you from your work. If I cannot help, I must at least not hinder. You should have someone to assist you, keep your papers in order, someone who understands such things to dust and care for your study, and perhaps take notes, should you not? Or maybe you have?”

  “If I had, ma’am, I should not now be searching for some housemaid to see what she has done with them!”

  “Do you think such a person might be of service to you?” She put her utmost effort into appearing quite casual.

  “To find a woman who had any sense of military history would not only be extremely fortunate, ma’am, but even more would it be unlikely.”

  “My sister is most competent, sir,” she assured him, “and as I have said, has a longstanding interest in things of a military nature. My father, naturally, did not approve, so she has not been able to indulge it as her nature inclined. However, I am sure there would be no disapproval if she were to spend a little time being of assistance to someone such as yourself.” Of course she had no intention of telling him Charlotte was married to a policeman.

  He stared at her. A lesser woman than Emily might well have quailed before him.

  “Indeed. Well, if it meets with your father’s approval, I daresay it might prove of assis
tance to me. I pray you, raise the matter to him, and see if she is agreeable. If she is, she may call upon me, and we shall arrange some terms satisfactory to us both. I am obliged to you-Miss-” he had forgotten her name.

  “Ashworth,” Emily smiled again. “Lady Ashworth.”

  “Lady Ashworth,” he bowed very slightly. “Good day to you, ma’am.”

  Emily dropped a tiny curtsey and hurried out in an ecstasy of delight.

  She climbed straight into the carriage and commanded the driver to take her post haste to Charlotte’s house. It mattered not a pin what time of the morning it was; she must deliver herself of her plans, and fully instruct Charlotte in her future part in them.

  She had totally forgotten Charlotte’s warning to her, and her promise.

  “I have been to Callander Square this morning!” she said the instant Charlotte opened the door. She swept past her and into the parlor, swinging round to face her sister. “I have learned the most incredible things! For a start, Christina Balantyne is indisposed, nausea at this time in the morning! And she nearly bit my head off when I suggested she might put on weight. She begged me to say nothing of it to anyone! Implored me! What do you think of it, Charlotte? True or not, whatever the fact, I can see well enough what it is she fears! It can be only one thing. And she would not permit me to call a doctor.”

  Charlotte was pale. She stood just inside the door, her eyes wide.

  “Emily, you promised!”

  Emily had no idea what she meant.

  “You promised!” Charlotte said fiercely. “What do you imagine the Balantynes will do if they discover you know such a thing? From what you said of Lady Augusta, she will hardly sit by and allow you to ruin Christina! Have you no sense at all? I shall tell George myself, and perhaps he will be able to prevent you from being so idiotic!”

  Emily waved her aside.

  “Oh for goodness’ sake, Charlotte; do you imagine I don’t know how to conduct myself socially? I have climbed far higher than you ever will. Mostly, of course, because you won’t exert yourself. But do you imagine that because you won’t keep your opinions to yourself that I cannot, if I wish? I can lie so that Mr. Pitt would not know it, and certainly not Augusta Balantyne. I have no intention of ruining either myself, or George.