He came after a few minutes.
“Yes, my lady?” he was smug as always.
“I have made arrangements for you to take another post, Max-”
“My lady-” He stared woodenly at her.
“In London,” she continued, “with Lord Veitch. I have given you an excellent reference, you will be footman and valet when he travels abroad, which he does frequently. He is in London for the season, and goes to the country for the summer, and for the shooting, of course. He very often journeys to Paris, and Vienna. You will travel with him, and he will increase your salary above that which we pay you. An advance, you will agree?”
“Indeed, my lady,” he bowed with a slow smile. “I am most grateful. When do I leave?”
“Immediately. Tomorrow morning. Lord Veitch goes to the country for Christmas, and to Paris for the New Year.”
“Thank you, my lady,” he bowed again, still smiling, and withdrew.
She told Balantyne of it that evening, sitting at her dressing table, her hair loose over her shoulders; her maid had brushed it and been excused.
Balantyne, in dressing gown, stared at her.
“You let the bounder go, to a better position? And what about Bertie Veitch? What has he done to deserve that?”
“He owes me a favor,” she replied.
“Augusta!”
“I warned him,” she said impatiently. “And I will pay the difference in his salary.”
“For how long? And I object to rewarding that-swine-for his vile-”
“He will not profit for long, Brandon. Bertie will take him out of the country, to Paris, and then Vienna. In Vienna he will find some occasion against him, and dismiss him for dishonesty. I dare say Max will not find a Viennese prison to his liking.”
Balantyne stared at her, his face white.
“How could you, Augusta? That is dishonest!”
“It is no more than he deserves,” she said, a chill inside her as she met his eyes, then looked away. “What would you have had me do, permit him to remain here, blackmailing us? In this house with Christina, and Alan Ross?”
“Of course not! But not this!”
“What then? Had you thought of something?”
He stood silent, tall, straight, his body frozen, simply staring at her.
She stood up and walked over to her bed, her hair falling round her shoulders, feeling appallingly vulnerable, like a new bride in a room with a stranger.
SEVEN
Christmas passed with all the trappings of tradition, the decorations, the dances, the rich food and the heavy wine, the flirtations, the presents, the bells and songs, and even, on occasion, the prayers.
For that week Charlotte did not go to Callander Square but devoted herself to her own home. Last year she had been too new to marriage to feel the warm, easy comfort of complete friendship, of belonging without anxiety or the urgency to please. Now she hung the parlor with lanterns and colored chains, purchased a small tree and decorated it, then busied herself making toffee and fudge, marzipan and mints to give to carol singers, and wrapping small gifts for her family.
On January second the matter of Callander Square obtruded into her life again, and when Pitt departed in the morning to the police station, she finished a rather indifferent effort at housework, and took herself back to the Balantynes’ residence to address her attention to learning more about the rest of the square, beginning with the Southerons. After all, if Reggie Southeron really did pester his parlormaids, perhaps not all of them had been as unwilling as Mary Ann professed to be. Indeed, it was by no means certain that Mary Ann herself was paying more than lip service to her indignation, a protest as a matter of form, for her dignity’s sake. It would be a good idea to ascertain how long Mary Ann had been in Callander Square, and something about her predecessor.
To this end Charlotte pursued her very natural liking for Jemima Waggoner, and accepted an invitation for luncheon the day after. Accordingly at noon she excused herself from the general in the library, and scurried through the rain to the area entranceway of the Southerons’. She was let in by the scullery maid with giggles, and guided upstairs to the schoolroom where today Jemima was eating alone, since Faith, Patience, and Chastity were dining at the Campbells’, in honor of Victoria Campbell’s birthday.
Jemima jumped up immediately, her face lighting with a broad smile.
“Oh, Charlotte, do come in. I’m so pleased you were able to accept. General Balantyne did not mind?”
“No, of course not, as long as I am back by about two. After all, he will have to have luncheon himself, and to tell the truth, we are nearly sorted through all the papers, and I think he is not entirely sure what to do next.”
“He is rather an intimidating person, isn’t he?” It was more an expression of opinion than a question. While she was speaking, Jemima laid a small table with cloth and cutlery, and almost the moment she had finished, one of the maids brought in the tray cook had prepared. It was a surprisingly elaborate meal for luncheon, and Charlotte thought, seeing it, that it probably reflected Reggie Southeron’s love of food and comforts.
Charlotte admired the menu, and they fell to discussing food and the general household of the Southerons. Then when the second course was completed and the pudding brought, Jemima returned to the subject of the general.
“Is it confidential?” she asked.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” Charlotte replied, “In fact I believe the more people who know, and are interested, the better he would be pleased. He is very proud of his family, you know. And I admit, so should I be, if my family had distinguished itself so. There has been a Balantyne in almost every great battle since the time of the Duke of Marlborough.”
Jemima similed, looking into the distance, her eyes soft.
“It is a great heritage. It must be quite difficult for a man, born into such a family; so much to live up to. I wonder if young Mr. Balantyne will fight in such battles, and become a general also?”
“Well, there are hardly any wars now,” Charlotte replied, but her thoughts were not on military involvements, but involvements of the heart. The look on Jemima’s face concerned her. It was not like her own, an impersonal interest, an excitement in the power, the courage, and the pain of all the human beings who had lived and died in wars; she rather feared it had more to do with Brandy Balantyne, to do with a smile, a slender back, and dark head.
Jemima had not yet chosen her words for reply, and seemed somewhat confused.
“I rather hope not,” she said, looking at the spoon in her hand. “It is very dreadful to think of the young men who go abroad to fight in battles that have so little to do with us, and then are maimed, or die.”
“I wonder how little they really are to do with us,” Charlotte said thoughtfully. “We live in the manner we do, with wealth and safety, with sea trade all over the world, with markets for our goods, and exotic things to buy at home, just because we have an empire that covers nearly every corner of the globe. And many see it as our duty,” she went on, looking now at Jemima’s face, “to spread civilization, Christianity, and good government to the races who do not know of such things.”
“I suppose so,” Jemima agreed reluctantly. “But it seems a terrible price to pay for it. So many who do not come back. Think of all the wives, and families.”
“There is not much that can be purchased without a heavy price,” Charlotte said, thinking back on the few things she knew of real value-of compassion, gratitude, understanding. “What we do not pay for in some way, unfortunately we tend not to regard in its true worth.” She smiled to soften the words a little.
Jemima frowned.
“Do you not think sometimes we value a thing merely because we have paid for it?” she asked. “And perhaps paid too much? And so we cling to it, and go on paying?”
Charlotte thought about it for a moment. She had become bound to a thing, committed to it for no better
