Callander Square

FOUR

Reggie Southeron sat in the library in his house and stared out at the leafless trees in Callander Square. The gray November sky scudded past above them and the first heavy gusts of rain clattered on the glass. He had a schooner of brandy on the small table beside him and the decanter winked comfortably in the firelight. Under any other circumstances he would have been entirely happy, but this miserable business in the gardens was causing him a nagging anxiety. Of course he had no idea who might be responsible-any one of a score! There was little else of entertainment in a servant’s life, and everyone knew that most of the girls, especially those who came up from the country to improve themselves, were not averse to a little fun: at least everyone who kept an establishment of any standard. But it was possible that someone like the police, who were, after all, no better than tradesmen or servants themselves, held quite a different view. Some police, the local ones in the country, for example, knew how to be discreet; but it was a different case with the London men who were used to dealing with the criminal classes in general, and in all probability had no concept of social rank or refinement.

And it was this that was worrying Reggie. Like most men, in his opinion, he availed himself of the odd pleasure with a handsome parlormaid. After all, what healthy man, woken in his bed in the morning by a young, clear-skinned, well-rounded wench bending over him, would not be tempted? And if she was willing, as they invariably were, why resist? His wife, Adelina, was well enough, and she had borne him three children, although unfortunately the boy had died. But she had taken no enjoyment in it; she suffered his advances with fortitude and did what she had been taught was her duty. Parlormaids enjoyed it, laughed, responded in a fashion that would have been unthinkable in a woman of quality.

Naturally one did not marry parlormaids. Everyone knew of such arrangements, but one conducted oneself discreetly. One did not wish to be the subject of gossip, nor to embarrass one’s wife. What was presumed and what was actually known were two entirely different things.

But as he had already realized, the police might fail to understand how these things were conducted to the satisfaction of all concerned. It would be very difficult if this Pitt fellow were to discover Reggie’s present taste for the parlormaid, Mary Ann. He might misconstrue it entirely. The girl was uncommonly handsome, quite the best looking Reggie could recall: and she had been in service in Callander Square for three years.

Great heavens! It wasn’t possible that she-actually-? Reggie broke out in a cold sweat, in spite of the fire. He took a rapid swig at the brandy and poured himself another. For pity’s sake, calm down, man! Remember the trim waist, the saucy bottom. She had not been with child in this house! Surely he could not be so unobservant as not to have noticed? She was a big girl. Would she have changed shape so obviously? He had to admit, he had been very spasmodic in his attentions. Sometimes he had been away for weeks at a time-but this was ridiculous! Someone would have noticed! He was worrying for nothing.

It was only a matter of making sure that the police did not leap to any foolish and entirely unwarranted conclusions. How intelligent was this chap, Pitt? Was he a man of the world? Some of the working classes could be appallingly narrow-minded: quite distressingly vulgar in their speech and eating, not to mention dress, but positive prudes when it came to personal liberty. It could be very trying having to deal with them. Pity the man in this case could not have been a gentleman, who would have understood; indeed, would not even have needed an explanation.

Better to forestall the whole business by seeing the others in the square who might be affected, and come to some understanding. Between them they ought to be able to keep this police fellow out of harm’s way, discreetly.

He had made up his mind to this, and was feeling considerably easier, when there was a knock on the door. He was surprised. Servants did not usually knock. If they had something to do, they simply came in and did it.

“Come in,” he answered, swiveling to face the entrance.

The door opened and the governess, Jemima, stood there.

Reggie sat up with a smile. Handsome girl, Jemima, though a bit on the thin side. He liked a rounder bosom, plumper shoulders; but there was a definite charm about her, a spirit in the way she held her head, a delicacy of bone. He had frequently been on the point of putting his arm round her in response to the inviting femininity of her slender back; but she had always moved away, or someone else had appeared.

Now she stood in front of him, looking levelly at him.

“Yes, Jemima?” he said cheerfully.

“Mrs. Southeron said I should speak to you concerning Miss Faith’s music, sir. Miss Faith wishes to learn the violin, instead of the piano-”

“Well, let her, by all means. You are competent in the violin, aren’t you?” Why on earth did Adelina send him such trivial matters?

“Yes, Mr. Southeron. But since Miss Chastity already plays the violin, that will give us two violins and a cello. There is very little music written for such a trio.”

“Oh, yes. I see. Well, perhaps Chastity would like to learn the piano?”

“No, she wouldn’t,” Jemima smiled. She had a charming smile, it went all the way to her eyes. She would have made a good parlormaid, had she been a little sturdier.

“Send her to me, I’ll change her mind,” Reggie leaned farther back in his chair and slid his feet toward the fire.

“Yes, sir,” Jemima turned and walked to the door. She had a nice walk, straight-backed, head high. She was one of those country girls with a swinging step. She made him think of open skies and clean, windy shores: things he liked to contemplate from a winter armchair, or see in a good painting. She was a pleasing creature, Jemima.

It was quite five minutes before Chastity arrived.

“Come in,” Reggie smiled and sat up a little.

She obeyed, solemn-faced, her hair tied back making her eyes look unusually wide.

“Sit down,” Reggie offered, pointing to the chair opposite him.

Instead of perching on the edge, like the other children, she snuggled far back in the deep corner, like a cat, with her feet tucked under her. She still managed to look prim. She waited for him to speak.

“Would you like to learn to play the piano, Chastity?” he asked.

“No, thank you, Uncle Reggie.”

“Playing the piano is a most useful art. You can sing at the same time. You cannot sing at the same time as playing the violin,” he pointed out.

She lifted her chin very slightly and stared back at him.

“I cannot sing anyway,” she said with blank honesty. “No matter what I played.” She hesitated, looking at him with thought. “Faith can. She sings very well.”

The argument defeated him, and he could see from the look in her bright, frank eyes that she knew it.

“Why doesn’t Faith play the cello?” she pressed home her advantage. “Then Patience could learn the piano. She can sing, too.”

He looked at her with a jaundiced eye.

“And if I tell you to play the piano?”

“I shall be no good at it,” she said decidedly. “And then we shall have no trio, and that would be a shame.”

He narrowed his eyes and poured himself another brandy, admiring the rich color of it shining like smoky topaz in the firelight.

“That would be a pity,” Chastity was still regarding him with measured consideration. “Because Aunt Adelina likes us to play for her guests sometimes, at her afternoon parties.”

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.

Reggie 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?”

Reggie drew a deep breath.

“Commiseration’s not much use-”

“None at all,” Campbell agreed.

“Better to prevent it before it happens.”

Campbell’s face betrayed interest for the first time.

“What are you suggesting, Reggie?”

“A discreet word, with the butler or housekeeper, to speak to the rest of the servants. See that one or the other of them is present every time this police fellow interviews any of them. Get them to make sure nothing-foolish-is said. Natural enough, what? Not to let a young servant be bullied. Got to protect them, eh?”

Campbell smiled with harsh amusement.

“Why, Reggie, I never suspected you of such subtlety-or such common sense.”

“Then you’ll do it?”

“My dear idiot, my household is already aware that loose talk would cost them their livelihoods: but I admit it would be an added protection to make sure a butler or housekeeper is present if this, what’s-his-name-Pitt-comes back again. Personally I think they’ll probably drop it after a reasonable show of trying. After all, to whom does it really matter if some servant girl has two children stillborn? It’s hardly worth raising hell in an area like this. He’ll know that he’ll find out nothing that matters, and offend a lot of people who could make life damned difficult for him, if he gives them cause. Don’t get yourself upset, Reggie. They’ll run around to give the impression of intent, then quietly let it die. Do you want a glass of port?”

Reggie took a moment for the idea to seep through him with its relief: then he realized Campbell had offered him the port at last.

“Yes,” he accepted graciously. “Thank you, very civil of you.”

“Not at all,” Campbell smiled to himself and walked away to the side table to fetch the decanter.

Augusta had noticed Christina’s indisposition; and at first she had thought nothing of it, beyond a natural sympathy. It was easy enough to eat or drink something which did not agree with one. Then on the appalling discovery of Christina in the arms of the wretched footman, Max, the incident came back to her mind with rather more anxiety. When the indisposition occurred again a week later, and she heard from the lady’s maid that Christina was to remain in her bed for the morning, she felt something considerably more like alarm.

She did not wish General Balantyne to know anything about it-he would be entirely useless if indeed there were such a crisis as her worst fears framed, and if there were not, there was no purpose in alarming him. They were at the breakfast table when she was informed, and after a moment’s silent panic, she thanked the woman civilly and bade her return to Christina and care for her, then she requested the general to pass her the orange conserve to spread upon her toast.

“Pity,” the general said quietly, passing across the jar. “Poor girl. Hope it’s nothing serious. Want to send for the doctor? Always ask Freddie to slip over, if she doesn’t want a fuss.”

“Nothing he can do for a chill on the stomach,” she replied smoothly. Heavens above, the last thing she wanted now was a doctor! “Charming as he is, he can’t change the weather. Lots of pestilence of one sort or another in the autumn. I shall have cook make her an herbal tea. That will do as much good as anything. No doubt it will cure itself in a day or two.”

He looked at her with slight surprise, but rather than argue, continued with his deviled kidneys, bacon, eggs, and toast.

When she had finished her meal, so as not to appear in a hurry and give the matter undue importance, she excused herself and went upstairs. If there were no reason for alarm, so much the better, but if her worst fears were valid-and she remembered with a cold shiver through her flesh the familiarity of that touch in the stillroom pantry, the ease with which the hands had caressed the silk bodice under the breasts-and it was indeed true, then she must think now what to do about it. If there were any hope at all of saving the situation, it lay in immediate action. Every additional day would make it harder.

And if she did not succeed-a lesser woman would have flinched even from the thought, but even her enemies, and she had several, would never have denied that Augusta had courage-there lay ahead for Christina little but endless unhappiness. To have an illegitimate child was a sin never completely forgiven by the society in which Christina moved, in which she had been brought up, and in which were all her friends, indeed the society which would enable her to have the only life for which she was fitted. It might be possible, with care and money dispersed in appropriate places, to create some fiction to take her away from London for the necessary period of time, have the child brought up on the country estate, adopted by some good serving woman. It would take skill, but it was not impossible: it had surely been done by others! Christina was not the first, nor would she be the last in this predicament.

If only that were all!

But there was Max: an ambitious and ruthless man. Of course she had realized from the day she had employed him that he was intent, above all things, on bettering himself. And she had thought that that would make him an excellent footman. Ambitious men were good employees; and so he had proved, in respect of his job; he was always immaculate, always punctual, always more than civil; indeed she had received many compliments as to his quality. But she blamed herself now for not realizing that his ambition would lead him to use any means that offered to advance himself, even to lying with his employer’s daughter. She did not delude herself for a moment that there was any affection involved-on either side. And she should also have known her daughter better, she should have seen the weakness in her, and protected her from it. What else were mothers for?

Max had forged himself a weapon. If he chose to use it, to spread gossip, gently, like slow poison, Christina would be ruined. No man of her own class would marry her, no matter what her dowry. There was always a surfeit of personable young women in the marriage market, and Christina possessed no special advantage; at least none that would outweigh the reputation of a trollop. To be high-spirited was one thing, to be a whore and to have borne a child to a footman was quite another. The only world she knew, or could cope with, would be as closed to her as the Bank of England.

Max must be silenced: not by bribery of any sort. Give in to him even once, and they would be hostage to him for the rest of their lives. It must be a counterthreat of equal magnitude. Not only for Christina’s sake, but for the whole family, for the general, and for young Brandy, as well as herself. If Brandy should fall in love, or even find agreeable some well-connected girl, what parents would allow their daughter to marry into a family whose blood bred such as Christina?

She was on the landing with her hand raised to Christina’s door when the worst thought of all came to her. She nearly fainted from the sheer horror of it. Max had been in their employ for six years. She sincerely believed that if such an appalling thing had happened before she would have known it-but what if she had not? And would the police believe it? Could they even afford to? Unless she was very much mistaken, that young man Pitt was of uncommon intelligence. He would pursue the matter, question Christina, perhaps even discover that it was Max, and draw from him all the sordid truth. What would he believe of the bodies in the square then? What did she herself believe?

She let her hand fall to the wood, and before Christina replied, she pushed the door open.

Christina was lying on the bed, looking pale and peaked, her features unusually sharp, her dark hair spread on the pillow around her.

Augusta felt a moment’s pity for her, then it passed and she forced her attention to preventing the far worse pain that threatened.

“Sick?” she asked simply.

Christina nodded her head.

Augusta came in and shut the door. There was no point in mincing words. She sat on the end of the bed and looked at her daughter.

“Is it an illness you have caught from Max?” she said, looking at Christina’s eyes.

Christina tried to look away, and failed. She was used to getting her own way, to charming or dominating everyone, but never since childhood had she succeeded with her mother.

“What-what do you mean, Mama?” she said stiltedly.

“There is no point in prevaricating, Christina. If you are with child, there is a great deal we have to do. I have no wish to frighten you unnecessarily, but I don’t think you have realized the seriousness of our predicament, if it is so.”

Christina opened her mouth, and closed it again.

Augusta waited.

“I don’t know,” Christina said very quietly. There was a shiver in her voice and she was having to struggle hard not to cry. It was only pride that prevented her, and the knowledge that her mother would not have cried.

Augusta asked the question she dreaded, but she would shirk nothing. She needed to know.

“Is this the first time?”

Christina stared, eyes enormous with indignant disbelief, and then horror as she realized what Augusta meant, what she was thinking. Her face was as bleached as the sheet.

“Oh, Mother! You can’t think I would-oh no!”

“Good. I did not think you would. But it is not what I think that matters, it is what the police think, or have enough cause to consider that they raise the possibility-”

“Mother-!”

“I shall deal with it. You will not see Max again. Until I have secured his silence, you will remain in bed. You have a chill. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Mama,” she was too shocked and too frightened to argue. “Do you think-the police-I mean-?”

“I intend that they shall not know anything to think one way or the other. And you will do exactly as I tell you, to that end.”

Christina nodded silently, and Augusta looked at her pale face, remembering how she had felt for the first few weeks when she had been with child, with Christina herself. What a lifetime ago that seemed. Brandy had been a small boy, still in skirts: and his father had been younger, his face less lean, his body a few pounds slimmer, but just as straight, shoulders as broad and stiff. How could a man change so little? His voice, his manners, even his thoughts seemed all the same.

“It will pass,” she said gently. “It will not be more than a few weeks, then you will feel better. I shall have cook make you a beef tea.”

“Thank you, Mama,” Christina whispered, and closed her eyes.

Augusta racked her brains and her imagination for a way to make sure of Max’s silence, without at the same time giving him a weapon for future use. But by the following morning she had achieved no more than the elimination of all the impossibilities, and was left with little else. She was in an ill temper to receive him when Pitt arrived at a quarter past ten.

When she first learned that it was Max who had shown him in, a moment of panic seized her, then she realized that Max’s ambition would never allow him to waste his valuable knowledge by giving it to Pitt, who would pay him nothing for it, instead of first offering it to Augusta, who might pay him in all sorts of ways, only beginning with money, and progressing through advancement to heaven knew what avaricious heights.

She found Pitt in the morning room, warming his hands in front of the fire. It was another bitter day, a hard east wind driving needles of sleet in from the North Sea, and she could hardly blame any living creature for availing itself of any warmth at all, yet she resented this policeman in front of her fire. He did not move because he had not heard her enter.

“Good morning, Mr. Pitt,” she said coldly. “What is it this time?”

He was startled, and he took a moment to compose himself before he turned to face her.

“Good morning, ma’am. I’m afraid we have not yet discovered the truth regarding the bodies in the square-”

“Do you seriously imagine, Mr. Pitt, that you ever will?” She raised her eyebrows in disbelief.

“Perhaps not, ma’am; but I must try a great deal harder before I give up.”

“Indeed. It seems like a waste of public money to me.”

“It was perhaps a waste of human life, which is infinitely more precious.”

“We also seem to have infinitely more of it,” she said dryly. “But of I presume you have to do your duty, as you see it. What is it you imagine I can do that will help you?”

“Give me your permission to speak to your staff again, ma’am; and perhaps to Miss Christina Balantyne. She may have observed some behavior, some small sign that you have been too busy to note.”

Augusta felt her stomach tighten. Was it conceivable he had already heard something? Could Max have been so-no, surely not! Max was, above all, ambitious. He wanted his advantage to use, not to squander.

“I’m sorry, you may speak to the servants, of course; although I must insist that you do not distress them unnecessarily, and I shall have some responsible person with you, to that end; but I regret my daughter is unwell and confined to her bed. Naturally she cannot see anyone.”

“Oh dear,” his expressive face composed itself into lines of sympathy. She had no idea whether he meant it or not. “I do hope it is only a passing indisposition.”

“We believe so,” she replied. “The season of the year, no doubt. It is inclined to affect one. Now which of the servants do you wish to see? The female ones, I presume?”

“If you please.”

She reached for the bell.

“I shall have the butler assist you.”

“I should prefer to speak to them alone. His presence might inhibit them, make them feel less free to-”

“No doubt. But for their protection, the butler will remain with you. I will not have young girls who are my responsibility intimidated, even unwittingly, into saying things which they may afterward regret. Perhaps you do not realize how young and how ignorant some of them are; most suggestible, and easily led.”

“Lady Augusta-”

“Those are the conditions on which you may speak with them, Mr. Pitt. Quite reasonable, I believe.”

There was no further argument he could offer without betraying foreknowledge of some particular guilt, and she defied him at this point to do so.

“Ma’am,” he acquiesced with a slight smile in recognition of her superior tactics. Had he been a gentleman, she might even have liked him, for a moment.

She felt no such sentiment toward Charlotte Ellison when she arrived shortly before midday to assist the general with his papers. Miss Ellison was a young woman she could not warm to-there was an element of emotion about her, of unpredictability, which was dangerous. One could not plan for it because it fell within none of the rules. And yet she seemed harmless enough. She came and went silently and was certainly both civil and, at least to all appearances, well-bred enough. But why should any young woman desire to help a middle-aged general sort out papers pertaining to battles and regiments, instead of seeking herself a husband? It was a question to which, at a less preoccupied time, she would have sought an answer.

As it was she contented herself with asking Brandon over luncheon what manner of creature she was, and if she gave satisfaction as to her clerical ability.

“Yes,” he said with slight surprise, “she appears to be of uncommon intelligence, for a woman.”

“You mean of uncommon interest in those things which interest you-for a woman,” Augusta replied with some asperity.

“Is that not more or less what I said?”

“No, it is not. Most women have perfectly good intelligence for the things which matter, such as the conduct of one’s daily life; but do not desire to apply themselves to the dissection of battles that concerned other people in other countries and at other times. I consider such an interest quite eccentric, and most unnatural in a young woman of decent upbringing.”

“Nonsense,” he said briskly. “Anyone of intelligence ought to appreciate the great history of our nation. We are the greatest military nation in the world; we have spread our civilization to every land and clime God made. We have created an empire and a peace that is the envy and the blessing of the world. Every woman of British blood should be proud of that.”

“Proud of it, of course,” she agreed testily, reaching for the anchovy pate, “but not concerned with the details!”

He took the last piece of toast and did not bother to reply.

It was after that conversation that Augusta turned her thoughts uninterruptedly to the matter of Max’s silence; and at last came up with a satisfactory answer. It was in the quiet hour previous to dinner that she decided to tackle the practical application of it. She went to the small withdrawing room where she would be undisturbed, and sent for Max to attend her.

She felt an overwhelming, almost suffocating dislike of him when he came in. He looked completely bland, as if he expected to discuss some small domestic affair with her. She had never noticed before how insolent his eyes were, how veiled. She must keep the most perfect control of herself.

“Good evening, Max,” she said coolly.

“Good evening, my lady.”

“There is no purpose to be served by our prevaricating. I have sent for you to discuss a matter which I intend shall be dealt with, if not to our mutual advantage, at least not to the disadvantage of either of us. Whether that turns out to be so, depends on you.”

“Yes, my lady?” his face betrayed nothing.

“You have been foolish enough to engage yourself in a liaison with my daughter. You will cease immediately to pay her any attentions whatsoever. You will leave my employ and take up a post in Scotland, which I shall arrange for you and for which I will provide you with references-”

“I have no wish to work in Scotland, my lady.” He stood square in front of her, his eyes burning with slow amusement.

“Probably not. But that is of no concern to me. I have relations in Stirlingshire who will oblige me by finding you a place. The alternative is prison, which I believe is even colder and more barbarous than Scotland.”

“Prison, my lady?” he raised surprised eyebrows. “To lie with a lady of quality, especially if that lady is more than willing, I may add, may be indiscreet, even socially offensive to some, but it is not a crime. And even if it were, I doubt you would wish to charge me with it.” There seemed a distinct sneer on his mouth.

“No, of course not. But stealing silver from one’s employer is a crime.” She met his eyes equally unflinchingly.

His face froze for an instant, understanding dawning in his eyes.

“I have not stolen any silver, my lady.”

“No. But if silver were to be missing, and it were to be found in your belongings, you would find it uncommonly difficult to prove that you had not.”

“That is blackmail.”

“How perceptive of you. I thought you would take the point quite easily.”

“If I were to be charged with such a thing, I should naturally, in my own defense, give the reason for your accusation,” he watched her carefully, waiting for the slightest sign of weakness.

She gave him nothing.

“Possibly,” she said coolly. “But that would be foolish, because you would then find yourself charged with slander as well. And who do you imagine would be believed-Lady Augusta Balantyne, dealing with a dishonest servant with ideas above his station, or the servant, bearing a grudge for having been discovered? Come, Max, you are, above all, not stupid.”

He stared at her with malignant hate swelling in his sensuous face.

She did not look down, but stared back at him with equal and undeviating steadiness.