might borrow it two days ago, and you were kind enough to allow me to.”
“Oh,” he looked taken aback, and she realized that something had indeed upset him more deeply than she had at first understood. “Oh,” he repeated foolishly. “I forgot. Of course, you will know-”
She smiled at him.
“If you have other business to take care of, I can quite well work on these by myself,” she offered. “You do not need to supervise me, if it is inconvenient.”
“You are very considerate, but I have nothing else that I-at least not now. Thank you,” and with a faint color in his face he bent to his papers.
Once or twice he spoke to her again, but his remarks were inconsequential, and she let them pass without question, knowing his mind was preoccupied. Had he newly discovered something about Christina? That she feared she was with child? Or something deeper, worse? Compassion forbade her from making any attempt to discover. She would like to have said or done something to comfort him, indeed her instinct was strong to touch him, reduce some of the stiffness out of his body, suffer him to relax. He would be stronger for having given in to himself for a few moments. But of course it would be totally improper. It would produce not the comfort of one creature for another, but embarrassment, misunderstanding, even fear. There were years of icebound convention between them. Instead she affected not to have noticed anything unusual. She could afford him at least privacy, which was second best, but gentler than nothing, and no doubt what he believed he wished for.
It was not long before midday when Max came in to say that Garson Campbell was in the morning room and wished to see General Balantyne, and could he show him in.
“What?”
Max repeated the request. Looking at him, Charlotte found him one of the most offensive men she had seen. There was a curve to his mouth, a wetness that she found repellent, as if he were forever licking his lips, although in truth she had never seen him do so.
“Oh, yes,” Balantyne acquiesced. “Send him in. I won’t come out, or he’ll think I’ve all day to waste.”
Garson Campbell came in a moment later. It was the first time Charlotte had seen him, and she kept perfectly still in the corner, the book on Marlborough held up to her face, hoping that they might not notice her. She peered over the top of it cautiously to look.
Campbell had a clever face, long nose, hard, humorous mouth, and quick eyes. He stamped his feet slightly, perhaps from the cold.
“Morning, Balantyne.” He appeared not to have seen Charlotte, and she remained motionless, trusting that the general would have forgotten her also.
“Morning, Campbell.”
“Still resurrecting past victories? Well, I suppose they’re better than present apathy: so long as we don’t think they’ll do as a substitute.”
“We can hardly learn from history if we choose not to remember it,” Balantyne replied a little defensively.
“My dear Balantyne,” Campbell sat down, “the day mankind learns to profit from the lessons of history I shall look for the Second Coming. Still, it’s a harmless exercise, and I dare say they make good reading. A lot less dangerous than politics. I wish a few of your military colleagues would occupy themselves as innocuously. Why do men presume that because they purchased a commission in the army, and were fortunate enough not to get killed, that they can also purchase a seat at Westminster and survive the infinitely subtler wars of politics?”
“I have no idea,” Balantyne said tersely. “I am hardly the person to whom you should address such a question.”
“For heaven’s sake, it was an observation in passing. I don’t expect you to have an answer! I don’t expect answers from anyone. The most I ever hope for is that here and there one may find someone who at least acknowledges the question! Have you had the damned police here again?”
Balantyne stiffened.
“Yes. Why?”
“It’s about time they gave up. The whole thing’s only an academic exercise anyway, matter of public image. They should have satisfied that by now. They’ll not find out who did it, and if they’ve any sense they can never have supposed they might.”
“They have to try. It’s a very serious crime.”
“Some wretched girl had a stillborn child, or killed it straight after. For God’s sake, Balantyne, people are dying all over the place. Have you any idea how many paupers’ children die in London every year? These probably never knew anything about it. And what sort of a life would they have had? Don’t talk a lot of sentimental nonsense. What on earth were you like on the battlefield? Terrified to order the charge, in case someone got hurt?”
“You can hardly compare fighting a war to defend your ideals or your country with murdering babies!” Balantyne’s temper was very close to the surface. Charlotte could see the light shine across the tight skin on his cheekbones. It was a stronger face than Campbell’s, leaner, cleaner of bone, but there was a softer line to the closing of the lips, a vulnerability. She would like to have faced Campbell herself, driven back his clever cynicism with her own inner steel. She was not afraid of him, because she knew in her heart that to be without optimism, that core of reasonless hope in the spirit rather than the brain, was a fatal flaw, the seed of death.
Campbell sighed with obvious patience.
“It can’t be undone, Balantyne. For heaven’s sake, let us salvage what is left. I’ve already put in a few words here and there to get the police to withdraw, call it a good effort, and finish. You have friends, and so has Carlton. See what you can do. I’m sure Carlton will. Poor devil has already uncovered a basket of snakes in his own house. Although if he’s surprised, he’s the only one. Full-blooded young woman like Euphemia marries a stuffy old bird like that, don’t know what else he expected! Still, pity it has to become public. Wasn’t necessary, if the police had minded their damned business.”
Balantyne’s face was white. “It does not have to become public, unless you choose to make it so. Which, I imagine, as a gentleman, you will not!” He was half standing in his chair, as if he would offer some physical threat.
Campbell was more amused then frightened.
“Of course not. We’ve all got our skeletons. I never met a man yet who had not something he ought to be ashamed of, and certainly a hell of a lot he wanted kept secret. Do sit down, Balantyne. You look ridiculous. Just thought I’d mention it.” For the first time he glanced at Charlotte and she dropped her eyes immediately, but not before she had seen the humor in him, and the appreciation. What did he imagine she was here for? She found the blood coming to her face as the obvious thought occurred to her. She hoped the general was too innocent, and too stiff, to have thought of it also.
However, when Campbell was gone he turned to her, his own face flushed.
“Charlotte-I–I-apologize for Campbell. I can only presume he did not at first realize you were here. I–I assure you-”
She forgot her own embarrassment in his.
“Of course not,” she smiled. “In truth, I had not thought of it, and knew it to be nothing more than a few unpleasant words. Pray, do not think of it again.”
He looked at her closely for a moment, then relaxed gratefully.
“Thank you, er, thank you.”
It was an additional week before Augusta finally reached a satisfactory solution to the problem of how to get rid of Max. She had required help, and had had to invent a satisfactory explanation for it before approaching her distant relations and offering to exchange favor for favor. Now it was arranged, and it only remained to inform Max.
It was one week before Christmas. She felt vastly better than she had in the appalling morning Pitt had come. Christina had employed herself excellently, and Alan Ross seemed almost resigned to his fate. Indeed she had seen him only this afternoon escorting Christina out for a drive in his carriage. She had been out in the street herself when they had left. Brandy had been on the pavement, talking to that pretty little governess of the Southerons’. Attractive creature, a little thin, but with a peculiar grace, and such a charming smile: just the person to have charge of children.
She was alone in the house. Brandy had left for his club, the general also; and that young Ellison woman had gone home early. She rang for Max.
