Callander Square (13 page)

“I gather you’ve been busy,” he said conversationally.

“Not me, really,” Reggie replied. “Those wretched police fellows, all over the damn place. Pitt, what’s-his-name, creeping around the servants’ halls, upsetting everything. Damnation, how I hate upheavals in the house. Servants all in a twitter. Great heavens, man, you must know how difficult it is to get decent servants and train them to the way you want them, to know your own tastes, and how to cater to them. Takes long enough. And then some damned fool thing like this has to happen, and before you know where you are, they’re all unsettled. It’s hard enough at any time to keep a good servant. Get ideas of bettering themselves. Fancy working for a duke or an earl, or something. Take an idea for foreign travel. Think they’re badly done by if they don’t get to spend the season in London, summer in the country, and the worst of the winter in the south of France! Wretched creatures take offense at the oddest things and before you know it they’re off! Deuce knows why, half the time; no loyalty. But doesn’t take a fool to know they’ll all go if this damned fellow Pitt goes on asking questions about their private lives and their morals, interfering and making suggestions.” His voice trailed off in exasperation as he anticipated a bleak winter of training new and unsatisfactory servants, cold rooms, burnt meals, unpressed clothes.

Balantyne did not think the eventuality in the least likely, although admittedly he did not especially value his creature comforts; but he did value his peace of mind. The domestic conflict such a crisis would provoke was truly appalling to contemplate. He did not like Reggie very much, they were as different as men could be; but he was sorry for the man’s obvious fears, unfounded though they might prove to be.

“Shouldn’t worry about it,” he said casually. Max came in with the decanter and glasses, set them down, and departed, closing the door silently. Reggie helped himself without being asked.

“Wouldn’t you?” Reggie demanded with a mixture of anxiety and offense.

“Not very likely.” Balantyne declined the Madeira. He did not like the stuff, and it was too early in the day. “No good servant is going to hand in notice because she’s asked a few questions, unless she’s already got another place to go to. And he’s pretty civil, this fellow Pitt. None of my household has complained.”

“For God’s sake, man! Would you know if they had?” Reggie lost his temper at last. “Augusta runs your house like a regiment. Most efficient creature I’ve ever met. She wouldn’t tell you if the whole lot were in revolt! She’d deal with it, and you’d still get your dinner in time.”

Balantyne resented the implication that he was a useless appendage to his own household, but he reminded himself that the man was frightened, although he had no idea why; and he made an allowance for him.

“It is not very likely anyone will give notice now,” he said calmly. “It would suggest guilt to the police, and no doubt make things harder for them than remaining here and carrying on in a normal manner.”

Oddly enough, even this, with its impeccable logic, did not noticeably soothe Reggie. He sat rumpled, deep in the armchair, and glowered at his glass.

“Bad business, though,” he said gloomily. “Don’t suppose for a moment they’ll ever find out who did it. Waste of time. All they’ll do is stir up a lot of speculation and gossip.” He looked up. “Could do us a lot of harm, you know, Brandon. Not good to have the police hanging around. People think there must be something wrong.”

Balantyne could see his point, but there was nothing they could do about it, and he was inclined to think that Reggie was exaggerating.

“I’ll lay you odds Carlton would agree,” Reggie said quickly, a lift in his voice. “‘Above suspicion,’ you know, ‘Caesar’s wife,’ and all that. Foreigners are inclined to be funny. Got to keep an immaculate reputation.”

What he said was probably true. Balantyne frowned, looking at Reggie through narrowed eyes. Reggie had poured himself another glass, and unless Balantyne was mistaken, it was not his second, or even his third today. What was he really frightened of?

“What does he say?” Reggie pressed.

“Haven’t spoken to him,” Balantyne replied honestly.

“Might be a good idea if you did,” Reggie tried to smile, and ended with a grimace that was more like bared teeth. “Would myself but I don’t know him as well as you do. Influential man. He might be able to make the police see sense. They’ll never find out who the woman was, not a chance in hell. Probably some servant girl who’s moved away by now. Wouldn’t want to hang around, would she?”

“The police will have thought of that,” Balantyne answered. “We haven’t dismissed any servants or had them leave in the last couple of years; have you?” Suddenly recollection came to him in a blinding understanding. It seemed stunningly obvious now. “How long ago since Dolly died?” he said baldly.

The blood drained from Reggie’s face till Balantyne thought he was going to faint. His skin looked sweaty gray.

“Was that your child that killed her, Reggie?” he asked.

Reggie’s mouth opened, like a fish, and closed again silently. He could not find a lie that would be of any use.

“I thought that was more than two years ago,” Balantyne went on.

“It was!” Reggie found his tongue at last, his lips stiff. “It was! Four years. Couldn’t possibly have anything to do with it! But you know what people are, give a dog a bad name. They’ll think because—” he foundered in the lie, and took another glass of Madeira.

There was no need to press him about the present; the truth was too obvious, the reason he wanted the police out of the square, away from talkative servants. Poor fool!

“I expect they’ll give up of their own accord soon,” Balantyne said with a pity he resented feeling. “But I’ll see what Carlton feels, when I get an opportunity. Don’t suppose that Pitt chap wants to spend more time than he has to up a blind alley. No good for his career.”

“No,” Reggie cheered up visibly. “Don’t suppose we need to point that out to him.” His words were a little blurred. “But speak to Carlton all the same. He must know people; few words in the right places, could get it closed a bit sooner. Save a lot of nasty gossip; some public money too. Whole thing’s a waste of time.” He stood up a little shakily. “Thanks, old man. Thought you’d understand.”

Christina did not appear for luncheon, and Brandy was spending a week in the country with friends. He found himself alone at the table with Augusta.

“Christina still not better?” he said with a touch of anxiety. “Why hasn’t she seen a doctor? Get Freddie to look at her, if Meredith can’t come.”

“Not necessary,” Augusta replied, reaching for cold salmon. “It’s only a chill. Cook prepared her a tray. Have some of the salmon. It’s one Brandy caught last weekend in Cumberland. Very good, don’t you think?”

He took some and tasted it.

“Excellent. Are you sure it’s nothing worse? She’s been in bed for a long time.”

“Quite sure. A spell in bed will do her no harm. She’s been overdoing it lately. Too many parties. Which reminds me, have you remembered we are dining with the Campbells this evening?”

He had not remembered. Still, it could have been worse. Garson Campbell was an interesting fellow, dry humor, if a little cynical; and Mariah was a more than usually sensible woman. Hardly ever heard her indulge in gossip or the endless flirtations that so many women seemed to engage their emotions with.

“Was that Reggie Southeron here this morning?” Augusta asked.

“Yes.”

“What did he want, on a Saturday morning?”

“Nothing really. In a bit of a lather about the police upsetting the servants with a lot of questions and insinuations.”

“Upsetting the servants?” she said incredulously.

He looked at her across the salmon.

“Yes. Why not?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Brandon. Reggie never gave a hoot about the servants, his own or anybody else’s. What did he intend you should do about it anyway?”

He smiled in spite of himself.

“What makes you think he intended me to do anything about it?”

“He didn’t come here to drink your Madeira. You always give him the worst, and he knows it. What did he want?”

“He suggested I should speak to Robert Carlton to see if he can persuade the police to let the thing lie. They’ll probably never discover the truth, anyway, all they can achieve is to waste their time, and stir up a lot of gossip. He could be right.”

“He is right,” she agreed tartly. “But I doubt that is why he is concerned. And I would be surprised if that odd young man—Pitt, I think his name is—will let it die until he has explored a good deal further than he has so far. But you can try, by all means, if you wish. Don’t let Reggie make a fool of himself. It will rub off on all of us. Apart from the embarrassment to Adelina, poor creature.”

“Why should Reggie make a fool of himself?” He had no intention of telling her about Dolly. It was not a matter for a decent woman to know of.

Augusta sighed.

“Sometimes, Brandon, I wonder if you affect to be obtuse merely to annoy me. Reggie wishes to keep the police from questioning his own servants too closely, which you must know quite as well as I do.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” He did not wish to have to explain to her something which would both shock and distress her. She would find it sordid; as indeed perhaps it was, but a common human failing which women were apt, since the offense was against them, to view differently, and without the compassion a man might feel.

Augusta snorted and pushed away her empty plate. The pudding was brought in and served. When they were alone again she looked at him coolly.

“Then perhaps I had better tell you, before you unwittingly say something clumsy and embarrass us all. Reggie sleeps with all his parlormaids, so no doubt he is afraid the police will discover it, and be less than discreet about it. They may even think he has wandered farther afield.”

He was stunned. She was speaking about it as if it hardly mattered!

“How on earth do you know?” he said hoarsely.

“My dear Brandon, everybody knows. One doesn’t discuss it, of course; but one knows.”

“Adelina?”

“Of course she knows. Do you take her for a fool?”

”Doesn’t she—mind?”

“I’ve no idea. One doesn’t ask, and naturally she doesn’t mention it.”

He was stunned. He could think of no reply adequate to his confusion. He had always known that women’s minds and emotions worked on lines not comprehensible to men, but never before had it been so forcibly brought home to him.

Augusta was still looking at him.

“I wish there were some way it could be kept from that policeman, for Adelina’s sake,” she went on, “but I have not so far thought of any. That is why it might be a good idea for you to approach Robert Carlton to see if he can get the investigation shelved. It can hardly serve any purpose now, even in the unlikely event of their discovering which poor girl was responsible.”

“There is the small matter of justice,” he said indignantly, his feelings stunned once again. How on earth could she speak of it as if it were all irrelevant, as if they had not been human babies, now dead, possibly murdered?

“Really, Brandon, sometimes I despair of you,” she said as she passed him the caramel sauce. “You are the most impractical man I ever knew. Why are soldiers such dreamers? You would think with the command of armies in their charge they would at least be practical, if nothing else, wouldn’t you?” she sighed. “But then I suppose war is really the most idiotic of all pursuits, so perhaps not.”

He stared at her as if she were a totally alien creature, as if she had changed shape from the known to the unknown in front of him.

“Naturally you don’t understand war,” he dismissed the last subject. “But even if justice is too abstract a concept for you, surely as a woman, who has borne children herself, you are moved to compassion?”

She put down her spoon and fork and leaned a little forward.

“The children are dead; whether they were born dead or died afterward, they are beyond our help now. The mother will have been through deeper hell than you can imagine, or probably than I can either. Whatever manner of woman she was, she will have paid for it in grief in this life, and will answer to God for it in the next. What else is it you want from her? Her example will not prevent it happening again, I assure you, as long as there are both men and women in the world.

“Yes, your idea of justice is far too abstract for me. It is a word that sounds sonorous and pleasing to you; but you have no idea what it means from day to day; you have satisfied your ideals, and someone else is left to live it through.

“This thing is better buried. It is a pity those men ever went to plant their tree. If you can persuade Robert Carlton to exert a little influence and have the police leave well enough alone, it will be the best day’s work you have done in a long time.

“Now if you intend to eat that pudding you had better do so before it gets cold, or it will give you indigestion. I am going upstairs to see how Christina is,” and she stood up and walked out, leaving him staring after her, speechless.

Balantyne worked on his military papers in the afternoon, because they were something he was sure of; perhaps in time Augusta would explain herself, or else the matter would fall into recess of memory and cease to be important.

It was early evening, and already dark and turning very cold when Max announced Robert Carlton. Balantyne had always liked Carlton, he was a man whose quiet confidence and dignity appealed to him, the best type of Englishman, who followed the military into all the corners of the empire to govern and teach civilization where it was hitherto unknown. They were two partners to the same cause, and he felt they had an instinctive understanding, an inbred sense of duty and justice.

This evening he was especially pleased to see him because the mass of papers palled on him. It was more difficult without Miss Ellison to assist him, and in truth, gave him less than the usual satisfaction. He stood up with a smile, his hand out.

“’Evening, Robert, come in and warm yourself. Best fire in the house. Have a sherry, or whisky if you like? It must be about that time,” he glanced at the brass carriage clock on the mantelpiece. How he hated the ormolu one in the withdrawing room and the fat cherubs round it; it did not even keep correct time!