Callander Square

NINE

Reggie Southernon was not visited by Pitt until late the following afternoon. He was just settling into his deep chair to thaw out from the unpleasantness of travel, the hard springs, the drafts, the rain down the neck, when Pitt was announced. He seriously gave thought to the possibility of refusing to see him; but perhaps it would be unwise. It might make him dig the harder into matters preferably left alone: and of course not to see him would be to lose an opportunity to put his own case, defend himself before he was attacked. Damn Freddie Bolsover!

“Send him in,” he said a little irritably. “And you’d better put away the good sherry and bring some of that other stuff.” Silly to insult him by not offering him any at all, but no need to waste the good.

Pitt came in, untidy as usual, his coat flapping, wet across the shoulders; his face was genial, good-tempered, but his eyes were sharper than Reggie had noticed before.

“Good evening, sir,” he said easily. Odd that such a fellow should have so fine a voice, such diction. Ideas above himself, shouldn’t wonder; aping his betters.

“Evening,” Reggie replied. “I suppose you’ve come about Helena Doran, poor creature? Can’t tell you anything; don’t know.”

“No, of course not,” Pitt agreed civilly. “I’m sure if you had known anything, you would have told us long before we came and sought you out. Still,” he smiled suddenly with what would, at another time, have been charm-had he been a social equal, of course! “Still, you might be able to fill in a few blanks.”

“Sherry?” Reggie offered, holding up the decanter.

“No, thank you,” Pitt declined with a small wave of his hand.

Reggie poured himself some in considerable annoyance. He had got in this wretched kitchen stuff, and now the damned fellow did not want it. He was obliged to stand here like a fool and drink it himself.

“I’ve told you,” he said petulantly. “I don’t know anything about Helena Doran.”

“Not about her death, perhaps; but you must know something about her life,” Pitt said easily. “Maybe more than you realize. I would like your opinions. You’re a man of the world, you must have to make judgments about people, as a banker.”

Reggie should not have been surprised. Of course the fellow would have found out what he did. It was true, he was a pretty good judge, in the general way of things. Made a mistake about Freddie, though!

“Tell you anything I can, naturally,” he mellowed a bit. “Shocking thing; very young, you know.”

“And pretty, they say.” Pitt raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“Very, in a pale sort of way. A bit fair for my taste, a bit fragile looking, but very nice for those who like that type. Prefer something a bit more robust, myself.” Must not let it even cross his mind that Reggie would be the one. Good idea to clear that up right at the outset.

“Not fond of blondes myself,” Pitt agreed. “Not the very fair ones. Always look a little cold to me.”

Maybe the fellow was not so bad; human, anyway.

“Quite,” Reggie agreed. “Nice girl, always civil and conducted herself well, far as I know. Pity. Great pity.”

Pitt’s bright eyes were still on him.

“Who did admire her, do you know? There must have been some who did.”

“Oh, of course,” Reggie agreed. Good opportunity, this. “Alan Ross was very much in love with her, at the time. But I suppose you knew that?”

“Alan Ross?”

“Yes. Fellow who just married Christina Balantyne, this morning, in fact.”

“Oh yes, of course; yes, I had heard he was fond of Helena Doran.”

“Damn sight more than fond of her; crazy about her. Terribly upset when she ran off-or I suppose I should say, was murdered.” He looked up at Pitt. “I suppose she was murdered?”

“Oh, yes. I’m afraid there is no doubt.”

“How can you tell? Thought the body was-well-”

“So it was. But a few rags of the clothes left, and of course the bones. The flesh was eaten away, but the bones were all there. The neck was broken. Must have been very powerful hands to do it so neatly.”

Reggie flinched in disgust.

“Yes, nasty, isn’t it?” Pitt agreed, although Reggie detected a tone in his voice he could not entirely place. Peculiar fellow. Still, no doubt he served his purpose; and with care, he could serve Reggie’s as well.

“Very cut up, he was,” Reggie went on. “Quite unhinged the poor chap for a while. Not that I want to suggest-of course-!”

“But it’s a possibility,” Pitt finished for him.

Reggie assumed an air of reluctance. “Have to admit it,” he said slowly.

“Did he ever say anything to you about another man, a lover?”

Reggie screwed up his face in an effort to bring something to mind.

“Can’t recall. But my dear fellow, you can’t expect me to repeat some casual word, even if I could remember it, that might hang a chap!” he protested.

“Won’t hang anybody on a few words,” Pitt said softly, smiling again. “And you have a moral duty, after all.”

“Oh, quite,” Reggie agreed. This was turning out very well: unfortunate about Alan Ross, but then he might very well have killed Helena in a fit of jealousy. It was the most likely explanation, after all!

Pitt was waiting.

“Well-” Reggie hesitated, not through reluctance, but because he had not yet thought of anything suitable to say. “Can’t bring back words, of course,” he lifted his voice a little at the end, as if to question whether Pitt really wished him to continue; then he hurried on, in case Pitt, by chance, should take it into his mind to stop him. “Just the general meaning. He was very much in love with her. We all thought they would marry, quite soon, in fact. Of course the rest of us had no idea there was another lover. I suppose Ross found out. No idea how. Never said anything to us; but then he wouldn’t, would he? Make rather a fool of him, what? Woman you loved taking some other fellow into her bed.”

“Yes,” Pitt agreed solemnly. “Very painful. A man might react on the spur of the moment.”

“Quite,” Reggie said quickly. “Quite.”

“Then,” Pitt said after a moment’s thought, “on the other hand, it could have been the lover.”

“Lover?” Reggie was taken aback. “Why, for heaven’s sake? Would think he had everything his way, what?” He tried to smile, but felt it a bit stiff on his face. “No reason to hurt her, far as I can see.”

“She was with child,” Pitt reminded him. “The lover’s child.”

“So?” A dark thought had come into Reggie’s mind, a beginning of a very unpleasant fear.

“Would have married her, if he were free to, don’t you suppose?” Pitt was staring at him, bright eyes wide.

Reggie’s mind whirled. This was stupid. He had never touched the girl. No need whatsoever to be nervous. But there was always Freddie and his damned tongue. If the police ever got to know that Reggie played around a little, they might not understand the difference!

“Perhaps he wasn’t suitable, as a husband, I mean,” he faced Pitt squarely. “Might have been a tradesman, or something. Couldn’t marry a tradesman, could she?” No time to be worrying about Pitt’s sensibilities now. Fellow would have to understand there were social distinctions. Must know that anyway; bound to.

But instead of taking offense Pitt merely considered the matter thoughtfully.

“Did she have a liking for tradesmen, then?” he inquired.

“Good God!” Reggie scrambled wildly-what to say? If he said yes, others would give him the lie. Pitt was bound to speak to everyone in the square. Helena had never looked at a tradesman in her life! She was a little over-refined, if anything. Only man, apart from Ross, that Reggie had ever seen her show any admiration for was old Balantyne next door. Liked his bit of pomp and military glamour, no doubt.

“No,” he said as calmly as he could, “no, not at all.” Yes, that was the answer. “In fact never saw her show any interest in anyone that I can recall,” he weighed his words carefully, “except old Balantyne next door. Fine-looking chap, the general. Natural a young girl should be impressed.” Let him take it from there. No need to point out that the general was married. Pitt himself had made the observation about not being free, safe to leave him to infer the rest.

“I see.” Pitt looked down at his feet, then up again, quizzically. “No admiration for you, sir?”

“Me?” Reggie looked shocked. “Good gracious, no. Merchant banker, you know. Not nearly as exciting as the army. No glamour in it, what?” He forced a rather sickly smile. “Nothing to appeal to a romantic young girl.”

“You think Balantyne might have been the unknown lover?”

“Oh, now I didn’t say that!”

“Of course not; you wouldn’t: loyalty and so forth,” Pitt shook his head. “Very admirable.”

Why was the damn fellow smiling inside himself?

“And I take it she was not a type of beauty that especially appealed to you.”

“What?”

“I mean you would not have been jealous, or anything of that nature.”

“God, no! I mean, pardon; certainly not. Too pale, too bloodless-looking for me. Prefer something a little-I’m a married-” No, that sounded too pompous. He let it die.

“Uncommonly handsome parlormaid you have,” Pitt said conversationally. “Couldn’t help noticing. Best-looking girl I’ve seen for a long time.”

Reggie felt his face color. Damn the fellow’s impertinence. Wasn’t driving at something, was he? He looked at the man closely, but there seemed to be nothing beyond innocent appreciation in his eyes.

“Yes,” he agreed after a moment. “Pick them for their appearance, you know. Whole point of a parlormaid.”

“Is it?” Pitt affected interest. “Somebody else said you had a good eye for a parlormaid.”

Reggie froze. Surely Freddie could not have-? He avoided Pitt’s eye.

“Freddie Bolsover, was it?”

“Dr. Bolsover?” Pitt seemed not to understand what he meant.

“Yes. Was it Dr. Bolsover who made the remark about me-and-er, parlormaids?” Reggie cleared his throat. “You don’t want to take too much notice of anything he says, you know. Young. Got rather an unreliable sense of humor.”

Pitt frowned.

“Don’t think I quite understand you, sir.”

“Makes odd jokes,” Reggie explained. “Says things he thinks are funny, doesn’t realize people who don’t know him could take them seriously.”

“What sort of thing? I mean, what would he really mean, and what would be just a joke?”

“Oh,” Reggie thought rapidly, mustn’t panic. Keep cool. “Anything medical, of course, perfectly serious. But might make a joke about me and parlormaids, just for an example.”

“You mean he might say perhaps you had an affair with a parlormaid, or something like that?” Pitt inquired.

Reggie could feel the blood burn in his face, and he turned away.

“That sort of thing,” he tried to sound casual, and nearly choked.

“Sure you won’t have a sherry? Think I’ll have another.” He suited the action to the word.

“Dangerous sense of humor,” Pitt remarked. “No, thank you,” he glanced at the sherry. “I would talk to him about that, if I were you. Could be embarrassing for you, just at the moment.”

“Oh, I will,” Reggie said immediately. “Yes, must do that. Good advice.”

“Surprised you haven’t done it already,” Pitt went on. “You haven’t, I suppose.”

“What?” Reggie nearly dropped the decanter.

“Haven’t spoken to him already?” Pitt raised his eyebrows.

“Did-did he say I had?” Reggie realized as soon as he had said it that it was a stupid question. “I mean-er-”

“Have you?”

“Well-” What in hell should he say? Damn the man, what did he know? If only Reggie could ascertain how much he already knew, then he could tailor his replies! This fishing round in the darkness was frightful.

Pitt pulled a small face-extraordinary face the fellow had-and looked at his fingernails.

“Normal enough, a bit of admiration for a good-looking maid,” Pitt went on thoughtfully. “Lot of men do it. Nothing to remark on. Just could be made to look a bit unfortunate right now.” He looked up, his brilliant, penetrating gaze fixed on Reggie. “Hasn’t been bothering you-Dr. Bolsover-has he?”

Reggie stared. His brain seemed to melt and freeze again. What should he say? Could he trust Freddie? This was an opportunity to get rid of all of it! Or was it? Just a moment! What if Pitt went to Freddie and charged him? Then Freddie would tell them all about Dolly, and that was quite different! Or did they already know that he had been to the bank and drawn out the hundred pounds? Had he spoken to the footman? Was that the thing? Careful, Reggie, think before you speak. Nearly fell into a trap there.

“Good heavens, no,” he forced a sickly smile. “Decent chap, Freddie. Bit of a silly ass at times, that’s all. Wouldn’t mean any harm.”

“Glad to hear that, sir.” Pitt’s eyes did not move from Reggie’s face. “Just thought you might have had a little trouble.”

“Er-trouble? What made you think that?” Must find out what he actually knew.

“Talk to all the servants,” Pitt said lightly, “in the course of investigations, you know.”

Reggie stared fixedly at Pitt’s face.

He knew! He knew about the footman and the bank! If he told a lie about what he had done with the hundred pounds, the damn fellow would go and check up on it, and find out! Too easy. Have to invent something else.

“Well,” he began awkwardly, brain racing. Who should he blame, if not Freddie? Who could not deny it? Who was likely? “Well-to tell you the truth, have had a bit of trouble-not Freddie of course, Freddie’s a gentleman. Governess-” yes, that’s it, “governess got a bit het up-single woman, no admirers, stuck in a job minding children all day. Got a few wild ideas and put a bit of pressure on. Any other time I’d have sent her packing, but right now, as you say, a bit embarrassing. Paid her. Dare say I shouldn’t have, but got to keep the peace, what? You’re a married man. Expect you understand. Sooner pay the girl than have her spread gossip all over the place. She won’t do it again. Anyway, after you clear up all this business, no need, eh?”

“Oh, no,” Pitt pulled a small face. “I take it you don’t want to prosecute?”

“Good God, no! Whole purpose of paying up, keep it all quiet. Deny it all, if you go to her: so shall I! Have to, after all. Wife, and all that. Got to consider the children too. Three daughters. Dare say you knew? Actually two of my own, Chastity’s my brother’s child. Poor fellow was killed. Took her in, naturally.”

“Yes, charming child.”

“Yes, yes. Well, you understand, don’t you? Got to keep it all quiet. Nasty thing if it got out. Very fond of the governess, the girls. And good at her job too,” he said hastily. “Very good.”

“Quite. Well, thank you, sir, you’ve been very helpful.”

“Good. Good. Get it all cleared up soon, I hope?”

“I hope so too. Good night sir, and thank you.”

“Good night; yes, yes, good night.”

Charlotte was incensed when she heard about it the following day. She whirled round from the sideboard where she had been standing, to face Pitt in his chair.

“You mean that that dissipated bounder claimed that Jemima was blackmailing him, and you just stood there and let him?” she demanded. “That’s dastardly!”

“I could hardly contradict him,” Pitt pointed out reasonably. “It seems unlikely, but not by any means impossible.”

”Of course it’s impossible!” Charlotte retorted. “Jemima wouldn’t dream of blackmailing anyone.”

“Spoken from the heart,” Pitt smiled at her with a mixture of affection strongly touched with amusement.

Charlotte was not to be moved. She felt convinced she was right, it was just a matter of thinking of a reason for it.

“All right then!” she looked back at him with determination. “From the head then: do you really think it is worth money to try to keep it secret that he beds the parlormaid? Everyone knows anyway. And Mary Ann hasn’t been there all that long,” she let a note of real intellectual triumph creep into her voice. “Not long enough to have been the mother of the first baby! There was one before her for a short time; she got married and left, and another before that who died.” She faced Pitt with a mounting bubble of excitement inside her. “Everyone knows he behaves badly, I expect even his wife knows, although naturally she would pretend not to-”

He frowned. “Why? Why on earth should she pretend not to know? I would have thought she would be furious, and put a stop to it instantly.”

Charlotte sighed patiently. Really, men were very unsophisticated at times!

“I dare say she doesn’t wish for his attentions all the time herself,” she explained, “and is happy enough for him to take them elsewhere. But if she were forced to know about it, I mean to be seen to know about it, then she would have to complain, be injured, horrified, and so on. Society would require it of her. Also she would look foolish, a deceived wife- a rather humiliating position.”

“But she is a deceived wife,” Pitt pointed out. “Except, of course, that she doesn’t believe the lie, but the offense is the same.”

“No, it isn’t,” she looked at him sideways for a minute. Was he affecting to be ignorant, or did he really not know? Sometimes he teased her appallingly.

He waited in innocence.

“It is not an offense,” she continued after a moment, “if she would rather he did it; at least not against her. The offense would be in making a fool of her in public. Everyone knows he does it, and everyone knows she doesn’t mind. But if she were forced to acknowledge it, then she would have either to create a scene, which would make her seem ridiculous, or else openly to condone it, which would be immoral.”

“How abysmally cynical,” he observed. “Where did you learn all that?”

Her face fell.

“Yes, I know. I think it’s rather disgusting, but that’s what happens. I’ve learned a lot from Emily. She’s very observant, you know; and of course she knows a lot of people of that sort-society, I mean. I would never do that. I should probably have a blazing row.”

He smiled broadly.

“I have no doubt at all that you would, my dear.”

She looked at him quickly.

He held his hands up in defense.

“Don’t worry, we can’t afford a parlormaid, and I swear I shall never touch Mrs. Wickes.”

Considering Mrs. Wickes was fourteen stone and had a moustache, Charlotte did not feel it a great concession.

“How about Jemima?” she asked.

“He doesn’t want to press charges,” he replied.

“Of course he doesn’t! She isn’t guilty!”

“I rather agree with you,” he said thoughtfully. “Which raises the question of why he told me about it. Rather a superfluous and dangerous invention, don’t you think?”

“I don’t care! Jemima wouldn’t blackmail him.”

“So that leaves the rather interesting question of who did.”

Charlotte caught her breath. “Oh!”

“Quite,” he stood up in a single movement.

“You’re not going to charge her?” She caught at his arm.

“No. But I do have to report it.”

“Must you?”

“Of course I must.”

“But it would damage her! She will probably not be able to disprove it; maybe not even ever!”

He put his hand on hers for a moment, before removing it gently.

“I know that, my dear. It will be a great pleasure to me if I can ever prove him a liar.”

“Oh.” She knew there was no point in arguing. If anything were to be done about it quickly, she would have to do it herself.

Accordingly when he had left, she abandoned her housework leaving a note on the door for Mrs. Wickes, and took herself immediately to Callander Square. The only excuse she had was to visit General Balantyne and quickly manufacture some further service, something she had forgotten to tell him previously.

When she arrived at the door and was faced by the footman, she still had not settled on anything satisfactory, but fortunately he did not inquire her business, and merely showed her in to the library. The general was behind his desk, apparently not working, since there was no pen to be seen; he was simply staring at a sea of papers. He looked up with some eagerness when she came in.

“Charlotte, my dear, how very nice to see you!”

She was a little unprepared for such warmth. What an unpredictable man he was. Perhaps he was still feeling the glow of Christina’s wedding?

“Good morning, General Balantyne,” she replied with the best-judged mixture of formality and feeling she could manage.

“Do come in.” He was already standing, coming round the desk toward her. “Sit down by the fire. The day is extremely unpleasant, but I suppose it is all we must expect in January.”

It came to her quite naturally to decline, then she remembered that she still had not thought of a reason for coming, and it would at least give her time.

“Thank you, yes, it is very cold. I think it is the wind that makes one feel it so much.”

He was still merely looking at her. It made her feel rather uncomfortable.

“One would think all the buildings would be some kind of shelter,” she went on, to fill the silence. “But they only seem to funnel it into fiercer blasts.”

“You must permit me to have my carriage take you home,” he said seriously. “And perhaps you would like something hot to drink now? A dish of tea?”

“Oh no, no, thank you,” she said hastily. “I don’t wish to put you to any inconvenience. I only came to-” quickly, what on earth could she have come for? “-because-I suddenly remembered that I had-had left out some rather important letters, left them out of the correct sequence. At least I think I have.” Did that sound feasible?

“That was most conscientious of you,” he said appreciatively. “I haven’t found anything out of order.”

“Perhaps if I were to check?” she stood up and surveyed the desk. At sight of it the very idea of order became ridiculous. She turned back to him helplessly.

“I’ve made rather a mess,” he announced the obvious. “I really would appreciate your assistance again.”

Something in the expression in his face disturbed her, a gentleness in the eyes, a very direct way he had of looking at her. Good heavens! Surely he had not misunderstood her reason for calling again? Her excuse was thin enough, in truth-but not for that reason! She wanted to catch Jemima, and if she called directly at the Southerons’ for no other reason, she would arouse suspicion, perhaps let Reggie Southeron know, or suspect, her real intentions. Guilty people, and she was sure he was guilty, were inclined to be highly suspicious. Conscience leaped the bounds of logic and saw accusation even where there was none, let alone where it was the precise purpose, inadequately disguised.

Balantyne was waiting, still watching her.

“Oh,” she recalled herself to the urgency of disabusing him. “Well-” she glanced at the heap on the desk, “I should be happy to put that in some order, but I cannot offer more than that, I’m afraid.” She smiled, trying to rob her statement of its harshness. “Since I have no maids, I have a rather pressing need to do a little housework. It is really becoming imperative.”

“Oh,” his face fell. “I’m sorry for having been so inconsiderate. I-of course. I don’t wish to take you away from-” he stammered a little, hastily collecting himself. “Yes, I see. But if you would today, I should be most grateful-” he hesitated, and she was almost sure he was wondering whether to offer her payment, and how to do it tactfully. She knew he was embarrassed, and she felt for him. She smiled easily.

“Actually I hate housework, and for one day I can excuse myself to my conscience. I dare say it is most unfeminine of me, but I find the Crimean War infinitely more interesting than the pantry.” She moved to the desk, taking her gloves off as she went, keeping her back to him, to give him no opportunity to meet her eyes again, but she was acutely conscious of him standing behind her.

She was not able to excuse herself at lunchtime, and therefore found herself taking her only opportunity to slip next door a little later than she had planned. However, no one saw her but the scullery maid and the cook’s assistant, and she was at the schoolroom before they commenced their afternoon lessons.

Jemima was standing at the window, looking down to the square at the front. She turned when Charlotte came in.

“Oh, Charlotte, how good to see you.” Her face was alight with pleasure, even excitement; and there was a starry glaze to her eyes. “Are you working for General Balantyne again?”

“Only today,” Charlotte said soberly. “I really came because I wished to see you, without drawing attention to myself.” There was no point in being evasive. She must tell her the truth about Reggie, and before the children returned.

Jemima seemed to sense no danger, and no urgency.

“I’m sure Mr. Southeron wouldn’t mind.” She was not looking at Charlotte, but a little beyond her. “I wish you had come for luncheon. You must come tomorrow.”

Had she not been listening? Charlotte had said she was only here for one day.

But Jemima had turned back to the window again.

Charlotte crossed the room and stood beside her. She looked down. There was nothing there but the silent, leafless square, rain-sodden, everything in shades of gray and black, even the grass seemed robbed of its green. Wind keened sharply through the areaways and ruffled a few last deadened leaves on the shrubs. There was nothing there to so attract a young woman’s attention. Someone must have just passed that way. Charlotte had heard no carriage, and horses’ hooves sounded sharply enough, with the rattle of wheels, on the stones. Someone on foot. In this weather? Oh no, not Brandy Balantyne.

“Jemima!”

Jemima turned, her eyes still warm and happy. She looked down suddenly, a faint color climbing her cheek.

“Brandy Balantyne?” Charlotte asked.

“Do you not like him, Charlotte? From something you said last time, I was not sure.”

Charlotte had liked him very much, but she dare not say so, yet not lie, and hurt pointlessly.

“I have only met him a few times, and then briefly. If you remember, I was not a social visitor there, only someone employed to help.” That was cruel, and she knew it, but Jemima must not be allowed to let dreams grow out of proportion. The more vivid the dream, the more painful the awakening.

The hurt showed immediately in Jemima’s face.

“Yes,” she said softly. “Yes, I know that. And I know what you are trying to say. You are quite right, of course.”

Charlotte wanted to warn her about Reggie Southeron, but that would have meant bringing up the subject of a master who slept with maids, and at this very moment it would seem a crude thing to say, and perhaps totally unjust. It was no parallel, and she did not wish Jemima to think for one moment that she imagined it was. She would have to leave it for another time, a time less open to pain and misunderstanding. All the explanations in the world would not get rid of the impression of a likeness in Jemima’s mind, if she were to mention Reggie and parlormaids and blackmail in the same breath with Brandy Balantyne.

“I must return,” she said instead. “I merely wanted to see you, and to-to ask you to take great care of yourself. Sometimes people who are frightened will blame others, in investigations like this. I heard about poor Miss Doran. Be most guarded in what you say!”

Jemima looked a little puzzled, but she agreed easily enough, and five minutes later Charlotte was out in the icy street again, hurrying back to the library and the general’s papers, feeling unsatisfied with herself, and doubly afraid for Jemima.

Christina was not away after her wedding for more than a week, possibly because of the tragedies that had happened in the square. It had been considered an unsuitable time for a holiday in celebration; possibly, also, no one had the heart for it: least of all Alan Ross. Even Christina, marrying days after the discovery of Helena’s body, could hardly demand of him a honeymoon spirit. Emily, calling upon her barely as soon as was decent, thought privately that she might well consider herself fortunate not to have had the wedding itself postponed. That might truly have been disastrous. Under the circumstances she might be in, even a couple of weeks could make her a liar. Premature birth could be stretched only so far, with a hope of being believed!

She called on Christina with no particular purpose in mind, except that she hoped to learn something further about Helena Doran. They had been much of an age, they were bound to have had a deal in common, attended the same parties, known the same people. She doubted they would have been friends then, and Christina might feel a little bitter about having just married a man whom everyone knew to have loved Helena, at least in the past. But she must know something; and frequently as much truth was spoken in dislike as there ever was in friendship, especially of the dead. Funny how death seemed to obscure all the relevant truths in a sugar coating of decency. Must make detection very difficult.

Alan Ross’s house was in an elegant street less than half a mile from Callander Square. It could not claim the same opulence, nor the same fashionable grace, but it was a substantial establishment, and when Emily knocked she was admitted by a smart parlormaid.

Christina seemed quite pleased to see her, although Emily thought she looked a little pale. Honeymoons were very often something of a shock to a woman, but someone who had lain quite happily with a footman should not have encountered many surprises!

“Good afternoon, Emily,” Christina said a little formally. “How kind of you to call.”

Emily mentally crossed her fingers for lying.

“I wished to welcome you home, and to see how you were,” she said with a tone of concern. “After all, fortune has treated you most unkindly, I feel. It was a most wretched time for that poor girl to be discovered. It could hardly have been worse!”

Christina turned a very cold eye on her.

“Then it was a pity you chose that moment to go looking!”

“My dear,” Emily endeavored to look contrite, “how could I have imagined what I would find? I believed, like everyone else, that she had eloped with her lover, and was happily married somewhere-or married, at least. In truth I did not necessarily believe that it would be happy. These romantic things very seldom are.”

“So you said before. What on earth were you doing in that deserted garden anyway?”

“Just curiosity, I suppose,” Emily said idly, turning to admire the room, which indeed was handsome. “It was a romantic place-”

“A ruined garden, in the middle of winter!” Christina invested her voice with acid disbelief.

“It is not always the middle of winter, it only happens to be so now,” Emily said reasonably. “And the garden would have been far less ruined two years ago.”

“I fail to see your point,” Christina was decidedly cold.

“Why, when Helena met her lover there, of course!” Emily turned back. “What was she like? You must have known her. Was she very beautiful, very fascinating?”

“Not especially,” Christina affected some disdain. “She was pretty enough, in a rather anemic way; and she was certainly not witty, in fact I always thought her pleasant, but rather dull.”

“Oh dear,” Emily allowed her face to fall, although it cost some effort. Actually she was delighted, this was Christina’s genuine feeling, revealing as much about herself as about Helena Doran. “What a shame,” she continued. “She hardly sounds like the sort of woman to attract a romantic lover, unless he were a very callow sort. Unless, of course, she had hidden depths.”

“If she had, then they were very well hidden,” Christina snapped. “Nobody I knew ever found them!”

Emily had little compunction about being cruel.

”Not even Mr. Ross?” she inquired.

To her considerable surprise, Christina colored deeply.

“Alan is quite disillusioned about her. He no longer admires her.”

“Disillusioned?” Emily pressed the point.

“Well, she was hardly the innocent she pretended to be,” Christina said stingingly. “She met some lover in an empty garden, and obviously lay with him, or she would not have been with child! Surely that is enough to disillusion anybody!”

“Then it might become you to be exceedingly discreet yourself,” Emily observed. She did not like moral hypocrisy, and she did not particularly like Christina.

Christina’s color deepened and she glared at Emily with something akin to hatred. Was it conceivable that at this peculiar point she had actually learned some regard for Alan Ross? It seemed the obvious explanation. She was safely married and had thus acquired the respectability she needed if she were indeed to be pregnant, although that now appeared less and less probable. Unlike Charlotte, she was still wearing gowns with small waists, and her figure betrayed nothing. Yes, perhaps she really had developed an admiration for her husband. It was a bitter thing, but in Emily’s opinion, unless Christina were very much to alter her character, the better Mr. Ross were to know her, the less likely was he to return that feeling. Still, that was not something Emily could accomplish for her, nor had she any desire to attempt it.

She remained a little longer, speaking of Helena again but learning little except that Christina heartily disliked her. However, she could not tell whether that dislike predated Christina’s regard for Mr. Ross. Half an hour later she took her leave, her mind humming with new and interesting thoughts.

It was the morning after hearing from Emily about this episode, and more importantly about the conclusions she had drawn from it, that Charlotte decided she must go again to see Jemima, and regardless of temporary hurt, must this time convey some warning to her more specific of her danger. She also wished to see if she could learn something about Reggie Southeron that might tell her who really was blackmailing him; if indeed anyone was. Whatever the facts, for Jemima’s safety she must learn the reason behind the accusation.

To see Jemima alone, she must find her before classes began for the morning, which might well be nine o’clock. Therefore it was a little before quarter past eight, and barely light on a leaden, sleet-driven morning when she alighted from the hansom. The driver had mistakenly arrived at the wrong side of the square and refused to go round it because of the danger to his horse’s knees on the slimy cobbles where rotting leaves had piled from the night’s wind.

Charlotte did not argue. She had no wish that the animal should fall and be injured, not particularly for the cabbie’s expense, but for the creature’s own sake.

Accordingly she was left to walk, and rather than risk the same difficulty herself, she cut across the garden where there were no stones on which to slip, and where the night frost had hardened the ground to support her weight without sinking into the mud. At night she would not have gone alone, as she carried a memory of Cater Street, which would probably last as long as she lived; but it would be a desperate marauder indeed to be waiting around in this icy gray morning amid the spindly black branches and the falling vegetation.

She moved briskly because the cold bit into her flesh and the sleet on the wind stung her unprotected skin. She was watching where she put her feet, in order not to miss her step and fall over some fallen branch or slip in a patch of gathered slush. It was thus that she did not see the dark mound until she was almost upon it. It was not quite on the path, but close by the side of it, as if it had been on the path and blown from it. Surely no branch could have that mass? A feeling of disaster, a foreknowledge, came to her before she reached it and she stopped.

It was wet clothes: and in among the roots of last year’s Michaelmas daisies there was the head, hair dark in the wet, but it would have been fair normally: and the skin was white, as only the cold of death could make it.

She bent down but did not touch him. He was half on his side, one arm crumpled underneath, as if his hand were reaching for the knife that was buried to its hilt in his chest. She had only seen him once that she could recall, but she knew beyond question that it was Freddie Bolsover.

She stood up slowly and began to walk back into the wind again to search for a constable.