Callander Square (18 page)

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

His smile broadened into a grin.

“Which makes my point perfectly.”

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

He retreated gracefully, again annoying her.

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

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

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

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

Brandy seemed equally curious, to judge from his expression.

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

“You think that would be a good idea?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

Pitt was obliged to smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A good footman?” Pitt inquired.

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

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

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

“No complaints from female staff?”

“No, none at all.”

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

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

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

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

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

Augusta gasped, but it was Christina who broke.

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

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

Christina took a deep breath and let it out.

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

“Good morning, sir,” Pitt said courteously.

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir?” Max inquired.

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

Max’s face altered only barely.

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

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

”I have no intention of marrying, sir.”

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

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

“Who was she?”

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

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

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

“Good family?” the general said with incredulity.

“Yes, sir.”

“Who?”

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

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

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

Balantyne was staring at Augusta.

Augusta collected herself.

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

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

“Well?” Balantyne demanded.

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

Pitt spoke very courteously, softly.

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

She felt the cold run through her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She was speechless.

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

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

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

She faced Pitt confidently.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve no idea,” she lied.

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

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

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

“I should prefer to stay, Mother.”

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

“Mother—”

“Brandon,” Balantyne said sharply.

In silence Christina and Brandy left.

“Well?” Balantyne asked.

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

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

He stared at her.

“You must be mistaken!”

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

“Does he wish to marry her?”

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

“Us?”

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

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

“Yes. But it may be advisable.”

His face tightened.

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

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