Callander Square Read online

  He gave up. He was about to try another tack, to wit, bribery, when the footman opened the door and announced Inspector Pitt.

  Reggie swore under his breath. He had not yet considered his defense. Chastity snuggled still farther into the recesses of the chair. He looked at her.

  “You may go, Chastity. We will discuss the matter another time.”

  “But that’s the policeman with the untidy hair, Uncle Reggie and I like him.”

  “What?” he was startled.

  “I like him. Mayn’t I stay and talk to him? I might be able to tell him something!”

  “No, you may not. There is absolutely nothing you could possibly know that would be of any use to him. Now go upstairs and have your tea. It must be tea time. It’s getting dark.”

  She climbed out of the chair reluctantly and meandered to the door where Pitt was standing holding it open for her. She stopped, craning her head to look up at him.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Southeron,” he said solemnly.

  She dropped a small curtsey and the corner of her mouth flickered reluctantly into a smile.

  “Good afternoon, sir.”

  She seemed disposed to linger and Reggie spoke to her sharply. With a look of hurt dignity she swept out, which was an accomplishment, since she was wearing a short skirt and pinafore. Pitt closed the door.

  “I apologize,” Reggie said affably. “The child is a menace.” He looked at Pitt’s face and his quaint, rather untidy attire. He made an instant decision to assume an air of frankness, and try to enlist the man as an ally, or at least a confidant. “Children so easily misunderstand,” he went on with a smile. “As indeed do a lot of people. Still, I expect as a man of experience, you’ve seen a lot of life, and you know truth from error when you see it. Have a glass of brandy?” Pity to use the best brandy on a policeman who probably would not know it from the stuff they sold at alehouses. But it might be a good investment in the long event.

  Pitt hesitated, made a rapid decision, and accepted.

  “Sit down,” Reggie offered expansively. “Wretched business. Don’t envy you. Must be damned hard to sift the truth from all the inventions.”

  Pitt smiled slowly, taking the brandy from him.

  ”Maids bound to spin a few stories,” Reggie continued. “Natural thing. Read too many penny novels, too much imagination. Never realize the damage it can do.”

  Pitt raised his eyebrows inquiringly and sipped at the brandy.

  Reggie decided to press home the point while the fellow seemed so agreeable. Better to set him straight in advance of any gossip he might hear belowstairs, where he would undoubtedly go in time.

  “Easy to understand,” he elaborated in an attempt at jocularity without obvious condescension. “Poor creatures haven’t a lot of excitement, I suppose. A man of intelligence would be bored to death. Bound to embroider the truth a little, eh?”

  “Could be mischievous,” Pitt agreed, his clear eyes smiling back at Reggie.

  Nice fellow, Reggie thought. Should not be too difficult to steer him into dismissing any unpleasant tales he might hear.

  “Quite,” he agreed. “I can see that you understand. Must have run into it before, I daresay. Had this kind of thing happened often?”

  Pitt took another sip of his brandy.

  “Not quite like this. Not in a square of this—quality.”

  “No—no, I suppose not. Thank goodness, eh? Still, I expect you’ve run across servant girls who’ve got themselves into trouble before now, eh, what?” he laughed.

  Pitt looked blandly back at him; for a man with so remarkably expressive a face, he now conveyed almost nothing.

  “All sorts of people with problems,” he agreed.

  “Ah, but you know what sort of trouble I mean.” Reggie wondered for an instant if the man were foolish. Perhaps he had better be more explicit. “Babies must be some servant girl’s who got herself with child and the fellow wouldn’t marry her; or perhaps she didn’t even know who he was, eh?”

  Pitt opened his eyes a little wider.

  “Any girls of that sort of character in your establishment, sir?”

  “Good God, no!” Reggie stiffened indignantly, then realized with a flash of anger that he had just defeated his own purpose. “I mean, not that I know of, of course. But it only takes one mistake! Perhaps a girl who entertains romantic notions, thinks to better herself, or—oh, well!” he broke off, not quite sure what to suggest next.

  “You think that such a girl might—” Pitt chose just the right phrase “—put her daydreams into words, and inadvertently cause mischief?”

  “Quite!” Reggie pounced on it. At last the fellow seemed to have grasped the point. “Exactly! You take my meaning to a nicety. Could be embarrassing, don’t you see?”

  “Oh very,” Pitt agreed. “Very difficult to disprove, too,” he smiled guilelessly and Reggie felt sharply uncomfortable. There was a very ugly truth in it.

  “There must be laws against that sort of—irresponsibility!” he said hotly. “A decent person must be able to protect himself!”

  “Oh, there are,” Pitt affirmed smoothly. “Slander, and all that. Always take it to court.”

  “Court! Don’t be preposterous, man! Whoever heard of a man taking his servant girl to court because she said he slept with her! You’d be the laughingstock of society!”

  “Probably because in many cases it would be true,” Pitt looked at the bronze-colored brandy in his glass. “And no one would believe you were one of the innocent: nor, I suppose, would they greatly care.”

  Reggie felt the sweat break out on his body and turn cold.

  “There must be a law, a way, something to prevent it! It’s monstrous! You can’t ruin a man just like that!” he snapped his fingers furiously and the soft flesh refused to click. “Damn!” he swore in frustration.

  “I agree,” Pitt swallowed the last of his brandy and set the glass down. “One must be very careful indeed when one uses another’s good name. The damage done can be incalculable, and there can be financial redress, but there is no undoing it.”

  Reggie gathered control of himself, at least on the surface.

  “I shall certainly dismiss without reference or character any servant I find speaking loosely or spreading malicious gossip,” he said with absolute decision.

  “Without a character,” Pitt repeated, and there was a bitterness in his face Reggie was at a loss to understand. Peculiar fellow. Bit unreliable.

  “Certainly,” Reggie agreed. “Man or woman who behaves like that is a menace, not fit to employ. Still, suppose you know that. Must have run into slander before, eh? After all, it is a crime, and crime is your livelihood, what?”

  Pitt did not argue. Instead he asked permission to speak to the servants again, and when it was granted, took his leave. It did not occur to Reggie until the evening, long after Pitt had gone, to wonder what Pitt had wanted to see him for in the first place. Perhaps the blighter just saw the brandy and the fire and fancied a few minutes’ relaxation. The working classes were often the same, give them a chance to idle and they’d take it with both hands. Still, couldn’t blame them entirely. Their life was gray enough. He would have done the same.

  After dinner the thought bothered him still more. What had the wretched fellow come about? Was it possible he had already heard some gossip? Got to kill this thing before it got underway. That sort of accusation, in the wrong quarters, could make him look ridiculous, a figure of jest. To take a toss with one’s parlormaid was perfectly accepted, probably half of London did it; but to have it a subject of talk was quite another thing. Discretion and good taste were the cornerstones of a gentleman’s conduct. There were certain functions which everyone knew about and no one discussed. Relieving one’s appetites with the servants was one of them. To do so was normal, part of the natural man: to be supposed to do so was not worthy of comment; but to be known to do so from other sources than one’s own innuendos was to be a figure of ribaldry and contempt. It
was worse than that, it was bad taste.

  Better nip this thing in the bud. It was a pleasant enough evening, for late November. He decided to walk across the corner of the square and see Freddie Bolsover. Good fellow, Freddie; man of sense. Still, suppose doctors usually were; knew the facts of things, the inner man, no dressing it up, what?

  He found Freddie sitting in his withdrawing room listening to Sophie play the piano. He stood up quickly, smiling when Reggie came in. He was a tall, slender young man with fair face, good features in a well-bred way. He complemented Sophie nicely.

  “Reggie, nice to see you. Nothing wrong, I hope. You look well enough.”

  “Oh fine, fine,” Reggie grasped his hand for a moment, then let it go. “Evening, Sophie, my dear,” he kissed her high up the arm, squeezing it a little. Handsome piece, in her own way, nice hair, better than Adelina’s, although her body was a bit bony round the shoulders, not enough bosom for Reggie’s taste. “How about you?” he added as an afterthought.

  “Oh, very well,” Sophie answered and Freddie nodded agreement.

  “Got a bit of a problem in another area, old fellow.” Reggie glanced very slightly at Sophie to indicate it was a masculine affair and she should be politely dismissed.

  Freddie obliged, and Sophie took herself off on some made-up errand.

  Freddie sat down again, extending his feet toward the fire. It was a beautiful room; and Reggie happened to know, because Adelina had told him, that all the furniture and draperies were new, and of the latest fashion. He accepted the port Freddie offered him. That was jolly good too, damned old.

  “Well?” Freddie inquired.

  Reggie frowned, trying to frame his thoughts without betraying himself too far. Freddie was a good chap, but no point in telling him anything he did not need to know.

  “Had that police fellow nosing around again?” he asked, looking up.

  Freddie’s fair eyebrows rose in surprise.

  “Don’t really know. Suppose he’s bound to question the servants, and so forth. Haven’t seen him myself, but then there’s nothing I could tell him anyway. Don’t follow the romantic affairs of the servants’ hall!” he smiled.

  “Course not,” Reggie agreed. “No one does. But has it occurred to you the damage they could cause by a bit of mischievous gossip in the wrong place? I’ve spoken to this police chap. Civil enough, but not a gentleman, of course. Bound to have working class ideas. Wouldn’t have servants in his own house, beyond a woman for the heavy stuff—” he stopped, not sure if Freddie was following him.

  “Damage?” Freddie looked puzzled. “You mean if they said something stupid to this fellow, lied, and so forth?”

  “That,” Reggie agreed, “or—oh come on, Freddie! Most of us have pinched a few bottoms now and then, kissed a good-looking maid, spot of fun, what?”

  Recollection flashed in Freddie’s face.

  “Oh, of course. You’re worried about Dolly? That was her name, wasn’t it?”

  Reggie felt acutely uncomfortable. He had hoped Freddie might have forgotten that. Dolly was dead and the whole thing was in the past now. Of course it had been very sad. The poor girl should never have gone to a back-street abortionist. He would have provided for her, found her some place in the country where no one would have known her; a long way from Callander Square, naturally. There was no call for her to have panicked in that way. It could hardly be said to be his fault! Still, he could have wished Freddie had forgotten it. He had had to call Freddie at the time. The girl had died in Reggie’s house, and there was no time to call a regular doctor; Freddie had been nearest. Freddie had been alone with her for a while before she died. He had no idea what she might have babbled to him then. Please heaven he had not believed any of it.

  “Yes,” he said, recalling himself. Freddie was still waiting for his reply. “Yes, Dolly. But that couldn’t have anything to do with this. It was over years ago, poor girl. She’s been dead four years by now. But you know servants, they romanticize. If that fellow gets to question them some silly girl could be indiscreet. Might say I had a fancy for her. Police could read more into it than there was.”

  “Oh quite,” Freddie agreed. “Can’t expect chaps like that to understand.”

  “Wouldn’t do any of us any good,” Reggie went on. “Scandal, and so on. Give the square a bad name: we’d all suffer. Rubs off. Mud sticks, you know?”

  “Oh quite,” Freddie’s face clouded as he realized precisely what Reggie meant, and the disadvantages to all of them. “Yes.”

  Reggie wondered whether Freddie had thought of the harm to his burgeoning professional career, which depended so much on a reputation for uprightness and discretion. Would it be necessary to put it in words for him? He prodded delicately.

  “Trouble is, everybody that matters knows everybody else. Damn women, spend all afternoon talking—”

  “Yes,” Freddie’s pleasant face screwed up. “Yes. Better to prevent it happening in the first place. Little care, save a lot of talk and they’ll be without a position. Perhaps it would be a good idea to prime the butler, and see that he is with any female servant questioned by this Pitt fellow in the future.”

  Relief flooded through Reggie.

  “What a damned good idea, Freddie old chap. That’s the answer. I’ll have a word with Dobson, see that none of the women is—” he smiled a little, “harassed, what? Thanks Freddie, you’re a decent fellow.”

  “Not at all,” Freddie smiled up at him from the back of his chair. “Have some more port?”

  Reggie settled down and filled his glass.

  The following evening he thought it would be a good idea to further consolidate the position by having a discreet word with Garson Campbell as well. After all, Campbell was a man of the world, man of affairs, knew how to conduct things. It was a bitter night, sleeting hard, and several times he looked out of the window at the turbulent darkness, the wet, thrashing leaves, and pavement glistening in the gaslight, then back at the fire and thought that tomorrow would do well enough. Then he remembered that tomorrow that wretched policeman might come sneaking round the servants’ halls again, and goodness knows what could be said, and too late to do anything about it by then.

  With a last reluctant look at the comfort of his chair, he drank two fingers of brandy, collected his coat from the footman, and set out. It was less than two hundred yards, but by the time he reached the shelter of Campbell’s doorway he was already shivering, perhaps more from the expectation in his mind of cold than from the actuality.

  The Campbells’ footman opened the door and Reggie stepped in smartly, easing his coat off his shoulders almost before the man could get to it to take it from him.

  “Mr. Campbell in?” Reggie asked.

  “I’ll inquire, sir.” It was a stock answer. Of course the man would know whether Campbell was in or out, it was whether he wished to see Reggie that he had to discover. He was shown into the morning room where there were still the embers of a fire, and he stood with his back to it, warming his legs, until the footman returned and told him Campbell would see him.

  He was received in the main withdrawing room. Campbell was standing by a blaze that burned halfway up the chimney; he was a heavy-chested man with rather a long nose, not ill-looking, but yet certainly not handsome. Such charm as he had lay in a dignity of bearing and a fastidiousness both of manner and of person.

  “Evening, Reggie,” he said cordially. “Must be urgent to get you away from your fireside on a night like this. What is it, run out of port?”

  “Sack a butler who’d let me do that,” Reggie replied, joining him over by the fire. “Filthy night. Hate winter in London, ’cept it’s a damn sight worse in the country. Civilized men should go to France, or somewhere. ’Cept the French are a lot of barbarians, what? Don’t know how to behave. Paris the weather’s as bad as here, and the south there’s nothing to do!”

  “Ever thought of hibernating?” Campbell raised his eyebrows sardonically.

  Reg
gie wondered vaguely if he were being laughed at; but it did not worry him. Campbell had a habit of jeering slightly at most things. It was part of his manner. Who knew why? People cultivated manners for a variety of reasons, and Reggie was hard to offend.

  “Frequently,” he said with a smile. “Unfortunately things tend to need prodding and probing every so often, y’know. Like this wretched business of the bodies in the square; filthy mess.”

  “Quite,” Campbell agreed. “But hardly our concern. Nothing we can do about it, except be more careful about servants in the future. Always give the girl some sort of help, I suppose, if it turns out the child was born dead. Find her a place in the country, where no one would know about it. That what you want? I’ve loads of relatives who could be prevailed upon.”

  “Not quite,” Reggie sidled closer to the fire. Why on earth couldn’t the miserable fellow offer him a drink? He glanced at Campbell’s wry face, and found the blue eyes on him. Damn fellow knew he wanted a drink, and was deliberately not offering one. Nasty sense of humor, the honorable Garson Campbell.

  “Oh?” Campbell was waiting.

  “Bit anxious about the police,” Reggie avoided his stare and assumed an attitude of concentration, as if he knew something Campbell did not. “Nosing around the servants’ halls, you know. Don’t know quite how responsible these police are. Ordinary sort of chap, working class, naturally. Could start a lot of silly gossip, without realizing the harm it could do. Freddie agrees with me.”

  Campbell turned his head to look at him more closely.

  “Freddie?”

  “Saw him yesterday,” Reggie said casually. “Pointed out what a nuisance it could be, for all of us, if the square got the reputation for loose behavior, immoral servants, general bad taste, and so on. Not good, you know. Don’t want to be the butt of a lot of gossip, even if it’s all supposition.”

  Campbell’s mouth turned down at the corners.

  “Take your point,” he said with a slight rasp. “Could be difficult. Even if people don’t believe it, they’ll pass it on. Find ourselves snubbed in clubs, laughed at.” His face darkened fiercely. “Bloody damned nuisance! Some idiotic girl who—” his anger died out as suddenly. “Way of the world. Poor little bitch. Still, what did you come to me about, except to commiserate?”