Callander Square

EIGHT

Reggie Southeron arrived home from his afternoon of card-playing to find Adelina looking tearful and white-faced. It was annoying. He himself was in excellent spirits, having won a handsome sum of money, shared some excellent brandy, rich cigars, and even richer jokes. He had fully intended to keep the same roseate glow all evening, and to discover Adelina in such mind was distinctly dampening. He tried to jolly her out of it; after all, women wept so easily, it was probably nothing of significance.

“Don’t you feel very well?” he said cheerfully. “Never mind, it’ll pass. Take half a glass of brandy, pick you up no end. I’ll join you.”

To his surprise she agreed, and a few minutes later they were in the withdrawing room, curtains closed against the night, sharing the warmth of a considerable fire. Suddenly Adelina began weeping again, dabbing a handkerchief to her eyes.

“For goodness’ sake, my dear,” he said a little sharply. “Pull yourself together! Nothing is helped by sniffling.”

She gave him a bleak look and wiped her eyes harder.

“I can only presume that you do not know,” she said indignantly.

“I do not,” he agreed. “And if it makes you as miserable as you look, I do not wish to. If some sort of calamity has befallen someone, I’m sorry, but since I cannot help, I am happy to remain ignorant of the sordid details.”

“It is your duty to know!” she said accusingly.

He started to protest, but she was not to be stemmed.

“Helena Doran has been found!”

“Is that cause for weeping? She ran off. If she now does not like her circumstance, that is a pity, but hardly our responsibility!”

“Dead!” Adelina let the word fall like a damnation. “She has been dead for two years, sitting there on the swing seat in the garden of the empty house, all by herself, just as if she were alive. She must have been murdered, of course!”

He did not wish to believe it; it was horrible, a rude and ugly disturbance of all that was safe and comfortable, all that he liked.

“Why ‘of course’?” he demanded. “She could have died of a heart attack, or a seizure, or something.”

“She was with child!”

“You mean they’ve done a post mortem?” he said in surprise, and some disgust. “Already?”

“She was barely more than a skeleton,” she began to weep again. “There were bones. Nellie told me.”

“Who is Nellie?” Nobody came to mind.

“The scullery maid. Can’t you even remember your own servants’ names?”

He was genuinely surprised.

“Why on earth should I? I don’t suppose I’ve ever seen her. I’m sorry about Helena, but really my dear, it is a most gruesome subject. Let us discuss something else. I’m sure you’ll feel better for it.” He had a sudden inspiration. “And we don’t want to upset the children. They will know if you are distressed. It is hardly something we would wish them to know about.” It was actually a ridiculous hope. Chastity at least would discover it in great detail, in fact probably already knew: but it sounded both sympathetic and wise to say so.

Adelina looked at him dubiously, but she did not argue.

Reggie settled down to a pleasant evening by the fire, a good dinner, a little port; and perhaps just a touch more brandy. Helena and her affairs were beyond help now, so there was nothing to be gained for anyone by dwelling on thoroughly unpleasant subjects such as corpses in wet gardens, and murders, and the like.

However, his peace was broken about nine o’clock when the butler brought a new bottle of port, and announced at the same time that Dr. Bolsover had called to see him.

Reggie sat up and opened his eyes.

“Oh well, you might as well send him in,” he said reluctantly. He was not really in the mood for conversation, but Freddie was an easy fellow, well mannered, fond of a little civilized conversation, and a good port. “Bring another glass, will you?”

“I have done, sir. I’ll ask Dr. Bolsover to join you. Mrs. Southeron is still upstairs.”

“Oh good. Yes, thank you. That’s all,” he reclined again. No need to hitch himself up and be formal for Freddie, thank goodness.

Freddie came in a moment later, elegant in a wine-colored smoking jacket that complemented his fair face.

“Evening, Freddie,” Reggie said indolently. “Help yourself to a glass of port. Filthy evening, isn’t it? Still, fire’s good. Sit down.”

Freddie did as he was bidden, and with a glass in his hand, settled in the chair opposite. He sipped slowly, and rolled it round his mouth.

“Miserable business about poor Helena Doran, isn’t it?” he said, looking across.

Reggie was annoyed. He did not want to discuss it.

“Miserable,” he agreed succinctly. “Still, all over now.”

“Oh, hardly,” Freddie demurred with a smile.

“She’s dead,” Reggie slid even deeper into the chair. “Can’t be more finished than that.”

“It’s the end of Helena, poor girl,” Freddie agreed. He held up his glass to look at the rich color against the light. “But only the beginning of a lot of other things.”

“Such as what?”

“Well, how did she die, for one thing?” Freddie’s clear blue eyes fixed on Reggie. “And who killed her? The police are going to want to know that, you know.”

“She might have died quite naturally.” Reggie found the subject most disagreeable. He wished Freddie would leave it alone. “Anyway, not our business.”

“Police all over the place will be our business,” Freddie was still looking at him, smiling faintly. Charming fellow, Freddie, but less sensitivity than Reggie would have expected. Rotten subject to bring up in a fellow’s house over a good port.

“Not mine,” Reggie stretched his legs out. Fire really was excellent, warmed him right through.

“Oh, they’ll be onto all of us, asking questions again. Bound to.”

“Don’t know anything. Can’t help. Not a clue who her lover was. Not interested in that kind of thing. Women’s business, gossip. Ask the women, if he’s any good at his job.”

“Pitt?”

“If that’s his name.”

“No doubt he will. But he’ll ask us too,” Freddie also sank a little into the deep leather.

“Nothing to tell him,” Reggie finished the last of his port and poured some more. The room seemed to glow warmer and redder. “Nothing at all.”

There was a moment’s silence.

“Suppose it wasn’t you?” Freddie said suddenly.

“Me?” Reggie had dismissed the matter and was drifting pleasantly into other things, pretty women, Jemima to be precise. Charming creature, so feminine. “What are you talking about?”

“Helena’s lover, of course,” Freddie was still faintly smiling. “Wasn’t you, was it, old boy?”

“Good God!” Reggie jerked up a full six inches in the chair. “Of course it wasn’t!”

“Just thought it might be. You do have rather a taste for that sort of thing, after all.”

“Taste for it! What in hell do you mean?” Reggie was offended. It was an ill-bred thing to remark.

“Taste for young women,” Freddie did not appear in the least abashed. “Mary Ann, and Dolly, and who knows who else?”

“Mary Ann is a parlormaid!” Reggie said indignantly. “Everyone has a fancy for parlormaids now and then, if they’re honest. And Dolly was a long time ago. I prefer not to discuss that. I thought I told you as much.”

“Oh, I’m sure you do,” Freddie agreed. “Especially now.”

“What do you mean, especially now?” Reggie did not care for the turn the conversation was taking. “Why now?”

“Well, apparently Helena was pregnant too,” Freddie was still looking directly at him, and still smiling. “And then there are the babies in the gardens. If they knew about Mary Ann, and about poor Dolly, they might leap to the very nasty conclusion that they were all connected; don’t you think?”

Suddenly the heat of the fire scorched Reggie’s legs, and left the inside of him bitterly cold. The thought was appalling, terrifying! His mouth was dry. He stared at Freddie, trying to pretend he did not understand, pretend to himself.

“You do,” Freddie’s smile was fixed on his face, it seemed to hang in the air in front of Reggie, as if there were nothing else in the room. “You see what I mean?” Freddie pressed the point.

“Yes,” Reggie heard his own voice far away. He cleared his throat, and his voice returned louder than he intended. “But they won’t, I mean there’s no reason why they should hear about any of that. You’re the only other person who knows about it, about Dolly, I mean.”

“Quite,” Freddie reached for the port and poured himself more, still meeting Reggie’s eyes over the top. “So it all rather depends on me; doesn’t it?”

“Well, for God’s sake, you won’t say anything! Will you!”

“Oh no,” Freddie sipped his port gently. “No, I shouldn’t think so, for a moment.” He sipped again. “As long as I remember what I’ve said, and don’t contradict myself.”

“You won’t!”

“Hope not. But rather important, you know. Could do with a small reminder.”

“What-what do you mean, Freddie?”

“Reminder,” Freddie said easily, “something to keep my memory on the job, something that was always there, something big enough to be important.”

Reggie stared at him in cold fascination. The glimmering of understanding was coming into his mind, and it was ugly.

“What did you have in mind, Freddie?” he asked slowly. He would like to have hit him, kicked him, sitting so smugly there in front of the fire. But he knew he could not afford to. The police were too busy, too watchful of anything different just now. The time would come, of course, after all this business was finished, and life went back to the way it had been before: then he would be able to sort Freddie out. The fellow was a bounder.

But in the meantime-

“What do you want, Freddie?” he asked again.

Freddie was still smiling. What a charming fellow he used to think he was! That smile was so frank, so quick to grace his features.

“Got this rotten bill outstanding at my tailor’s,” Freddie seemed quite unabashed. “Been there rather a long time. Give me a hand with it, old boy. As a favor. Feel that if I actually owned my clothes, instead of that damned stitchin’ fellow, I’d be enormously grateful.”

“You damn better be!”

“Will, I assure you. Think of you every time I dress.”

“How much?”

“Oh, hundred pounds should about do it.”

“A hundred pounds!” Reggie was shattered. He did not spend that much on clothes in a year, and he would not have allowed Adelina half of it. Damn it all, he paid maids only twenty pounds a year. “How in God’s name did you permit yourself-?”

“Like to dress well, you know.” Freddie stood up. He was tall, slim, elegant: indeed he did dress well, far better than Reggie; then of course he had the figure for it, but even so! “Thanks, old boy,” he said cheerfully. “Shan’t forget it.”

“By God, you’d better not!” Reggie could feel anger and panic rising in him. If Freddie did forget, or went back on his word-

“Don’t worry,” Freddie said easily. “Got an excellent memory, when I choose. Doctor, you know. Doctors never repeat what their patients tell them in confidence. Police can’t make them. Perfectly safe.” He moved to the door gracefully. “I’ll take the hundred now. Tailor chap a bit impatient, you know. Won’t take any more orders till I cough up. Miserly wretch.”

“Haven’t got it now,” Reggie replied stiffly. “I’ll send the footman round to the bank in the morning. Give it to you by tomorrow.”

“Yes, don’t forget, Reggie. Good memory could be vital; I’m sure you understand.”

Reggie understood perfectly. He would have a footman at the bank door the moment it opened. Damn Freddie. And the worst of it was he would have to go on being civil to the cad; there was no way out of it. If he cut him people would notice, and he must at any cost keep Freddie’s good will, at least until the police gave up and left the square.

He sat down again after Freddie had gone. He was glad Adelina had not come back into the room. He wished to be alone. He had had a very considerable shock, and the more he thought about it, the nastier it became. Who would have credited that Freddie could behave in such a way? If a chap was a bit short of ready money, anyone could understand that. But to resort to-well-it amounted to blackmail.

Of course it would all blow over when the police either found out who the wretched girl was, which was unlikely, or gave up, which on the face of it was probably what would happen. Then another very unpleasant thought came to him. What did the police do if they could not solve a case? Did they give up? Or did they put it aside, but always keep it at the back of their minds: someone detailed to keep an ear to it? The possibility was frightening! What if they never gave up, if they kept at it, like an open wound, probing it every time it threatened to close over? That could be very nasty, a permanently ugly rumor never either exposed and lived down, nor yet laid to rest as false.

Good God! What could he do about Freddie then? The man, if he were cad enough, could keep coming back over and over again! A hundred pounds here, a social favor there, or a spot of financial advice under the counter, a gift of this or that-God in heaven, it could be never ending! It was monstrous!

The best thing for Reggie would be if this damned Pitt fellow found out who it was and cleared up the whole wretched business. Then Freddie could say what he liked. It would certainly damage Reggie’s reputation for a while, and Adelina would be pretty upset. But then their relationship was not so very close anyway: not a lot to lose, compared with permanent leeching by Freddie! And the very fact that as a doctor and a friend he had broken such a confidence would do Freddie himself a damn sight more damage. Who would trust the fellow after that? No, to tell the police, under pressure, was one thing, there could be a good excuse for that: but to spread it around, merely as gossip, that was unpardonable, and Freddie would be sure to know that.

No, quite definitely, if Pitt found out who it was, Reggie would be safe. He settled down deeper into the chair and stretched his legs out again. This really was an excellent fire. He rang for the footman, gave him instructions about the bank, and ordered more port. He would not have thought the two of them could have got through a whole bottle, but there it was, empty; so they must have. Still, a wretched experience like this called for a little fortification. Natural enough.

Thing was, must see what he could do to help this police fellow to get the matter solved, so everyone knew who was to blame, and thus who was not: and the police took themselves off back to the usual sort of crimes they were really employed to deal with.

He fell asleep, still wondering what he could do to help Pitt.

He woke late the following morning, as was his habit, rose, was dressed by his valet, and took a good breakfast of porridge, bacon, eggs, deviled kidneys, sausage, mushrooms, then several slices of toast, butter, and preserves, then of course a fresh pot of tea. He should have felt a great deal better after it: but he did not. In the gray, pedestrian light of morning, the more he thought about the likelihood of the police discovering the girl to blame, the less likely he considered it to be that they would meet with any success. The fellow Pitt was probably bright enough, he was certainly inquisitive; but where could he find proof? After all, it was all months ago now, even years! Could have been anybody! Some wretched girl even from the neighboring blocks! Did not have to be Callander Square at all! Now had the fools thought of that?

“Don’t be an ass! Calm yourself, Reggie. Of course they have. That is probably what they spent their time doing, when they were not here. And they were here quite a small part of the time, considering they quite probably worked from breakfast till dinner, five or six days a week. Yes, of course, they will have asked all over the place.” He began to feel better again, and spent a pleasant enough morning going into the city, wandered round the merchant bank of which he was a director, had a long luncheon at his club, and was home again by half past four when it became dark and began to drizzle. The gas lamps in the square were partly obscured by drifting mist and the trees rattled in the rising wind. A filthy night. Glad to have a good fire and a good table to go to.

He greeted the children civilly enough, and of course Adelina, and was relaxing after dinner when there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” he said with some surprise.

Chastity came in, looking very prim and clean.

“What is it, child?” he was a little annoyed. He did not wish to talk.

“Uncle Reggie, Miss Waggoner says I must ask you if I wish to learn mathematics. Please, may I?”

“No. Whatever would you require mathematics for?”

“I would like to learn for the sake of learning,” she replied sedately. “You have said to me that it is good to do so.”

“They would be of no use to you,” he said decisively.

“Neither is painting, but you say I should learn it.”

“Painting is an art, that is quite different. Women should become proficient in some art or other: give them something to do when they grow up. Otherwise how will you employ your time?” That was faultless logic. She would have no answer for that. He faced her with satisfaction.

“I shall marry a policeman,” she said immediately. “And I shall be poor, so I shall have to keep my own house. It might be very useful to be able to do mathematics. I could deduce things.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” he snapped. Really, the child was becoming impossible. “Why ever should you marry a policeman?”

“Because I like them. I like Mr. Pitt. I should like to marry him, only he is already married. He was here again today. He was talking to Mary Ann. I don’t think he’ll ever find out who killed those babies, you know. He says so himself. It will just remain a mystery for ever and ever and ever. We shall all wonder who it was, and we shall think dreadful things about each other, and no one will ever know. When I grow to be very old, about fifty, I shall tell my grandchildren about it, and I shall say the square is haunted by crying babies who were murdered in olden times; that’s now; but it will be olden times by then, and nobody ever knew who did it. And we shall play games as to whom it might have been, and-”

“Stop it!” Reggie said furiously. He could not remember when he had last lost his temper, but this was monstrous. The child was talking nonsense, absurd, ridiculous, and frightening nonsense. She was raising visions of a never-ending bondage, a bloodsucking till he was empty, a fear to stalk him the rest of his life! “Stop it!” he shouted. “That’s not true! They’ll find out who it was. The police are very clever. They are bound to discover, and probably quite soon.” He could still feel his heart bumping, but it was not quite so uncontrolled now.

Chastity looked at him in surprise, but without losing her beastly composure.

“Do you think so, Uncle Reggie? I don’t. I think it will be a terrible mystery for ever and ever, and everyone will go around whispering about it. Can I learn mathematics, please?”

“No!”

“But I want to.”

“Well, you can’t!”

“Why not?” she asked reasonably.

“Because I say so. Now go up to bed. It must be your bedtime.”

“It isn’t, not for another hour yet.”

“Do as you are told, child. Go to bed.” He knew he was being completely arbitrary, but then one was not required to explain to children, or even to have an explanation. One could do as one pleased. It was good for children to learn to obey.

Chastity retired as she was told, but there was a look of disappointment in her eyes that was distinctly touched with contempt. The impertinence of it stung him.

He sat staring at the opposite chair, his thoughts going round with gathering momentum, and increasing unpleasantness. What if Chastity were right, and they never did find out who it was? They would go on talking about it-after all, why should they ever stop? Gossip was the lifeblood of women’s social round. What was not real or known must be invented! It was appalling, but it was true. Of course other subjects would arise, other scandals, no doubt; but at the slightest reawakening of any suspicions, this one with all its obscene speculation would be resurrected.

And Freddie, Freddie would know that, and thrive on it. Great God, he could be paying him for the rest of his life, being sucked of substance, by a bloody leech-a vampire! This was terrible!

He found himself standing up, without having been aware of rising. He must do something, that was beyond question. But what? His brain was like a cheese, no sense in it. He could not do it alone, that much was sure. He had no ideas. Who could help? Must not let Adelina know, she would blurt it out all over the place. Anyway, she was one of the ones he must keep it from. She would not understand about Mary Ann, still less about Dolly. She would make life intolerable for him. And he valued the comfort, above all else the ease and graciousness of his home. No ugliness or need for the labor of the outside world intruded into it, and he intended to keep it that way, at all costs. And of course for purely practical purposes, he must protect his position at the bank, it was a very lucrative and pleasant situation. He had influence.

But none of that was any use now, and he could see it slipping away from him, and leaving him naked to the chill of life’s harsh realities-no succulent foods, no great fires, deep chairs, summer afternoons with strawberries, servants for everything, parties whenever he wished; naked, like a great white animal without its fur or its shell, ready to be shriveled by the first winter blast.

He must get help. Who was the most practical person he knew, the most intelligent? The answer was quick to come to mind, without question, Garson Campbell.

And there was no time to be lost. Anyway, he could not possibly rest until he had done something about it, his mind was in turmoil. He rang for the footman to bring his coat. It was an abysmal night, and he loathed getting wet, but the discomfort inside him was infinitely worse, and growing more acute with each new thought that came to his mind.

He found Campbell in and willing to see him, although in view of the urgency with which he announced himself, he would have been very surprised had he not.

“Well, Reggie, what’s the panic?” Campbell said with a slightly caustic smile. “William seemed to think you were in something of a flap.”

“My God, Campbell, I’ve discovered something appalling!” Reggie collapsed into one of the other chairs and gazed up at Campbell with thumping heart. “Simply frightful.”

Campbell was unimpressed.

“Oh. I suppose you’ll need a glass of port to help you recover.” It was an observation, not a question.

Reggie sat up in the seat.

“I’m not joking, Campbell, this is damned serious!”

Campbell swiveled round at the sideboard to face him, perhaps struck by the timbre of his voice.

Reggie could feel panic welling up inside him. What if Campbell would not help?

“I’m being blackmailed!” he blurted out. “For money! At least it’s only money at the moment. God knows what it could grow into! Campbell, my whole life could be ruined! He could take everything, like a vampire at my throat, sucking out my life! It’s obscene, it’s frightful!”

At last Campbell was impressed, his face altered and a hardness, an attentiveness came into his eyes.

“Blackmailed?” he repeated, his hand still holding the port decanter, but absently, forgetting what it was.

“Yes!” Reggie’s voice was climbing higher and higher. “A hundred pounds!”

Campbell had control of himself again. His mouth turned down at the corners.

“That’s a lot of money.”

“You’re damned right it is. Campbell, what am I going to do? We’ve got to stop this sort of thing, before it takes hold.”

Campbell’s eyebrows rose slightly.

“Why ‘we,’ Reggie? I agree, blackmail is a nasty thing, but why should I involve myself?”

“Because it’s Freddie, you fool!” Reggie lost his temper again; he was badly frightened, their whole manner of life was threatened, and here was Campbell standing with port in his hand and a sneer on his face as if it were merely some minor inconvenience.

“Freddie?” There was steel in Campbell’s voice, a quite different tone. His face had stiffened, even his body. “Freddie Bolsover?”

“Yes! Damned Freddie Bolsover. Came to my house as cool as you please, sat in my chair in the library and drank my port, and asked me for a hundred pounds to keep quiet about my fondness for the parlormaid!”

“And you paid him?” Campbell’s eyebrows rose and his eyes were full of cynical disbelief, and something that looked like amusement. Although God knew what there was to be amused at!

“Of course I paid him!” Reggie spat out furiously. “What do you think the police would make of it if they knew I had a fondness for parlormaids, with those wretched bodies in the square? They might even think I had something to do with Helena Doran, and so help me God, I never touched the girl! Little harmless fun with a few maids, but never anything really wrong! But can’t expect those bounders to know that! They’re only working class themselves!”

Campbell looked at him down his long nose.

“Yes, you’re in something of a spot, aren’t you?” He finished pouring the port at last and handed Reggie one. “Although I shouldn’t think anyone could connect you with Helena,” he hesitated, “could they?”

“No!”

“Then I don’t know why you’re so excited. What can Freddie say? That he thinks you had a bit of a toss with your parlormaid? That’s hardly damning. And how in hell would he know, anyway? Does he listen to kitchen gossip? You were a fool to pay.”

Reggie squirmed in his chair. It was Dolly and her death after the wretched abortion that he was frightened of-Mary Ann was neither here nor there, as Campbell had said. He looked at Campbell now, standing in the middle of the room, broad-shouldered, solid-bellied, a slight sneer on his face. He was clever, Reggie knew that, he had always known it; it was one of those obvious things, inescapable. But dare he trust him? He had to have help from someone. Freddie had to be stopped, otherwise he would rob him of everything that made life of value! Feed off him, like some disgusting animal, take all his comfort, and he could end up a frightened wreck drinking soda water and eating bread and mincemeat. He would sooner be dead!

He did not know how to begin.

Campbell was waiting, staring at him, his eyes still smiling.

“It’s rather more than that,” Reggie began. “They might think-”

Campbell’s mouth twisted at the corners.

“-I mean,” Reggie tried again, “other maids, they might-” Damn the man. Why would he not understand?

“-they might think you had something to do with Dolly’s death?” Campbell finished for him.

Reggie felt the ice run through him as if his valet had accidentally run him a cold bath.

Campbell was looking at him with a cynical amusement.

“Yes, that could be embarrassing,” he said thoughtfully. “Freddie was the doctor called in, wasn’t he? Yes, he could probably tell the police precisely what happened. And I suppose he might well feel excused of his usual obligations of silence,” he coughed, “under the circumstances. Perhaps you were right to pay, after all.”

“God damn it!” Reggie heaved himself out of the chair onto his feet till he stood facing Campbell. “That’s no help! What am I going to do?”

Campbell stuck out his lower lip.

“Keep control of yourself, for a start. I agree entirely, old boy. It’s bad: very bad. No idea Freddie had it in him.”

“He’s a complete outsider,” Reggie said bitterly. “A bounder.”

“Doubtless, but that only means he’s the nerve and the wit to do what many others would, if they dared, and had thought of it. Don’t be such a hypocrite, Reggie. This is hardly the time to become self-righteous; apart from being a trifle ridiculous, it’s of no use.”

“Use?” Reggie was flabbergasted. Freddie was a total cad, and here was Campbell talking about it as if it were an everyday occurrence: a problem of logistics rather than an outrage.

“Yes, of course ‘use,’” Campbell said a little tartly. “You do want to prevent it continuing indefinitely, I take it? I thought that was why you came?”

“Yes, of course it is! But aren’t you shocked? I mean-Freddie!”

“It’s years since I’ve been shocked,” Campbell answered, holding his port glass up to the light and examining the color. “I am occasionally surprised; usually pleasantly, when I have expected the worst and it has not happened, when my luck has held longer than I thought likely. But most people who are honest are only so through lack of courage, or lack of imagination. Man is basically a selfish animal. Watch children some time, and you’ll see it very quickly. We’re all much the same, one hand out to grab what we can, and one eye over our shoulders to see who’s looking, and make sure we don’t have to pay for it. Freddie’s just rather better at it than I gave him credit for.”

“Never mind the philosophy, what in hell are we going to do about it?” Reggie demanded. “We can’t let him go on!”

“There’ll be nothing to go on to,” Campbell pointed out. “When the police either find out who is responsible, which I admit is unlikely, or give up, which I dare say they will, in another few weeks, that will be the end of it. After all, they can’t waste time indefinitely on some servant girl’s mistakes. It’s not as if anyone cared or as if discovering anything would make a ha’porth of difference to its happening over and over again into an infinite future precisely the same. Just keep your head. I’ll have a word with Freddie, warn him of the several nasty things that could happen to his practice, if he makes a habit of this.”

For the first time Reggie felt a spark of hope: sane, rational hope. If Campbell spoke to Freddie, he might realize he could not go on demanding money, that he would make his own position impossible. He would never be frightened of Reggie, but he might well take Campbell more seriously.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “That will do it; make all the difference. He’ll see it will only work once. Yes, excellent. Thank you again.”

Campbell pulled a face of incredulousness mixed with amusement, but he said nothing. Reggie left with a firmness to his step. He could see light ahead, comfort again.

Of course General Balantyne also heard about the appalling discovery in the empty garden, and he was deeply shocked by it. He had not known Helena well, but she had been a lovely creature, full of life, gentle, a woman with all her promise ahead of her. To find her in such-the thought of it was too dreadful to frame. Someone had abused and violated her, and even presumably killed her. No one knew a great deal yet, and the police had not so far called. It was to be supposed they would come today.

Meanwhile he would work on his papers. Miss Ellison, although he thought of her as Charlotte now, had done all that she could for the time being, and in truth, he missed her. The library seemed empty without her presence and he found it harder to resume his concentration, as if he were awaiting something.

He had still not settled his mind to work when the police came. It was the same fellow, Pitt. He received him in the library.

“Good morning, Inspector.” There was no need to ask what he was here for.

“Good morning, sir.” Pitt came in gravely.

“I’m afraid I cannot tell you anything of value,” Balantyne said straight away. “I did not know Miss Doran other than to see her occasionally when she visited my wife and daughter. I imagine you will wish to see them. I would appreciate it if you could keep the most distressing facts to yourself. My daughter is about to be married, day after tomorrow, to be precise. Don’t want to spoil the-” he stopped; it sounded callous, offensively trite, when another girl was lying alone, a few rag-covered bones in some police mortuary, obscenely eaten by small animals and maggots! It made him faintly sick.

Pitt seemed to read Balantyne’s confused thoughts and feelings in his face.

“Of course,” he said, without sympathy in his voice; or so it seemed to Balantyne. And why should he have sympathy? Christina was alive and well, on her way to marriage, a life of security and comfort, of social privilege. And if he were honest, she might well feel shock, disgust at Helena’s death, and the manner of it, but he would be surprised if she thought of it long, and more so if she wept any tears of pity.

“I’m interested in Helena’s life,” Pitt continued. “The cause of her death lies in that, not what happened to her body afterward. She was with child, did you know?”

Balantyne felt an added twist of hurt for the double loss.

“Yes, I heard. Unfortunately little remains unpassed from door to door in a square like this.”

“Do you know who her lover was?” Pitt asked baldly.

Balantyne was repelled, he winced at the vulgarity of the question. Helena had been a woman of quality, a-he caught Pitt’s eyes and realized he was trying to cling to a dream of unreality that was no longer viable. But to think so-of a woman! Damn Pitt for his squalid truths.

“Do you?” Pitt repeated, although it was an unnecessary question. Balantyne’s sensitive revulsion had already answered it for him.

“No, of course I don’t!” Balantyne turned away.

“It is natural that you should be distressed,” Pitt said softly. “You had a high regard for her?”

Balantyne was not sure how to answer, he hesitated awkwardly. He had always found her fair beauty especially clean and gentle; perhaps he had idealized it a little.

Pitt was speaking again at his shoulder.

“I believe she had a considerable admiration for you also.”

Balantyne jerked upward with surprise.

Pitt smiled very slightly.

“Women confide in each other, you know. And I have been asking questions about women in this square for quite a long time now.”

“Oh,” Balantyne looked away again.

“How well did you know her, General Balantyne?” Pitt’s voice was quiet, but it put a sudden new and dreadful thought into Balantyne’s head. He swung round, feeling the blood hot in his face. He stared at Pitt, trying to see if the suspicion was in his eyes. He found only intelligent interest, waiting, probing.

“Not very,” he said clumsily. “I told you-I–I knew her socially, as a neighbor. Not more than that.”

Pitt said nothing.

“Not more than that,” Balantyne repeated. He started to say something else, to clarify it, so that Pitt would understand, then faltered and fell silent.

“I see.” Pitt meant no more than that he had heard him. He asked a few more questions, then sought permission to speak to the women.

He left, and Balantyne stood in the room feeling foolish and considerably shaken. Three, even two months ago, he had been unthinkingly sure of so many things that now lay in ugly and unfamiliar shreds around him. So much of it had to do with women. All the certainties that had provided so much of the security of his life, not materially, but emotionally, lay in his beliefs about women. Now Christina had become involved with that fearful footman, and was going to marry Alan Ross. Thank God that at least had come to a tolerable conclusion. Although Augusta’s part in it was something he had not yet come to terms with. Euphemia Carlton was bearing another man’s child, which he felt was inexplicable. She had inexcusably betrayed a good man, who loved her. And now poor Helena Doran had been beguiled and used, and murdered. Or had she? Perhaps they would never know the truth of that. The thought of all of it hurt him.

But in some ways the most disturbing of all, the thing in himself he least wished to look at was the warmth with which he regarded Charlotte Ellison, the pleasure he felt in her company, the acuteness with which he could recall to his mind’s eye the exact curve of her throat, the rich color of her hair, the way she looked at him, and how deeply she felt all that she did and said, whether it were better said, or not.

It was ridiculous. He did not get disturbed, feel hope or embarrassment, least of all loneliness over a young woman: one who regarded him as nothing more than an employer! Or perhaps a little more? He believed she might have some respect for him, dare he imagine affection? No, of course not. Dismiss the thought. He was making an idiot of himself.

He picked up some paper and began furiously to read, although it was fully five minutes before the words began to create pictures for him, and take on a life separate from the tumult in his mind.

Even at dinner time the conversation passed him by. He would pay for the wedding, naturally, but he left all the arrangements, both social and practical, to Augusta. He would do as he was directed and be as charming as was required of him, but the preparations were out of his grasp.

He did not even really hear the rather unpleasant exchange between Christina and Brandy about the governess next door. As much of it as penetrated his mind seemed to consist of Christina’s disparaging her in some way and Brandy’s defending her with a vigor that would have drawn a request for explanation from him at any other time. It did trouble the back of his consciousness that perhaps Brandy was developing what seemed to be a family taste for affairs with servants. Of course for a man it was quite different, but it would show considerably more sense if he were to indulge himself a little less close to home.

After dinner he sent for Brandy to see him in the library. The butler brought the port and retired, closing the door behind him.

“Port?” Balantyne offered.

“No, thank you, bit heavy,” Brandy shook his head.

“I understand your inclinations,” Balantyne began. “Natural enough-”

“Just don’t like port a lot,” Brandy said easily.

“Not about the port!” Was he deliberately being obtuse? “About Miss whatever-her-name-is, the governess next door. Charming little thing-”

“She’s not a ‘little thing’!” Brandy said with a sudden flare of anger. “She’s a woman, just like Christina, or your Miss Ellison, or anyone else!”

“Hardly like Christina,” Balantyne said coldly.

“No, you’re right,” Brandy snapped. “She doesn’t sleep with the footmen!”

Balantyne raised his hand to strike him, outrage knotting his body. Then he saw Brandy’s calm face, set hard, unmoving. He let his hand fall. There was truth in the jibe, and he did not wish to quarrel with his son. They were utterly different, and yet he liked Brandy deeply.

“That was unnecessarily unkind,” he let his voice drop. “I dare say you have lain where you should not, at some time or other.”

To his surprise Brandy blushed deeply.

“I apologize, sir,” he said quietly. “It was a filthy thing to say. It’s just that I have a high regard for Jemima; not of the sort you supposed. As I suspect you have for Miss Ellison. And I would not insult either of them by making an advance of that nature.” He smiled a little bleakly. “I daresay one would get a thick ear if one tried. I certainly feel Miss Ellison capable of it!”

Balantyne grudged it, desperately embarrassed by Brandy’s perception. His inside was in turmoil, but he forced a smile in return.

“I dare say,” he agreed thickly. “Perhaps we had better discuss something else.”

They were not long launched on something less fraught with pitfalls when the footman announced Sir Robert Carlton, and Brandy, with unusual tact, excused himself.

Carlton also declined port, and stood a little awkwardly in the center of the floor. His face showed the fine lines of emotional strain.

“Dreadful thing about the poor Doran child,” he said jerkily. “Poor creature, poor woman. An appalling thought that she was there all the time, and we had no idea; went about our business.”

Balantyne had not thought of it in precisely that light before, and it revolted him: their obliviousness, the immediacy of life and death. They had passed so close to and so unheeding of another creature’s extremity. Dear God, did they regularly pass each other like that? Instinctively he met Carlton’s eyes. There was something entirely new in them and he could not yet understand what it was.

“About Euphemia-” Carlton said hesitantly.

Balantyne tried to show in his face some of the gentleness he wanted to feel, did feel. He said nothing, thinking it better merely to wait.

“I-” Carlton was stumbling for words. “I didn’t understand. I must have seemed-very cold-to her. She wanted a child. I–I didn’t know that. I wish-I wish she could have felt she could tell me so. It must have been my fault that she couldn’t. I was too-I put her on a pedestal-I didn’t realize what a-comfortless thing respect is. She wanted a child-that’s all.”

“I see.” Balantyne did not see at all, but he felt Carlton’s need, his groping toward belief that it was understandable, and that he himself understood. “Yes, I see,” he repeated.

“I find it,” Carlton swallowed. “I find it hard to come to terms with, but in time I shall. I shall consider the child to be mine. Balantyne-you will?” His skin colored deeply. He could not put it into words.

“Of course,” Balantyne said immediately. “To do anything else would be monstrous, and quite wrong!”

“Thank you,” Carlton’s hand was clenched by his side and there was a nervous flick in his temple. “I–I love her very much, you know.”

“She’s a very fine woman,” Balantyne said generously, and he meant it. “And she will love you the more for your understanding.”

Carlton looked up quickly.

“Do you think so?” There was a stab of hope in his voice that was painful to hear.

“I’m sure,” Balantyne said firmly. “Now are you sure you won’t have some port? Very good, you know. Reggie Southeron recommended it, and he may know damn all else, but he does know his palate.”

Carlton took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Thank you, perhaps I will.”