“I think that’s a dangerous line of inquiry,” Smithers shook his head disapprovingly. “Cause a lot of-er- embarrassment. Better leave it alone and concentrate on the facts, get the doctor to tell you things about the body, lie of the land, find witnesses, and that sort of thing. Get at the truth that way.”
“I don’t think it can be done, sir,” Pitt replied, meeting the man’s eyes.
Smithers colored angrily at the insolence, not of the words, but of the stare.
“Then you’ll have to admit defeat, won’t you! But give it a try; we’ve got to make some appearance of doing our best.”
“Even if we’re not?” Pitt’s temper gave way.
“Be careful, Pitt,” Anstruther warned quietly. “You’re sailing perilously close to the wind. Lot of important people in Callander Square. They’ve taken about as much as they’re going to of police noising around in their private lives.”
“I take it they’ve complained?” Pitt asked.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“Several of them, naturally I cannot tell you precisely who, might prejudice you against them, quite unfairly. Now be a good chap, go and look at the facts again. You never know, if you ask all the servants, you may be able to find one who saw something, at least know who was in and who was out; alibis, and all that.”
Pitt acquiesced, because there was nothing else he could do. He left feeling angry, and close to defeat. Had it not been for the sure knowledge that Charlotte would warm him, strengthen him, and fight to the last ditch for him, he might well have considered obeying the order in spirit, as well as to the letter.
Balantyne knew nothing of the pressure that had been put upon Pitt, because he was the only man in the square who had not been party to instigating it. When Reggie came to see him, bubbling over with good cheer after his recent reprieve, he had no idea what it was that excited him.
“Damn good thing, what?” Reggie gulped a glass of sherry to which he had helped himself. “Be able to get back to normal soon; and about time. All that wretched business behind us.”
“Hardly,” Balantyne said a little stiffly. He found Reggie’s joviality distasteful. “There is still the matter of four murders, apart from anything else.”
“Four murders?” Reggie paled noticeably, but it was not the murders that upset him, it was the “anything else”: namely the change in Adelina. The emotional comfort of his home had vanished. He was living with a stange woman he discovered he did not know at all, but who knew him painfully well, and had done so for a long time. It was a very unpleasant feeling indeed.
“Had you forgotten?” Balantyne asked coolly.
“No, no. I just hardly thought of the babies as murders. Probably born dead, what? And who knows what happened with Helena? Can’t tell now, poor creature. Could have fallen on something by accident. And really, old fellow, you know, Freddie was no loss. Bounder was a blackmailer. No, far the best thing if the police ask a few questions, see if the servants saw anything; and then if they didn’t, mess off and catch pickpockets, or something; anyhow, take themselves away from here.”
“I hardly think they’ll do that. Murder is a great deal more important than picking pockets,” Balantyne said tartly.
“Well, I’m not going to help them any more,” Reggie poured himself another sherry from the decanter. “If the fellow comes again I shall refuse to see him. He can talk to the servants, if he wants to. Don’t like to seem uncooperative; but I’m not seeing him again myself. Told him all I know, that’s an end to it.” He swallowed the half glassful and breathed out with a sigh. “Finish!”
Balantyne stared at him.
“Surely you don’t imagine one of the servants killed Freddie?” he said with acid disbelief.
“My dear fellow, I really don’t care any more. Sooner the police give up and clear out, the better.”
“They won’t give up, they’ll stay here until they find out who it was!”
“The hell they will! Been speaking to a few people, at the club, and what not. That Pitt fellow will be put back on the beat if he doesn’t draw his horns in a bit. Just stirring up a whole lot of scandal. Takes pleasure in discomfiting his betters, that’s all. All these working class chaps are the same, give them a little power and they run amok. No, don’t worry, old boy, he’ll be off soon enough. Just poke around a bit, make it look as if he’s trying, then after a decent period, take himself off and look for thieves again.”
Balantyne was furious, a blind, incensed outrage boiled up inside him. This was a mockery of the principles he had believed in all his life: honor, dignity, justice for the living and the dead, the civilized order he had fought for and his peers had died for in the Crimea, in India, Africa, and God knew where else.
“Get out of my house, Reggie,” he said levelly. “And please do not return. You are no longer welcome here. And as far as the police are concerned, I shall move everything I have, speak to every man in power, to see that they ask every question, investigate every clue until they find out the uttermost truth about everything that has happened in Callander Square, and I don’t give a damn whom it hurts. Do you understand me?”
Reggie stared at him, blinking, the sherry glass in his hand.
“Y-you’re drunk!” he stammered, although he knew it was not true. “You’re insane! Have you any idea what harm it could do?” his voice ended in a squeak.
“Please leave, Reggie. It would make you look ridiculous to have to be thrown out.”
Reggie’s face darkened to crimson and he hurled the glass into the fire, splintering it into incandescent pieces. He turned on his heel and marched out, slamming the door behind him so hard the pictures teetered on the shelf and a small ornament fell over.
Balantyne stood alone for several minutes, his mind absorbing what he had done. Finally he rang the bell, and when the butler appeared, asked to have the footman fetch his coat as he was going out to see Sir Robert Carlton.
Carlton was at home, and Balantyne found him in the withdrawing room by the fire opposite Euphemia. He had never seen her look so happy, there seemed to be a warmth about her, as if she were somehow in the sunlight. Balantyne wished he had come for any other reason, but the outrage was still hot inside him.
“Good evening, Carlton; evening, Euphemia, you’re looking uncommonly well.”
“Good evening, Brandon.” There was a slight lift of question in her voice.
“I’m sorry, Euphemia, I need to speak to Robert urgently. Will you be so generous as to excuse us?”
Euphemia stood up, a little puzzled, and obligingly left the room.
Carlton frowned, annoyance flickering across his face.
“What is it, Balantyne? It had better be important, or I will find it hard to excuse your manners. You were something less than courteous to my wife.”
Balantyne was in no mood for trivialities.
“Did you use your influence to stop the police from investigating any further into the murders in this square?” he demanded.
Carlton faced him squarely, his face quite unperturbed by guilt or reserve.
“Yes, I did. I think they have done enough harm already, and no good can come of continuing to probe into our private lives and our tragedies and mistakes. They have had more than enough time to discover who gave birth to those unfortunate children, and what happened to them. There is no reasonable chance that after all this time they will discover who Helena Doran’s lover was, or find him if they did. As for Freddie Bolsover, he may or may not have been a blackmailer, but on the other hand he could perfectly well have been killed by a passing robber. Better for Sophie if we suppose that and leave it alone-”
“Balderdash!” Balantyne shouted. “You know damned well he was killed by someone in this square because he pushed too hard with his blackmail, and this time he caught not some lascivious ass who played around with a maid, but a murderer.”
Carlton’s face tightened.
“Do you really believe that?”
“Yes, and if you’re honest, so do you. I know you’re afraid for Euphemia. I’m afraid too. But I’m a damn sight more afraid of what I’ll turn into if I try to cover this up-”
“Freddie was a blackmailer,” Carlton said less certainly. “Let the wretch lie in peace, for Sophie’s sake, if nothing else.”
“Stop deceiving yourself, Robert. Whatever he was, his murder cannot be disregarded, swept away because
