Callander Square

THREE

It was three days before Emily could visit Charlotte and report to her on the Friday afternoon party and deliver her astounding news. The weekend was quite out of the question, not only because George had arranged for them several engagements: a day at the races on Saturday, and then dinner with friends, and on Sunday a society wedding in the midafternoon and the inevitable celebration afterward; but also, of course, because Pitt would be at home. Having reached the rank of inspector, he was not required to work at such times unless he were pursuing a most urgent case. The deaths of two babies, probably illegitimate and some servant girl’s, would not fall in that category.

Emily was in no way ashamed of what she was doing, but she preferred that Pitt should remain unaware of it, at least for the time being.

However, by Monday morning she could contain herself no longer, and took the unprecedented step of calling for her carriage at ten o’clock and having herself driven directly to Charlotte’s house.

Charlotte was both incredulous and amused. She opened the door herself, in a plain stuff dress and apron.

“Emily! What in goodness’ name are you doing here?” There was no need to ask if some disaster had brought her, her face was glowing with excitement; indeed Charlotte could not remember having seen such a look of satisfaction on her face since Emily had announced that she was going to marry George Ashworth: not that he had known it at the time, of course.

“I have the most devastating news!” Emily said, almost willing Charlotte out of the way so she could enter. “You will hardly believe it when I tell you.”

Charlotte summed up the nature of her news immediately.

“Detecting agrees with you more than I expected,” she said with wide eyes. “Perhaps you should have married Thomas, not I!”

Emily stared at her with withering reluctance, and then dismay. It was quite a moment or two before she realized Charlotte was teasing her.

“Why, Charlotte-you-” she could think of no word that both described her feelings, and was fit for the tongue of the lady she felt herself to be.

Charlotte laughed.

“Come in, tell me what you have detected, before you burst!”

Emily had intended to drop her clues one by one, to extend the story to its utmost tension, but she could not bear it herself.

“Euphemia Carlton is having an affair!” she said proudly. She waited for Charlotte’s amazement.

Charlotte gratified her, widening her eyes and letting the duster fall from her hand.

“There!” Emily shone with satisfaction. “Pitt hasn’t found that out, has he? The affair is with Brandy Balantyne, and that isn’t all!” She hesitated, for effect.

Charlotte sat down.

“Well?” she inquired.

Emily sat beside her.

“She is expecting! The third month!”

Charlotte was genuinely impressed, and she was perfectly sure Pitt did not know any of this, whether it was actually relevant or not.

“How do you know?” she asked. It seemed the oddest information to have come by on so short an acquaintance.

“Sophie Bolsover told me. She is a silly, harmless creature, and does not seem to have the least notion of its meaning.”

“Or else she knows it has no meaning,” Charlotte did not wish to burst the bubble of Emily’s excitement, but the truth always came to her mouth as soon as it occurred to her mind, and she had not yet managed much skill in controlling it. Besides, it was kinder in this instance not to let the supposition grow without examination.

“How could she possibly know such a thing?” Emily demanded. “If Euphemia is having an affair with Brandy Balantyne, the child will be his! And another thing I haven’t told you-I saw Sir Robert Carlton. He is quite old. Very grand and distinguished, but fearfully grim looking. And his hair is fair and his eyes quite light. Brandy is very dark; his hair is black and his eyes hazel, dark-colored.”

Charlotte remained unimpressed.

“Euphemia is fair!” Emily exploded with exasperation. “Her hair is very handsome, red gold! If the child’s hair is black, there will be the most fearful scandal! No wonder she is frightened.” She blinked. “Thank goodness George is dark and I am fair. Whatever my child should be like, it will raise no comment,” she said quite casually, merely a thought in passing. Emily was practical, above all things.

Charlotte accepted it as such.

“That really is very important,” she said seriously. “About Euphemia and Brandy Balantyne, I mean.”

Emily beamed with satisfaction. She was more pragmatic and more assured than Charlotte, and yet there was something in Charlotte, perhaps an inner certainty of her own beliefs, that made Charlotte’s praise peculiarly valuable to her.

“Shall you tell Mr. Pitt?” she asked.

“I think I must! Is there any reason why I should not?”

“No, of course not. Why else should I tell you? My dear, you know better than to imagine I should trust you with a secret!”

Charlotte was hurt, and it showed in her face.

“Not that you would tell it,” Emily said quickly. “But you would never lie, not successfully. You would betray that you knew something, by your very discomfort, and then have to swear silence. The whole thing would be awful, and grow to be far more important than the secret itself.”

Charlotte stared at her.

“I lie very well,” Emily added. “I think that makes for a good detective, especially if you are not of the police, and therefore cannot be direct in your interest. As soon as I discover something further, I shall tell you.”

Charlotte thought for a moment or two, and then spoke carefully.

“Perhaps you had better see if you can find out how long this affair has been going on. But Emily-please be careful! Do not be carried away with your successes. If they discover what you are doing, you may become very disliked.” She took a deep breath. “More than disliked. As you say, there would be a dreadful scandal. Sir Robert is in the government. If Euphemia was prepared at best to bury her own dead children without Christian rites, or, at worst, actually to kill them herself to protect her reputation, she will not easily let you expose her now!”

Emily had not considered any personal danger before, indeed it had never entered her head that any part of the business would affect her at all. Now she was suddenly cold. The story had suddenly become reality.

Charlotte saw her face pale, her hands clench involuntarily. She smiled and put her fingers over Emily’s.

“Just be careful,” she warned. “Detection is not just an exercise of the mind, you know. People are real, and love and hate are dangerous.”

When Pitt returned in the evening Charlotte met him almost at the door. Emily’s news had been simmering inside her all day, and with the sound of Pitt’s step on the pavement, it had finally come to the boil. She caught hold of his lapels and kissed him quickly.

“Emily came this morning!” she said the instant she let go. “She has discovered something tremendous. Come in and I shall tell you.” It was almost an order, and she freed herself from his grasp and swept into the parlor, standing in the middle to watch his expression as she delivered the broadside.

He came in, his extraordinary face crumpled a little in apprehension.

“Emily has found out that Euphemia Carlton is having an affair with young Brandon Balantyne!” she said dramatically. “And that she is expecting a child!”

If she had wished to shock him, she was fully satisfied. His face went blank as he absorbed the information; then clouded a little with doubt.

“Are you sure she is not-” his eyebrows arched. “-indulging in gossip, a bit of scandalizing?”

“Of course she is indulging in gossip!” she said exasperatedly. “How else does one get information? It is for you to determine if it is true. That is why she came to me, so that I could tell you. It shouldn’t be difficult-” she stopped, as he was laughing at her. “What amuses you?” she demanded.

“You do, my dear. Where did Emily come by this invaluable piece of-gossip?” He moved over to the fire and sat down.

She followed him and knelt on the floor in front of him, commanding his attention.

“From Sophie Bolsover, who seemed to be quite unaware of its importance. And that is not all. Apparently Sir Robert is much older than Euphemia, and very grand and grim. And he has fair hair.”

“Fair hair?” Pitt repeated, looking at her; but his eyes were sharper now. Her heart bumped with excitement. She knew she had woken his interest.

“Yes!”

“I take it Brandon Balantyne is dark?”

“Very. You see?”

“Of course I see. Euphemia has the most beautiful red-gold hair and very fair skin. You would not know, but naturally, Emily will have told you!”

She smiled in great satisfaction.

He touched her cheek gently with his fingers, finding a loose strand of her hair; but his face was unusually stern.

“Charlotte, you must warn Emily to be careful. People in society care very much about their reputations; they matter to them more than we can understand. They may take it very ill if Emily meddles-”

“I know,” she assured him quickly, “I told her. But she will try to learn how long the affair has been going on, if it was already begun when the babies died.”

“No. Leave it for me to do. You must call on her tomorrow. Warn her again.” His hand fell and he gripped her shoulder as she stiffened with quick apprehension. “They are not likely to think her anything more than a nosy woman,” he went on, “with nothing better to amuse herself than gossip, but if Robert Carlton is powerful-”

“Sir Robert?” she was surprised, for a moment uncomprehending.

“Of course Robert, my dear. If he has been thrice cuckolded, he will not want the world to know of it! To be the subject of scandal is one thing, to be laughed at, quite another. Emily would tell you that!”

“I never thought of it.” Suddenly she was really unhappy. She could see Emily’s newfound glory eclipsed in a single, sweeping move. How idiotic they had been, playing at detectives. “I’ll call on her tomorrow morning. If she doesn’t listen to me, I shall tell George. He will make her.”

He gave her a small smile which she could not read.

“But the information is useful?” she pressed, harking back to her triumph.

“Oh extremely!” He was genuine in his appreciation. “It is even possible it will lead to the answer. The problem now is how shall I discover the duration of this affair, and if she has given birth to any other children?” He scowled in thought, growing fiercer as the answer receded.

“That’s easy,” Charlotte stood up, as her feet were getting pins and needles. “Speak to her lady’s maid-”

“Lady’s maids are extremely loyal,” he answered, “as well as needing to keep their employment! She is not likely to tell me her mistress is having an affair and has had two babies who have since disappeared!”

She turned at the table, wriggling her foot to wake it up.

“Of course not!” she agreed with disdain. “Not on purpose! Find out what size dress she takes, if she has lately increased her size, and if she did so two years ago and six months ago. Find out if the seams have been let out on her bodices. If I could look at them, I should soon tell you!”

Pitt smiled broadly.

“Is that not detection?” she demanded hotly. “And discover if she has visited the country.” She frowned. “Although since the bodies were buried in Callander Square, that is not likely.” Her face brightened again. “Discover if she has been ill, feeling squeamish or faint. Then if she has a good or bad appetite. If she has overeaten and put on weight, you are answered! Especially if she has had fancies for certain foods she does not normally care for. Look to the clothes yourself, and don’t ask the lady’s maid about the appetite and the fainting, or she will know well enough what you are thinking. Ask the kitchen maid about the food, and a parlormaid or someone about her health.”

He was still smiling.

She looked at him, then began to doubt herself. The advice had seemed excellent to her as she gave it.

“Is that not the right way?” she blinked.

“Most professional,” he agreed. “It makes me wonder how we have managed to solve crimes at all without women on the force.”

“I think you are laughing at me!”

“Most certainly. But I still think the advice is excellent, and I shall take it.”

“Oh good,” she relaxed and gave him a dazzling smile. “I should like to think I was helping.”

He burst out in spontaneous laughter.

The following morning Charlotte did as she had been bidden, and called upon Emily. She warned her very solemnly about the vengeance she might bring upon herself, and even upon George, if she stirred up gossip, however unwittingly, about Euphemia Carlton.

Emily heard her out with a calm, obedient expression, and duly swore to abandon the matter, and do no more than pursue her normal social round. Charlotte thanked her, and left with an unreasonable feeling that she had somehow failed. For one thing, it had been far too easy. She had seen no fear in Emily’s eyes to account for such sudden capitulation, but she could hardly ask for more than one promise to the same effect. She went home and gave the parlor a furious spring cleaning, although it was the first week in November, and beginning to rain.

Pitt returned to Callander Square, and at quarter past ten knocked on the Carltons’ door and asked if he might speak to the servants again. He was shown into the housekeeper’s sitting room, and the parlormaid was sent for.

“Come in.” Pitt sat down in one of the great chairs, so as not to tower over the girl. “Sit down. I hope this business has not distressed you too much.”

She looked at him with some awe.

“No, thank you, sir.” Then she thought better of it. “Well, I mean, yes, it is dreadful, isn’t it? I’m sure I don’t know who it can be!”

“And your mistress? I imagine it may have upset her also?”

“Not more than what pity you’d expect,” she replied. “Very well, she is. I never seen her look so well.”

“Not upset her appetite? Does, with some people, you know; ladies of a delicate disposition.”

“Lady Carlton ain’t delicate, sir, fit as an ’orse, she is, if you’ll pardon the h’expression. None of your fainting and vapors for her-at least-”

He raised his eyebrows in interested sympathy.

“Well, she did come over a bit queer a couple of times, but I reckon that’s her condition, if you take me. O Lor’,” she put her fingers to her mouth and stared at him with round eyes. “You got that out o’ me!”

“No, no,” he said gently. “Besides, I am concerned with the past, not the future.” He hid his annoyance. Now it would not be possible to get any further information from the girl without her immediately knowing what he was seeking. Better speak to the others straight away, before she spread the alarm, even inadvertently.

He went upstairs to see the lady’s maid, past the objections of the bristling housekeeper, because he wished to see the dresses himself; although he had, as yet, no idea what excuse he might use for his interest.

He found the lady’s maid brushing a riding habit and sponging the skirt where the autumn mud had splashed it. She dropped it in some alarm when she saw him.

“Don’t disturb yourself, ma’am” he said as he walked over and picked it up, feeling it between his fingers appreciatively, not yet passing it back to her. “An excellent piece of stuff.” He flipped it over so that the waist was in his grasp. “And well-tailored, too.” He felt quickly at the seams. Nothing. He glanced at the waistband where Charlotte had told him to look. He found it immediately, an extension to the band, a piece let in. He gave it back to the maid, quite casually, smiling at her. “I like to see a well-dressed lady. Gives everyone pleasure.”

“Oh, this is last year’s,” she said quickly. “Quite old, in fact. Lady Euphemia has far better than this!”

“Indeed? I should like to see better than this,” he let a note of polite disbelief fall into his voice. “It’s a very fine cloth.”

She went over to an enormous wardrobe and threw it open. There was a gleam of light on the purples and fuschias and lambent greens of silk.

“How very beautiful,” he said quite genuinely. He went over and touched the soft, shining stuff with his fingers, for a moment forgetting his purpose. There was an amber gown, almost corn gold where the light fell on it, and deep fire russet in the shadows. It must have looked magnificent on Euphemia Carlton, but he saw it on Charlotte. He felt a sharp stab of pain because he could not buy such things for her. He forgot the maid, and Callander Square, and his mind whirled wildly for some idea, some other occupation where he might be able to earn that sort of money.

“Lovely things, aren’t they?” There was a note of wistfulness in the woman’s voice too. He was jerked back to reality. He looked at her pinched figure in its dark stuff dress and white apron.

“Yes,” he agreed, “yes, very.” Rapidly he searched for the waist seams, the sides where letting out would be done. “I expect they take a lot of looking after.” He found nothing yet. “You must be very skilled with a needle.”

She smiled at the compliment.

“Not many men as thinks of that. Yes, I does a lot of work, but she looks a rare sight when I send ’er out of ’ere, if I say that as shouldn’t. I’ve never sent ’er out less than perfect.”

Pitt seized his chance and looked openly at the minute stitching. The waist had definitely been let out, a couple of inches or more.

“You’re quite an artist,” he said, and meant at least part of it. What must it be like for a woman to put all her labor and her love into making another woman beautiful? Then to sit at home and watch her leave for parties and balls, to dance all night and be admired while she stayed upstairs, waiting to receive the clothes back again, press them, mend them for the next time?

“You have every right to be proud,” he said. He let the silk fall and closed the wardrobe doors.

She blushed with pleasure.

“Thank you, I’m sure,” she stammered.

He must ask her something, lest she think afterward and become suspicious. His mind searched for some likely question.

“Does your mistress ever give away any of her old clothes, to deserving servant girls, or the like?” He knew the answer-no mistress wishes to see a servant wearing the style and quality of garment she herself wore, no matter how old, or how deserving the girl.

“Oh no, sir! Lady Euphemia sends them all to the country, to some cousin or other, who don’t know what’s fashionable and what’s not, and very glad of them she is.”

“I see. Thank you,” he smiled reassuringly at her and took his departure to the kitchen.

Neither the cook nor the kitchen maids yielded anything conclusive, but it seemed Euphemia had indulged in sudden bouts of eating every so often, put on weight, and then dieted again. They attributed it to a healthy appetite, a love of sweet things, and then a re-emergence of vanity and the dictates of fashion. There was nothing to prove them either right or wrong. He thanked them and left the house, filling in time through the afternoon until he could call on Sir Robert Carlton and Lady Euphemia herself, and expect to find them at home.

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 assistance 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.

“Now please pay attention to what I have been telling you about Christina! I have no idea who the man may be; but while I was there an opportunity arose, and I had the most brilliant idea. Naturally I seized upon it immediately. General Balantyne is writing a military history of his family, of which he seems to be extraordinarily proud. He needs some help to keep himself organized, take notes, and so forth.” She stopped for a moment to draw breath, her eyes on Charlotte. For the first time she actually considered the possibility that Charlotte might refuse.

“Well?” Charlotte said with a slight frown. “I cannot see what General Balantyne’s military memoirs have to do with Christina’s fears.”

“Why, they are the perfect answer!” Emily banged her hand on her skirt in frustration at Charlotte’s obtuseness. “I have volunteered that you will go and help him with his papers! You are the ideal person. You even like military matters-you can remember who fought whom, in which battles, while most of us cannot even recall why, and certainly don’t care. You must go and-”

Charlotte’s face had fallen in incredulity.

“Emily, you must have lost your senses! I cannot possibly go and-and work for General Balantyne! It would be preposterous!” But even as she was saying it, her voice was slowing down, the outrage slipping out of it. Emily knew that in spite of her words, she had not at all dismissed the idea, in fact she was, in framing its very ridiculousness to herself, turning over in her mind the faint possibility of accepting it.

“Thomas would never permit it,” Charlotte said carefully.

“Why not?”

“It would be-unseemly.”

“Why? You do not need to take any payment for it, if it is beneath his dignity for you to do so. All he needs to know is that you are helping a friend, and at the same time pursuing your own interest. And who knows what you may discover? You will actually be in the house, day by day!”

Charlotte opened her mouth to protest again, but her eyes were looking beyond Emily, into the distance of her imagination, and there was a deep light in them. Emily knew she had won, and there was no time for decorating the victory.

“I shall call for you tomorrow morning at half past nine. Wear your best dark dress, that wine one, it is new enough, and the color becomes you-”

“I am not going in order to engage his attentions, Emily!” Charlotte made a last, automatic protest.

“Don’t be obtuse, Charlotte. Every woman, if she succeeds at anything, does so by engaging some man’s attentions. Anyway, whatever your purpose is, it can hardly hurt!”

“Emily, you are a thoroughly conniving creature.”

“So are you, you are just afraid to admit it to yourself.” She stood up. “I must go. I have other calls to make. Please be ready at half past nine in the morning. Tell Pitt what you please.” She blinked. “By the way, naturally I did not tell General Balantyne you were married to a policeman, much less the officer investigating the affair in the gardens. I said you were my sister, so you had better be Miss Ellison again.” She swept out before Charlotte could register any protest, although in fact Charlotte was too entertained with the idea to seek objections, and was already busy considering the most judicious explanation to offer Pitt, and how best she might satisfy General Balantyne as to her competence.

The following morning as Charlotte was surveying herself in the mirror, adjusting her dress for the tenth time and making sure yet again that her hair was both tidy and at the same time shown to its best advantage, Augusta Balantyne was staring across the breakfast table at her husband.

“Do I understand you correctly, Brandon, that you have engaged some young woman of indeterminate background and restricted means to come into this house and assist you in these family memoirs you are-” her voice froze, “occupied with?”

“No, you do not understand me, Augusta,” he replied over his cup. “Lady Ashworth, whom I gather to be a friend of yours, recommended her sister to me as a woman of intelligence and propriety, who would be willing to put my papers in order and take some notes, as I may dictate them. You will not be required to entertain her socially: though why the matter should concern you, I don’t know. She could not possibly be either plainer or more foolish than some of the women you have in here.”

“Sometimes, Brandon, I think you say such things entirely to provoke me. One cannot order one’s acquaintance on the basis of good looks, or, unfortunately, of intelligence.”

“I think they would be criteria quite as satisfactory as either birth or money,” he opined.

“Don’t be naive,” she snapped. “You know perfectly well what is of value in society and what is not. I hope you do not intend this young woman to eat in the dining room?”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“I had not considered her eating at all. But now that you mention it, perhaps cook had better prepare her something and she can eat in the library, as the governess used to.”

“The governess ate in the schoolroom.”

“The difference is academic.” He stood up. “Have Max show her into the library when she comes. You know, I dislike that man. A spell in the army would do him good.”

“He is an excellent footman, and a ‘spell in the army’ would ruin him. Please do not meddle with the governing of the household servants. That is what we employ Masters for; besides, you know nothing about it.”

He gave her a sour look and went out of the door, shutting it sharply behind him.

Augusta made it her business to be in the hallway at ten o’clock when Charlotte arrived promptly. She saw Max open the door and watched with interest, and an odd mixture of superiority and reluctant approval as Charlotte was shown in. She had expected a dowdy dress and a pinched, submissive face: instead she saw rich wine-colored skirts, a little outdated in fashion, but still flattering; and a face anything but submissive. Indeed, it was one of the most flagrant and willful faces she had ever seen, yet having at the same time a surprising gentleness in the mouth and the soft curve of cheek and throat. Definitely not a woman she wished in her house, not a woman she could like, or understand; not a woman who would be easily governed by the rules of society by which Augusta had lived all her life, had fought and won all her many intricate battles.

She sailed forward in her most frigid manner.

“Good morning, Miss-er?” she raised her brows in inquiry.

Charlotte met her eyes squarely.

“Miss Ellison, Lady Augusta,” she lied without a thought.

“Indeed.” Dislike hardened in her; she smiled barely, “I believe my husband is expecting you.” She glanced at Max who obediently went to the library door and opened it. “I understand you have come to be of some clerical assistance to him.” Best to let her know immediately her standing in the house.

“Miss Ellison.” Max’s heavy-lidded eyes followed Charlotte in, lingering on her shoulders and her waist.

The door closed behind her and Charlotte stood still, waiting for the general to look up. She was no longer trembling inside; Lady Augusta’s patronage had turned her fear into anger.

General Balantyne sat behind an enormous desk. She saw the handsome head, the lean bones of the face. Her interest was immediate. In her imagination she saw the long battle line of history stretch out behind him: Crimea, Waterloo, Corunna, Plassey, Malplaquet…

He looked up. The bland courtesy washed out of his face and he stared at her. She stared back.

“How do you do, Miss-”

“How do you do, General Balantyne. My sister, Lady Ashworth, considered I might be of some service to you. I hope that may be so.”

“Yes.” He stood up, blinking, still staring at her, frowning a little. “She said you had some interest in military affairs. I am setting in some order the history of my family, which has served with distinction in every great battle since the time of the Duke of Marlborough.”

Thoughts as to how she should answer flashed through Charlotte’s mind.

“You must be very proud,” she said honestly. “It is a good thing you should record it accurately for people to know; especially those in the future, when the men who can remember our great battles are gone.”

He said nothing, but his shoulders straightened as he considered her, and there was a very small smile at the edges of his mouth.

In the rest of the house the usual business of the morning was conducting itself, housemaids and upstairs maids and ladies’ maids were all furiously occupied. Augusta was supervising because she was expecting guests of great social importance for dinner, and also because she had nothing else to do. At half past ten she could not find the tweeny. The wretched girl had left a distinct rime of dust on the frames of the pictures on the landing-it showed gray on Augusta’s finger-and the child was nowhere to be seen.

Augusta had long known the favorite bolt hole of idle servants, between the stillroom and the butler’s pantry, and she now repaired to it with some determination. If the girl was loitering among the footmen or bootboys, she would give her a criticism that would not lightly be forgotten.

At the stillroom door she stopped, conscious that there was someone in the small room beyond. There was a whispered voice, she could not hear the words, nor even if they were spoken by a man or a woman; then the rusle of-surely not silk-on a maid?

She pushed the door open soundlessly and saw black-suited arms cradling a taffeta bodice, and over the slender shoulder the sloe-eyed, sensuous face of Max, his lips on the white neck. She knew the neck, knew the elegant coils of dark hair. It was Christina.

Please, dear heaven, they had neither of them seen her! She could not look anyone in the face at this moment. Her heart rose cold in her chest, beating painfully. She backed away from the door. Her daughter, giggling, in the arms of a footman! Horror froze her normally agile brain. Icy, paralyzing minutes passed before she could even begin to think what to do about such a monstrous thing, how to nullify it, obliterate it from existence. It would take work, skill: but it must be done! Otherwise Christina would be ruined. What man of birth in his right mind would marry her after this, if it were known?