Callander Square

SIX

It was by now rapidly approaching Christmas, there were but two weeks to go, and Augusta decided that the matter of Christina and Max must be resolved. She could not expect the child to spend the holiday season in bed; but before she got up, Max must be out of the house. She had been in touch with her relations in Stirlingshire and a position was arranged for him. Nothing now remained but for him to accept the inevitable, and take his leave with a good grace. Augusta had already made the most discreet inquiries regarding his replacement. It would be difficult to find a man as competent, or even as good-looking, as satisfactory a pair for Percy, the other footman, and footmen came in pairs; but that was of secondary consideration.

With a view to informing him of the imminence of his departure, she sent for Max to wait on her in the morning room. She had not yet told the general anything about it, but there would be time enough for that when it was all over. And since he had been agitating her to get rid of Max for months now, he would no doubt be perfectly satisfied.

Max came in and closed the door silently behind him.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Good morning, Max.”

“Good morning, my lady.”

“I have concluded my arrangements for your new position in Stirlingshire. You are to go to Lord and Lady Forteslain. She is a cousin of mine, and you will find the situation adequate, although it may not extend your abilities as London does. However, that is a misfortune you will have to make the best of.”

“I have been giving the matter some consideration, my lady.” There was a small, complacent smile on his mouth. Augusta wondered how Christina could ever have found him attractive, how she could have wanted to be kissed, to be touched by him. The thought was repellent.

“Indeed?” she said coldly.

“Yes, my lady. I don’t think I should care for Stirlingshire; or indeed for any other part of Scotland.”

She raised her eyebrows slightly.

“That is unfortunate, but I am not concerned with your likes and dislikes. You will have to learn to make the best of it.”

“I think not, my lady. I should prefer to remain in London. In fact Callander Square suits me very well.”

“I dare say, but that is not possible. I thought I had already made that clear to you.”

“You did state your position, ma’am. But as I said, I have been giving the matter some thought, and an alternative has occurred to me which I greatly prefer.”

“It will not be acceptable to me!” She tried to stare him out, but his insolence was insurmountable.

“I regret to be so discourteous, my lady, but that is of no concern to me. As you pointed out so plainly, last time you spoke, there are some things which one is obliged to accept, whether one wishes to, or not.”

“There is nothing I am obliged to accept from you, Max. I have told you what I shall do if you do not go to Scotland, and do it graciously. That is an end to the matter.”

“If you charge me with theft, my lady, you will regret it,” his eyes did not waver.

She stiffened, she could feel the skin tighten across the bones of her face.

“Are you threatening me, Max?”

“If you wish to see it that way, yes, my lady, I am.”

“It is an idle threat. There is nothing you can do. I should be believed, and you should not.”

He faced her unflinchingly.

“That depends upon what you value, Lady Augusta. Certainly, if I were to say that I had lain with your daughter, the courts would no doubt believe you, and not me, if you were to swear that I was speaking only out of revenge. It would be a lie,” he smiled very slightly, a light of wry, superior humor in his heavy face. “But I have no delusions that you would not take your oath on it, even so.”

She flushed, feeling the heat in her face, under the sting of his contempt because she was no better than he, and she had permitted him to prove it.

“But,” he went on, “I should not claim it was I who had lain with her. I have a friend, not a servant; I’m afraid he is something of a rake-a gambler who has seen better times, but handsome, in a vulgar way, and with no lack of female friends. Most of them are whores, of course, but they find him attractive. Unfortunately,” his smile curled a little, “he has a disease.” His eyebrows rose, to question if she took his precise meaning.

Augusta shivered with revulsion.

“I should say,” Max continued, “that it was he who had seduced Miss Christina; or to be more correct, he would say so. There would be no connection with my misfortune, and it would be uncommon hard for you to disprove, and hardly worth it, I think. The damage would have been done. Men’s clubs, and so forth, spread the word; all very discreet, nothing open, nothing for you to deny. And if you charge me with theft, I swear it will happen.”

She was frightened, really frightened. There was a power in the man, and a certainty of his own victory. She struggled for something to say. Above all, she would not give in.

“And why should anyone believe that this disgusting friend of yours had ever even seen Christina,” she said slowly, “or that she would speak to him, let alone touch him?”

“Because he will be able to describe this house, in detail, her bedroom, even to the decorations on her bed-”

“Which you know!” she said quickly. “He could have got it from some housemaid easily enough. There is nothing to that,” she felt a quick resurgence of hope.

His eyes were slow, moist, raking her over.

“She has a mole under her left breast,” he said distinctly, “and a scar on her buttock, also the left, as I remember. You will say I also knew that, but I doubt the housemaid does. Do you take my point, my lady?”

It took her the greatest effort of will she could remember not to shout at him, to let go of her temper, her rage and frustration, and scream, “Get out, out of my sight!” She took a deep breath, and summoned a lifetime of discipline.

“Yes, I take your point,” she said quietly, her voice very nearly steady. “You may go.”

He turned, then hesitated at the door.

“You will inform your relations in Stirlingshire that I shall not be coming, my lady?”

“I shall. Now go.”

He bowed very slightly, still smiling.

“Thank you, my lady.”

As soon as the door was closed she gave way. For nearly five minutes she sat and let the shudders of disgust and anger pass through her. To be bested by a servant, a footman with morals of the gutter! She would never forget his hot, familiar eyes on her. To think that Christina had voluntarily lain with this-creature! That she could even now be with his child. It was not to be endured. She must pull herself together. Something must be done. She could not now think how to get rid of Max, but she must at least make absolutely sure that he never touched Christina again. From this hour onward Christina’s behavior must be perfect. Max would not use his trump card unless forced, unless he had nothing to lose by it: because he had only the one play. In ruining her he would ruin himself, therefore he would not press Christina if she treated him with total disinterest from now on. And most certainly Augusta intended to see that she did!

She stood up and composed herself. There was no further purpose in Christina’s remaining in bed. She was perfectly recovered. She might as well get up and resume her normal life: in fact better that she should, before there was too much speculation as to what condition kept her out of society. If by some disaster she should prove to be with child, Augusta would have to see that she was married as soon as possible, and hope that the birth could be passed off as premature. Fortunately Christina was as dark as Max, so if the child were equally dark there would be no comment. In fact it might be as well if Christina were to be married at the earliest convenience anyway. She obviously had a weakness that required a solution, and there was only one satisfying one. Her mind began to consider possibilities as she crossed the hall and climbed the stairs. It would have to be someone who could be persuaded to marry at very short notice, and without causing a lot of raised eyebrows: therefore he would have to be someone she knew already, so a courtship could be presumed to have taken place. It was hardly feasible that someone of such devastating charm as to make a whirlwind romance believable would marry other than one of his own desire; and for such a man to cross Christina’s path in the next few weeks, and fall in love with her, was expecting too much of fate.

She enumerated the young men of suitable position in her mind, and came up with lamentably few. And among those most owed the Balantynes nothing, nor sought anything from them that would be worth marrying for, without the romantic inclination. Most men married of their wives’ or their mothers-in-law’s choosing, but preferred to think that it was of their own. In this case such a feat of self-deception might be difficult. Fortunately Christina was engaging enough, pretty, spirited, and of an excellent taste in fashion. And she had a sense of wit, and of enjoyment, which was peculiarly attractive to most men.

By the time she had reached Christina’s bedroom door she had whittled the choice down to three, of whom the best seemed to be Alan Ross. Of course everyone knew he had never entirely recovered from his infatuation with Helena Doran, but that also meant he had no attachment to anyone else, and therefore might be agreeable to the arrangement. He could be intractable if he were pressured-he was a man of strong will-but if approached with charm, if Christina exerted herself to attract him, delight him, woo him, he might well, with a tiny added pressure from the general, prove amenable. It was certainly worth trying. There were others who could be bought with military advancement, which of course could be arranged; but they would be far less likely to afford Christina any happiness.

She knocked on the door, and immediately went in. She was startled to find Christina up and in process of dressing. She opened her mouth to be angry at the disobeying of her instructions, then closed it again, realizing she was but spiting her own plans.

“I’m glad you are feeling better,” she said instead.

Christina swung round, surprise in her face. She really was a pretty creature, cloud of dark hair, white skin, tilted, wide blue eyes, pert nose, and rounded chin. And her manners were delightful when she chose. Yes, it should not prove an impossible task.

“Mama!”

“I see you have decided to get up. I’m glad, I think it is time.”

Christina’s surprise at the reaction showed for an instant in her face before she masked it.

“Yes. That Miss-whatever-her-name-is, that Papa has employed, made me realize how much I am missing. And people will begin to talk if I do not appear soon. There is no good giving them cause before it is necessary. Anyhow, I may well not be with child. I feel perfectly well now. I have not felt in the least sick or faint for days.” There was a slight edge of challenge to her voice.

“There is no reason why you should,” Augusta agreed. “Being with child is a perfectly natural process, not a disease. Women have been doing it since Eve.”

“I may not be with child,” Christina said firmly.

“No, and on the other hand, you may. It is too early to be certain.”

“If I am,” Christina raised her head a little higher, deliberately, “I shall go and see Freddie Bolsover.”

“You will not. Dr. Meredith will be perfectly adequate to attend you, when the time comes.”

“I do not intend to bear Max’s child, Mama. I have been giving the matter some thought, while I have been lying here. I shall see Freddie, I have heard he can arrange such things-”

For the first time since she had been a young woman herself, Augusta was quite genuinely shocked, both by her daughter, and by the piece of knowledge that Freddie Bolsover either performed abortions himself, or knew who did.

“You will do nothing of the kind,” she said almost softly. “That is a sin which I will not forgive. You can cease to consider it from this moment. I have no wish for any grandchild of mine to carry the blood of that unspeakable footman; but you have made your bed, and we must all lie in it-”

“Mama, I will not-you don’t seem to understand! I do not love Max, I never loved him-”

“I had not imagined you did,” Augusta said coldly. “I am equally sure he did not love you either. That is beside the point. You will not commit murder against your unborn child, if indeed it exists. You will marry someone who will care for you in a suitable manner and give your child a name-”

“I will not!” Christina’s face flamed. “If you think I am going to beg some respectable weakling to marry me just to give my child a father, you are gravely mistaken, Mama. It would be intolerable! He would make me pay for it the rest of my life! He would call me a-a whore-and he would hardly love the child, or give it a home with any-anything worth-”

“Control yourself, Christina. I have no intention that you should do anything of the sort. You will marry a man suitable to your station, and he will have no idea of your condition. You will say the child, if indeed there is one, is premature. Under no circumstances whatsoever will you go to Freddie Bolsover, or anyone else.”

Christina’s face was twisted with contempt and disbelief.

“And who have you in mind, Mama? Why should anyone marry me in time to be of any use? And what happens if he doesn’t believe in premature babies?”

“There are several possibilities. Alan Ross suggests himself as the best. And you will marry him straight after Christmas-”

“He doesn’t love me either!”

“You will see that he comes to. You can be charming enough, if you choose. For your own sake, my dear, you had better choose to charm Alan.”

“And if I’m not with child?” Christina’s chin rose sharply, challengingly.

“By the time you are sure you are not, it will be a little late. Anyway, I think it would be better for you to be married.” She took a breath and spoke very levelly. “Christina, perhaps you do not fully appreciate your position. If you bear a child, without a father for it, you will find that you have no place in society. And don’t imagine that you can overcome it. Others have tried, of better birth and greater fortune than you, and all have failed. No man of your own station will marry you, you will become a butt of jokes, decent women will not speak to you. All the places you go now will be closed to you in future. I dislike having to say this to you, but you must understand that it is true.”

Christina stared at her.

“Therefore, my dear,” Augusta continued, “you will use your considerable charm upon Alan Ross, so that he will be happy to marry you, and you will appear to be in love with him. He is a good man, and will treat you with gentleness, if you permit it.”

“And if he doesn’t wish to marry me?” There was the first small shrillness of panic in Christina’s voice and Augusta felt a stab of pity for her, but there was no time for indulgence now.

“I believe that he will; but if he does not, then I shall find someone else. There are other possibilities. You have an influential father-”

“I couldn’t bear him to know about it! Even to guess!”

“Your father?” Augusta was surprised.

“Alan Ross! Or-whoever-”

“Of course not,” Augusta said sharply. “I have no intention he should. Now pull yourself together and make yourself your most attractive. We shall hold a series of parties, and no doubt you will be invited elsewhere. The sooner this is accomplished the better. Fortunately you have known Alan for a long time, so there will be no comment when you announce a wedding date.”

“How will you persuade Alan of the emergency?”

“Don’t worry about it, I shall find a way. In the meantime, of course, you will entirely ignore Max, apart from such civility as is customary toward a servant. If he should prevail upon you for more than that, you will call for assistance and accuse him of familiarity, and he will be dismissed.”

“I wish you would dismiss him anyway. I find the very thought of him offensive now.”

“I dare say you do. I find it hard to understand how you ever found it anything else. But unfortunately it is not so easy to bury our mistakes. Max has taken steps to see that I do not, and I have not yet thought of a way round them; but I shall. Now consider your future, and behave with your utmost charm; you have exercised yourself to enchant men well enough in the past. Do not overdo it; Alan, like most men, will wish to believe he has done the choosing and the pursuing himself. Allow him to persist in that belief. And wear pink as often as may be. It becomes you, and men like it.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Good. Now compose yourself, and let us direct out efforts to that end.”

“Yes, Mama.”

The following morning Augusta was late over breakfast, which was most unusual for her. She had slept badly. The whole business with Max had distressed her more than she had realized at the time. Perhaps her mastery of herself was not as perfect as she believed. She was still at the breakfast table at half past nine when Brandy came back for another cup of tea. He sat down opposite her, looking at her closely.

“You look a little bashed this morning, Mother. In fact you look the way I feel after a night at the club.”

“Don’t be impertinent,” she said, but without sharpness. She was extremely fond of her son, indeed she might say with honesty she liked him best of all her family. There was a cheerfulness about him that was gentler then Christina, and warmer than his father. Also he was one of the few people who could make her laugh even when she did not wish to.

Now he was squinting at her thoughtfully.

“Hope you haven’t caught Christina’s chill.”

“That is hardly likely,” she said with a shudder.

“I don’t suppose you’d take a day in bed,” he reached for another piece of toast and started a second breakfast. “That would be too much like admitting frailty. But it might show sense. Give it a thought, Mother.” He smiled. “If you like, I’ll swear blind you’ve gone to the races, or shopping!”

“Where on earth should I go to the races, at this time of the year?”

“All right, I’ll say you’ve gone cockfighting, then!” he grinned.

“They’ll be more likely to believe it if you left a note saying we’d both gone,” she replied, meeting his eyes with a smile, in spite of herself.

He shivered.

“Nonsense. I’ve no stomach for blood sports.”

“And do you think that I have?”

“Certainly. You’d have scared the hell out of Napoleon, if he’d met you on a social occasion.”

She sniffed. “Have you just poured yourself the last of the tea?”

“Wouldn’t dare. Really, Mother, you do look a bit dragged out. Take a day off. It’s a decent day, a bit cold, but quite dry. I’ll take you for a drive. We’ll get out the best horses!”

She was tempted. There was nothing she would like better than a drive away from Callander Square, with Brandy. She lingered on the idea, savoring it.

“Come on!” he urged. “Crisp air, fast horses, crunch of wheels on a new road. Last of the beech leaves are still red on the trees.”

She looked at his smooth, olive-skinned face and saw the child in him now, as twenty years ago she had seen the man in him then. Before she could accept, the door opened and Max came in.

“Inspector Pitt is here again, my lady, from the police. Will you see him?”

The crisp air, the flying hooves, and the laughter collapsed.

“I suppose I have no choice,” she pushed her chair back and stood up. “If not now, it will only put him off until later. Put him in the morning room, Max, I’ll see him in a few minutes.”

Brandy was still eating.

“Is it about the wretched babies still? I don’t know why they persist, they’ll never find out whose they were, poor little beggars. I suppose they have to try, but it must be a rotten job. Do you want me to see him? He probably only wants permission to question the servants again.”

“No, thank you, but I appreciate the offer, my dear. I would love to come driving with you, but I cannot.”

“Why not? He’s hardly likely to run off with the silver!”

“I cannot leave him,” she repeated mechanically. She did not want to have to tell him. “How well do you know Alan Ross, Brandy?”

“What?” His hand with the toast in it dropped in surprise.

“How well do you know Alan Ross? The question is simple enough.”

“He’s a good fellow. I suppose I know him pretty well. He closed up rather after Helena took off; but he’s beginning to come out of it now. Why?”

“I wish him to marry Christina.”

He stopped all pretense of eating and put the toast down.

“Your father doesn’t know about it yet,” she went on. “But I have excellent reasons. If you could do anything to further that end, I should be very pleased. Now I suppose I had better see this policeman again,” and she left him still staring after her.

Pitt was waiting for her by the fire, licking its first flames in a still cold grate. She closed the door behind her and stood with her back to it. He looked up, smiling. Did nothing discompose this wretched man? Perhaps he had no sense of what was proper, and thus neither of what was improper? He was enormous and untidy, too many layers of clothes on, and he greeted her with an air of easiness she did not expect, even from her friends.

“Good morning, Lady Augusta,” he said cheerfully. “I would be obliged if I could ask you a few questions.”

“Me?” She had intended to freeze him, but she was overtaken by surprise. “I know nothing about it, I assure you!”

He moved away from the fire to make room for her, and unreasonably the courtesy irritated her, perhaps because she would have preferred to find fault with him.

“I’m sure you are not aware of knowing anything,” he replied, “or you would have told me; but there may be things you have noticed, without at the time realizing their import.”

“I doubt it, but still I suppose, if you must-”

“Thank you. It is proving extremely difficult to trace the woman in the affair-”

“I’m hardly surprised!”

“No,” his mobile face fell into a wry expression, “nor I. We might have better success approaching it from another direction-to find the man.”

The thought flashed through her mind that there might be an opportunity to get rid of Max-

She looked up to find his brilliant gray eyes on her face, disconcertingly. She was conscious above all things of his intelligence; it was an unpleasant feeling to her, and quite new. She could not dominate him.

“You have thought of something?” There was a small smile on the corners of his lips.

“No,” she denied immediately. Then she decided to qualify it, in case an idea about Max came to her later. “I don’t believe so.”

“But you are a discerning woman-”

For a moment she was afraid he was going to flatter her.

“-and you have a young and attractive daughter.” There was no intent to deceive in his face, which in itself was unusual. Society was conducted on mutually agreed deceits. “You must have formed opinions as to the habits, the inclinations of the men in your circle,” he continued, “those who would be suitable for your daughter to associate with, and those who would not; above all, those whose morals were not acceptable to you.”

It was a statement she could not reasonably contradict. His conclusion was inescapable.

“Of course,” she agreed. “But I would hesitate to pass to the police as suspicions such personal dislikes or misgivings as I may entertain myself. They may be groundless, and I might thus unwittingly cause an injustice,” she raised her eyebrows slightly, questioning him in turn, giving him back the onus.

The smile on his mouth flickered upward. She wished he would not look at her so frankly. If Christina had become enamored of this man, she could have understood it a great deal more easily. But then he would very likely have sent her packing! She pulled herself together. The thought was ridiculous-and offensive.

“I will take your advice as merely that, my lady,” he said gently. “Sound advice as to where I might begin. You will agree that I have so far been extremely discreet?”

“I have no idea that you know anything about which to be indiscreet,” she said levelly, with a touch of chill.

His smile broadened into a grin.

“Which makes my point perfectly.”

“On the contrary,” she was terse. “It begs it.”

He retreated gracefully, again annoying her.

“I think you are right. Still, the sooner I can finish my investigations, the sooner the matter can either be resolved, or buried as insoluble.”

“I take your line of reasoning, Mr. Pitt. What is it that you wish to know from me?”

Before he could reply, the door opened and Brandy came in. Pitt had not seen him before, and she saw a momentary flash of interest cross his face.

“My son, Brandon Balantyne,” she said briefly.

Brandy seemed equally curious, to judge from his expression.

“Surely you don’t suspect Mother?” he said flippantly. “Or are you consulting her for gossip?”

“You think that would be a good idea?”

“Oh, excellent. She affects to be above it, but in truth she knows everything.”

“Brandon, this is not an occasion for levity,” she said tartly. “Two children are dead, and someone is responsible.”

His humor vanished instantly. He looked at Pitt with an unspoken apology.

“Gossip is most useful,” Pitt covered the moment and raised a hand to dismiss it. “You would be surprised how often the solution to a crime lies in some small thing that has been known to the neighborhood from the beginning, they have merely not mentioned it to us because they believed it such common knowledge that we must also have known it.”

Brandy relaxed. He made some small remark in reply, and before Pitt could return the conversation to his interrupted questions, Christina came in.

Augusta was annoyed; she knew it was only curiosity that brought her, and the fear that something was happening that she was missing. Being in bed had made her feel that the whole of society was passing her by. Now she was dressed meticulously, her eyes shining, she even had color on her cheeks, as if she were expecting a suitor! She was smiling at Pitt-practicing her technique! Really, had the girl no sense?

“Good morning, Inspector-Pitt?” she hesitated, affecting to be unsure of his name; then came forward, almost as though she were going to offer him her hand. Then she remembered he was a policeman, on a social equal with tradesmen or artisans, and let it fall. It was petty, a little arrogant; without the smile it would merely have been rude.

“Good morning, Miss Balantyne,” Pitt bowed very slightly. “I’m happy to see you so obviously recovered. You appear in most perfect health.”

“Thank you.”

“Perhaps you also can help me. There must be men of your acquaintance whose reputation is less than upright. I imagine you know very well whom you would trust, and whom you could not. Young women discuss among themselves such things, for mutual protection.” He turned without warning to Brandy. “Or you, Mr. Balantyne. Have any of your friends become involved with a girl not suitable to marry?”

“Good heavens, dozens, I should think,” Brandy was surprised into complete honesty. “But usually one has sense enough not to do it on one’s own doorstep!”

Pitt was obliged to smile.

“Quite,” he agreed. “What about your servants? That footman of yours looks a lusty fellow.” He swiveled till his probing eyes were on Christina.

Augusta could feel the blood drain from her own face, at the same time the rich color heightened in Christina’s. The stroke had come out of nowhere, and she had had no defenses ready. Augusta opened her mouth to intercept, and saw Pitt’s quick glance at her, wide, waiting; and she bit her tongue. Her very act of speech would betray her, its eagerness, where she should have been indifferent.

“He’s merely a footman,” Christina said coldly, but there was a small catch in her voice, as if it stuck in her throat. “I have never considered his private life. Perhaps you do not understand, if you have no resident servants of your own, but people of our station do not discuss things with servants. They are here to work, to run the house, that is all that one ever speaks to them about; and even so, usually through the butler. That is what butlers are for. You had better speak to the servants themselves. Those sorts of girls would be a little more in his line, don’t you think?”

“Oh, without doubt,” Pitt was unaffected by her arrogance. His face was perfectly smooth, his tone warm. “But perhaps not to his taste.”

“I have no idea what his tastes might be!” Christina snapped. “It is hardly a matter that interests me.”

Pitt grunted, apparently turning the consideration over in his mind. He was still looking at her, and she avoided his eyes.

“How long has he been in Callander Square?” he asked.

“About six years.” It was Brandy who replied, his face innocent. Augusta weighed the idea of sending him out, finding some excuse to get rid of him; but seeing Pitt’s clever, watchful face, knew it would be a misjudgment, a reinforcement of any suspicion he might be entertaining.

“A good footman?” Pitt inquired.

“Excellent,” Brandy answered. “Don’t like the fellow, but can’t fault him. Believe me, if I could, I’d have thrown him out!”

“Couldn’t you throw him out anyway?” Pitt assumed ignorance.

“I suppose so,” Brandy was still casual. “Doesn’t bother me enough, really. And he seems to satisfy everyone else.”

“No complaints from female staff?”

“No, none at all.”

“Maids willing? Or does he seek his pleasures elsewhere?”

“Mr. Pitt!” Augusta stepped in at last. “I do not permit fornication in my house, willing or unwilling! Whatever appetites my footmen may have, I assure you they exercise them elsewhere!”

But Pitt was watching Christina. Merciful heaven! Surely he could not possibly know anything? There was no way-was there?

“If you think Max may be responsible, Inspector,” she said with as much composure as she could manage, and without looking at Christina, “I would suggest that you look for the woman beyond this house. Perhaps if you resume your questioning in the other establishments in the square?”

“Much easier to ask Max,” Brandy offered. “The poor girl will not be likely to admit anything, certainly not now. Press Max a bit, make him squirm. Find out who his lady loves are-”

Augusta gasped, but it was Christina who broke.

“No!” she gulped. “That would be foolish,” she said, her tongue fumbling over the words. “And unfair! You have no reason to suppose it has anything to do with Max. I won’t have you upsetting our servants. Mother, please!”

“It does seem unwarranted,” Augusta chose her words very carefully. “Have you any cause for your suspicions, Inspector? Because if not, I must refuse you permission to harass my staff. Come back with proof, and of course I shall give you every assistance.”

Christina took a deep breath and let it out.

The door opened and the general came in. He stopped in surprise.

“Good morning, sir,” Pitt said courteously.

“What are you doing here again?” Balantyne asked. “Found out something?”

“He’s looking for the man,” Brandy answered him. “Thinks it could be Max, and he wants to speak to him.”

“Good idea,” Balantyne said decisively. “Get it cleared up one way or the other.” He leaned over, and before Augusta could stop him, he pulled the bell cord. A moment later Max came in. He must have been standing in the hall.

Pitt’s eyes met his, surveyed the dark, sensual face, the immaculate clothes.

“Yes, sir?” Max inquired.

“Any romantic interests, any woman?” Balantyne spoke, abruptly, with all the tact of a heavy cavalry charge. Augusta winced.

Max’s face altered only barely.

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“Aren’t I plain enough, man? Have you any romantic attachments? Do you have any lady friends, call them what you will?”

”I have no intention of marrying, sir.”

“That is not what I asked, damn it! Don’t play the fool with me.”

“My most recent romantic attachment has just ended, I fear,” Max was smiling under the heavy lids, and he looked almost imperceptibly at Christina.

“Who was she?”

“With the greatest respect, sir that can be of no interest to the police. She is a woman of respectability, of very good family.” His voice was rich with his own suppressed amusement.

Augusta could only stand and let disaster come. Perhaps Max himself would protect his own interest, and thus protect Christina. It was her only hope.

Pitt merely waited, letting it play itself out in front of him, watching.

“Good family?” the general said with incredulity.

“Yes, sir.”

“Who?”

“I would prefer to protect her, sir. There is no need for her name to be discussed in front of the police. Lady Augusta knows, if you wish to ask her-” He let it hang.

Christina was white-faced, the painted color on her cheeks standing out like a clown’s.

“Will that be all, sir?” Max inquired.

Balantyne was staring at Augusta.

Augusta collected herself.

“Yes, thank you, Max. If we require anything, we shall call again.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he bowed very, very slightly and left, closing the door silently behind him.

“Well?” Balantyne demanded.

“He is quite correct,” she replied quickly. “It can be of no possible interest to the police.”

Pitt spoke very courteously, softly.

“Why did you not tell me that in the beginning, my lady?”

She felt the cold run through her.

“I beg your pardon?” She played for time, a few seconds to think of an answer.

“Why did you not tell me that when the subject was first raised, Lady Augusta?”

“I–I had temporarily forgotten. It is not important.”

“Who is this woman-of good family, Lady Augusta?”

“I do not feel free, nor do I wish, to disclose her name.”

“Oh, come on, Augusta,” Balantyne said exasperatedly. “If she’s not involved, Pitt isn’t going to do anything to her. You’ll be discreet, won’t you? Besides, Max’s idea of a ‘good family’ and ours will be quite different things.”

“I prefer not to.” She could not lie and blame some totally innocent woman-it would be immoral, even if it were practicable.

Pitt turned and looked at Christina, frozen where she stood.

“Miss Balantyne?” he said slowly. “Perhaps you would care to tell me?”

She was speechless.

“Christina?” For the first time there was doubt in the general’s voice.

“Never mind,” Pitt said quietly. “I shall pursue my investigations elsewhere for a while, and perhaps return here later.”

“Yes, by all means,” Augusta agreed. She could hear the tension slip out of her voice, and try as she would, she could not control her relief. She understood what he meant-that he knew about Christina and Max, and would seek other ways of discovering whether it was she who had borne the children. But Augusta was sure that it was not. She would have known; Christina had neither the nerve nor the art to have concealed it from her. And now that she had had time to consider it, neither had she the opportunity. She had not spent the appropriate times where such a thing could have been hidden.

She faced Pitt confidently.

“That would be by far the best thing to do.”

Pitt looked at her, his curious, penetrating eyes full of knowledge. There was understanding between them. She was not bluffing; she was acknowledging the truth, and he knew it.

“Excellent advice,” he bowed very slightly. “Good morning, Lady Augusta, Miss Balantyne, General, Mr. Balantyne.”

When he was gone Balantyne turned to Augusta, his face puckered.

“What was all that about, Augusta? What is the man playing at?”

“I’ve no idea,” she lied.

“Don’t be ridiculous! You and he understood each other, even I could see that much. What is going on? What has it to do with Max? I require to know.”

She considered for a moment. She had forgotten the strength in him, when he chose to interest himself. She remembered how she had loved him twenty years ago. He had been everything that was masculine, clean, powerful; and a little mystical, because it was unknown. The years had brought familiarity, knowledge that his strength was spasmodic, that hers was deeper, more resilient, would rise to meet everything, day by day; the strength that endures wars, not merely battles.

“Christina, you may go,” she said quietly. “There is no need to worry about Mr. Pitt, at least for the time being. Address yourself to the problem in hand, and prepare for the dinner engagement this evening. Brandy, you may go also.”

“I should prefer to stay, Mother.”

“Probably, but you will go, just the same.”

“Mother-”

“Brandon,” Balantyne said sharply.

In silence Christina and Brandy left.

“Well?” Balantyne asked.

Augusta looked at him incredulously. He still had no idea.

“The girl in question was Christina,” she said baldly. “She was having an affair with Max. I thought you might have perceived as much, Mr. Pitt certainly did.”

He stared at her.

“You must be mistaken!”

“Don’t be fatuous! Do you think I would make a mistake about such a thing?” Her composure slipped at last. She had either to lose her temper, or weep. “Don’t look so alarmed. I am taking care of it.” There was no need to tell him anything about the possible pregnancy. “I intend to see that she marries as soon as possible, preferably Alan Ross-”

“Does he wish to marry her?”

“Not yet, but he will be made to wish to. That is up to us-”

“Us?”

“Of course, ‘us.’ The girl cannot do it entirely by herself. I shall tell you when it is time for you to approach him. Perhaps at Christmas.”

“Isn’t that a little precipitate?” He looked at her narrowly.

“Yes. But it may be advisable.”

His face tightened.

“I see. And may I ask why Max is still in the house? Surely she does not entertain ideas about marrying him?”

“Of course not! She has no interest in him, beyond-the-anyway, it is all over. I will get rid of him as soon as I think of a satisfactory method. At the moment the most important thing is to maintain his silence. That can best be done by suffering him to remain here, at least for the present.”

“You mean until Christina is married.”

“More or less.”

“Augusta?”

For the first time she looked at him.

“No,” she said simply, answering the question in his mind. “I certainly have made a grave error over Max. I did not judge her well, not know her as I should have: but she had nothing to do with the children in the garden. I should have known that.” Peculiarly, she felt ashamed, meeting his eyes like this. It was her job to have known her daughter, and to have seen that this did not happen.

Balantyne said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” she felt compelled to say it.

He put his hand on her arm and patted it, then took it away as if he were not quite sure why he had done it.

“What about the police?” he asked.

“I think Pitt and I understand each other,” she replied. “He is a very clever man. He knows that I know it was not Christina. That will satisfy him, at least for a considerable time. Although he may well believe that Max might have-other-” she shook herself. “Anyway, Mr. Pitt is not our problem for the immediate future. We must consider Christina and Alan Ross.”

“I don’t know how you can be-so-” He looked at her with incomprehension, and something not entirely devoid of distaste.

Surprisingly, it hurt.

“What would you have me do?” she said stiffly. “Weep? Or faint? What help would that be? We must solve the problem now. There will be time enough to indulge our feelings afterward, when she is safely married.”

“And if Ross does not wish to marry her?”

“He must be made to wish to. Or else we shall find someone else. You can begin to think of others, just in case.”

“Don’t you feel anything? Your daughter has lain with a footman, in our own house-”

“What difference does it make where it happened! Of course I feel something-but I do not intend to buckle under it and let a mistake turn into a disaster! Now you had better go back to your papers, that wretched Miss what’s-her-name will soon be here. If you wish to be useful, start to think who else would be suitable for Christina, if Ross proves impossible. I am going to make up my social diary for Christina,” and before he could argue, she went out. There was much to be done.

Charlotte had been shown straight into the library when she arrived and she went immediately to the letters she had been sorting the previous day. She did not notice that it was a half hour before the general appeared.

“Good morning, Miss Ellison.”

“Good morning, General Balantyne,” she looked up as she spoke, as courtesy required, and noticed that he stood unusually stiffly, as though conscious of himself and a new awkwardness. She searched in her mind for some cause for it, and could find nothing.

“I apologize for having kept you waiting,” he said hastily. “I hope you were not-anxious-?”

She smiled, hoping to put him at ease. “Not at all, thank you. I assumed you must have another call upon your attention, and I continued with the letters.”

“Police,” he sat down.

She felt a hypocrite, knowing that it would have been Pitt, and Balantyne had no knowledge that she was his wife. She was here precisely to observe those things they would not willingly have told the police, and yet she now dreaded it. She liked Balantyne, and would have chosen to retain his regard.

“I suppose they have to pursue it,” she said softly. “It cannot be ignored.”

“Better if it could,” he said, staring ahead of him. “Lot of grief to everyone. But of course you are quite correct, the truth must be uncovered, regardless of the consequences. Trouble is-one discovers so much else. Still,” he straightened his shoulders, “we must work. I would be obliged if you would put these in chronological order as well as you can. I’m afraid they are not all dated. Perhaps your history-?” he left it hanging, not wishing to be derogatory about her knowledge.

“Oh, there is an excellent book in that case about Marlborough’s campaigns,” she replied. “I asked you if I might borrow it two days ago, and you were kind enough to allow me to.”

“Oh,” he looked taken aback, and she realized that something had indeed upset him more deeply than she had at first understood. “Oh,” he repeated foolishly. “I forgot. Of course, you will know-”

She smiled at him.

“If you have other business to take care of, I can quite well work on these by myself,” she offered. “You do not need to supervise me, if it is inconvenient.”

“You are very considerate, but I have nothing else that I-at least not now. Thank you,” and with a faint color in his face he bent to his papers.

Once or twice he spoke to her again, but his remarks were inconsequential, and she let them pass without question, knowing his mind was preoccupied. Had he newly discovered something about Christina? That she feared she was with child? Or something deeper, worse? Compassion forbade her from making any attempt to discover. She would like to have said or done something to comfort him, indeed her instinct was strong to touch him, reduce some of the stiffness out of his body, suffer him to relax. He would be stronger for having given in to himself for a few moments. But of course it would be totally improper. It would produce not the comfort of one creature for another, but embarrassment, misunderstanding, even fear. There were years of icebound convention between them. Instead she affected not to have noticed anything unusual. She could afford him at least privacy, which was second best, but gentler than nothing, and no doubt what he believed he wished for.

It was not long before midday when Max came in to say that Garson Campbell was in the morning room and wished to see General Balantyne, and could he show him in.

“What?”

Max repeated the request. Looking at him, Charlotte found him one of the most offensive men she had seen. There was a curve to his mouth, a wetness that she found repellent, as if he were forever licking his lips, although in truth she had never seen him do so.

“Oh, yes,” Balantyne acquiesced. “Send him in. I won’t come out, or he’ll think I’ve all day to waste.”

Garson Campbell came in a moment later. It was the first time Charlotte had seen him, and she kept perfectly still in the corner, the book on Marlborough held up to her face, hoping that they might not notice her. She peered over the top of it cautiously to look.

Campbell had a clever face, long nose, hard, humorous mouth, and quick eyes. He stamped his feet slightly, perhaps from the cold.

“Morning, Balantyne.” He appeared not to have seen Charlotte, and she remained motionless, trusting that the general would have forgotten her also.

“Morning, Campbell.”

“Still resurrecting past victories? Well, I suppose they’re better than present apathy: so long as we don’t think they’ll do as a substitute.”

“We can hardly learn from history if we choose not to remember it,” Balantyne replied a little defensively.

“My dear Balantyne,” Campbell sat down, “the day mankind learns to profit from the lessons of history I shall look for the Second Coming. Still, it’s a harmless exercise, and I dare say they make good reading. A lot less dangerous than politics. I wish a few of your military colleagues would occupy themselves as innocuously. Why do men presume that because they purchased a commission in the army, and were fortunate enough not to get killed, that they can also purchase a seat at Westminster and survive the infinitely subtler wars of politics?”

“I have no idea,” Balantyne said tersely. “I am hardly the person to whom you should address such a question.”

“For heaven’s sake, it was an observation in passing. I don’t expect you to have an answer! I don’t expect answers from anyone. The most I ever hope for is that here and there one may find someone who at least acknowledges the question! Have you had the damned police here again?”

Balantyne stiffened.

“Yes. Why?”

“It’s about time they gave up. The whole thing’s only an academic exercise anyway, matter of public image. They should have satisfied that by now. They’ll not find out who did it, and if they’ve any sense they can never have supposed they might.”

“They have to try. It’s a very serious crime.”

“Some wretched girl had a stillborn child, or killed it straight after. For God’s sake, Balantyne, people are dying all over the place. Have you any idea how many paupers’ children die in London every year? These probably never knew anything about it. And what sort of a life would they have had? Don’t talk a lot of sentimental nonsense. What on earth were you like on the battlefield? Terrified to order the charge, in case someone got hurt?”

“You can hardly compare fighting a war to defend your ideals or your country with murdering babies!” Balantyne’s temper was very close to the surface. Charlotte could see the light shine across the tight skin on his cheekbones. It was a stronger face than Campbell’s, leaner, cleaner of bone, but there was a softer line to the closing of the lips, a vulnerability. She would like to have faced Campbell herself, driven back his clever cynicism with her own inner steel. She was not afraid of him, because she knew in her heart that to be without optimism, that core of reasonless hope in the spirit rather than the brain, was a fatal flaw, the seed of death.

Campbell sighed with obvious patience.

“It can’t be undone, Balantyne. For heaven’s sake, let us salvage what is left. I’ve already put in a few words here and there to get the police to withdraw, call it a good effort, and finish. You have friends, and so has Carlton. See what you can do. I’m sure Carlton will. Poor devil has already uncovered a basket of snakes in his own house. Although if he’s surprised, he’s the only one. Full-blooded young woman like Euphemia marries a stuffy old bird like that, don’t know what else he expected! Still, pity it has to become public. Wasn’t necessary, if the police had minded their damned business.”

Balantyne’s face was white. “It does not have to become public, unless you choose to make it so. Which, I imagine, as a gentleman, you will not!” He was half standing in his chair, as if he would offer some physical threat.

Campbell was more amused then frightened.

“Of course not. We’ve all got our skeletons. I never met a man yet who had not something he ought to be ashamed of, and certainly a hell of a lot he wanted kept secret. Do sit down, Balantyne. You look ridiculous. Just thought I’d mention it.” For the first time he glanced at Charlotte and she dropped her eyes immediately, but not before she had seen the humor in him, and the appreciation. What did he imagine she was here for? She found the blood coming to her face as the obvious thought occurred to her. She hoped the general was too innocent, and too stiff, to have thought of it also.

However, when Campbell was gone he turned to her, his own face flushed.

“Charlotte-I–I-apologize for Campbell. I can only presume he did not at first realize you were here. I–I assure you-”

She forgot her own embarrassment in his.

“Of course not,” she smiled. “In truth, I had not thought of it, and knew it to be nothing more than a few unpleasant words. Pray, do not think of it again.”

He looked at her closely for a moment, then relaxed gratefully.

“Thank you, er, thank you.”

It was an additional week before Augusta finally reached a satisfactory solution to the problem of how to get rid of Max. She had required help, and had had to invent a satisfactory explanation for it before approaching her distant relations and offering to exchange favor for favor. Now it was arranged, and it only remained to inform Max.

It was one week before Christmas. She felt vastly better than she had in the appalling morning Pitt had come. Christina had employed herself excellently, and Alan Ross seemed almost resigned to his fate. Indeed she had seen him only this afternoon escorting Christina out for a drive in his carriage. She had been out in the street herself when they had left. Brandy had been on the pavement, talking to that pretty little governess of the Southerons’. Attractive creature, a little thin, but with a peculiar grace, and such a charming smile: just the person to have charge of children.

She was alone in the house. Brandy had left for his club, the general also; and that young Ellison woman had gone home early. She rang for Max.

He came after a few minutes.

“Yes, my lady?” he was smug as always.

“I have made arrangements for you to take another post, Max-”

“My lady-” He stared woodenly at her.

“In London,” she continued, “with Lord Veitch. I have given you an excellent reference, you will be footman and valet when he travels abroad, which he does frequently. He is in London for the season, and goes to the country for the summer, and for the shooting, of course. He very often journeys to Paris, and Vienna. You will travel with him, and he will increase your salary above that which we pay you. An advance, you will agree?”

“Indeed, my lady,” he bowed with a slow smile. “I am most grateful. When do I leave?”

“Immediately. Tomorrow morning. Lord Veitch goes to the country for Christmas, and to Paris for the New Year.”

“Thank you, my lady,” he bowed again, still smiling, and withdrew.

She told Balantyne of it that evening, sitting at her dressing table, her hair loose over her shoulders; her maid had brushed it and been excused.

Balantyne, in dressing gown, stared at her.

“You let the bounder go, to a better position? And what about Bertie Veitch? What has he done to deserve that?”

“He owes me a favor,” she replied.

“Augusta!”

“I warned him,” she said impatiently. “And I will pay the difference in his salary.”

“For how long? And I object to rewarding that-swine-for his vile-”

“He will not profit for long, Brandon. Bertie will take him out of the country, to Paris, and then Vienna. In Vienna he will find some occasion against him, and dismiss him for dishonesty. I dare say Max will not find a Viennese prison to his liking.”

Balantyne stared at her, his face white.

“How could you, Augusta? That is dishonest!”

“It is no more than he deserves,” she said, a chill inside her as she met his eyes, then looked away. “What would you have had me do, permit him to remain here, blackmailing us? In this house with Christina, and Alan Ross?”

“Of course not! But not this!”

“What then? Had you thought of something?”

He stood silent, tall, straight, his body frozen, simply staring at her.

She stood up and walked over to her bed, her hair falling round her shoulders, feeling appallingly vulnerable, like a new bride in a room with a stranger.