it is ugly and its investigation is inconvenient to us. What the hell do you believe in, man? Have you nothing left but comfort?”
Carlton’s head came up sharply, his eyes blazing: but he had no defense. He opened his mouth to speak, but words evaded him. Balantyne did not flinch, and eventually it was Carlton who looked down.
“I’ll speak to the Home Secretary tomorrow,” he said quietly.
“Good.”
“I don’t know what good it will do. Campbell and Reggie are pulling pretty hard for it to be closed. Reggie is afraid for himself, of course; but I think Campbell is sorry for Sophie. Pretty frightful for her, poor girl. Mariah’s been taking care of her; very capable woman, Mariah; always seems to know what to do in a crisis. But nothing could protect Sophie from the disgrace if this is made public.”
“I’m glad there is someone who can keep their head,” Balantyne could not resist a last cruelly honest jibe, his anger was still too hot. “I am sorry for Sophie, but the truth cannot be changed. Give my apologies to Euphemia,” he said, and then turned and left. When he had spoken to Brandy and Augusta, told them his feelings, he would be drained of anger. Then he could come back, perhaps tomorrow, and make his peace with Carlton. In the future, when he was needed, he would help Sophie.
When he reached his own hallway he was surprised by the footman telling him Miss Ellison had called to see him. He was annoyed, disconcerted. He was far from at his best, and he did not wish her to see him in these circumstances. The footman was staring at him, and his brain could manufacture no excuse.
She was waiting for him in the study. She turned as he came in, and at sight of her face he remembered how much she pleased him, how clear and gentle were the lines of her face, passion without guile. There was nothing sophisticated in her, and it was both restful and exciting to him.
“Charlotte, my dear,” he went over toward her, holding out his hands, meaning to take hers, but she held back. “What is it?” She had changed and he was afraid of it; he did not want anything in her to be different.
“General Balantyne,” she said a little formally. There was color in her cheeks and she looked uncomfortable, but she did not avoid his eyes. She took a deep breath. “I am afraid I have lied to you. Emily Ashworth is my sister, but I am not unmarried, as I allowed you to believe. Ellison was my maiden name, I am Charlotte Pitt-”
At first the name meant nothing to him, he could see no reason for the deception. Had she imagined he would not employ her if she were married?
“Inspector Pitt is my husband,” she said simply. “I came here because I wanted to find out about the babies, and, if they were stillborn, to offer some support to the mother. Now I want to help Jemima. Mr. Southeron has charged that she blackmailed him, and then killed Dr. Bolsover in a quarrel over the money. If Thomas is called off the case and no one ever discovers who did kill Dr. Bolsover, she will have that hanging over her all her life.”
“You are married to Pitt,” he frowned, “the policeman?”
“Yes. I’m sorry for having deceived you. I never imagined at the time that it could matter. But please, think whatever you like of me, but don’t let them prevent Thomas from finding out the truth, at least about Dr. Bolsover. It is wrong to accuse someone, and then leave it unproved. If Jemima had been his social equal, he would not have dared. He only said it because he knew she could neither defend herself, nor attack him in return.”
He felt an illusion slip away from him, and a new value take its place. The dream had been fragile, and foolish; he had not named it even to himself. Now the thing in its place was a warm, gentle pain, the kind that becomes a familiar companion in time, part of one’s growing.
He sighed very slowly. “I have already been to see Sir Robert Carlton. That is where I was when you came. He will speak to the Home Secretary tomorrow.”
The smile started in her eyes and her mouth till it seemed to fill all of her, even to the way she stood, very straight, but with a grace, an ease to the line of her body.
“I am glad,” she said quietly. “I apologize for not having known that you would.” She gathered her cloak a little closer round her and moved past him.
He let her go, he was too full to speak. The compliment, the trust burned inside him more fiercely than in any sweet moment of youth.
He stood alone for a long time in the room before he finally sent for Brandy.
When Brandy came in he was ready for him.
“I have been this evening to see Robert Carlton,” he began straight away. “I persuaded him to speak to the Home Secretary to permit the police to continue to investigate the murders in the square, however long it may be, or however painful, before they discover the truth. Since Freddie Bolsover was a blackmailer, it is highly likely that was the motive for his death. The police will naturally have to pursue that-no, don’t interrupt me, Brandon. I am telling you because they will doubtless come to this house again. They are already aware of Christina’s folly with Max. If there is anything you have done that would make you vulnerable to pressure, I advise you to tell me now, and then the police. If it has nothing to do with Freddie, I daresay they will be discreet about it.”
“They already know,” Brandy replied soberly. “It seems they are extremely thorough, in everything except the actual murders! But thank you for the warning.” He looked away. “I’m glad you did that. Reggie accused Jemima of having blackmailed him, and then of having killed Freddie over the money. I intend to see him in hell for that.”
“How do you know?” Balantyne demanded.
Brandy looked back at him.
“Inspector Pitt told me. I’m sorry about that, Father.” Then sensing Balantyne’s embarrassment, he spoke quite casually. “Do you want to see Mother? You’d better warn her as well, she does rather tend to take things into her own hands!”
Balantyne winced at the memory of Max. He did not really want to see Augusta tonight. There was a lot he wished to say to her, but not yet. Presently, perhaps, when he better understood himself.
“No, thank you,” he replied. “You can tell her, if you don’t mind. I don’t think it will be necessary to warn her, but it would be a courtesy.”
Brandy hesitated a moment, then smiled.
“Right,” he turned and went to the door. “Thank you for not exploding over Jemima. I mean to marry her, if she’ll have me. I dare say Mother won’t be pleased, but she’ll accommodate it in time, if you do.”
“I didn’t say-!” but Brandy was gone, and there was nothing for Balantyne to do but stare at the door after him. Perhaps it was not such a monstrous thought; it was not as if she were a servant, indeed she was not so very unlike Charlotte-but that was another dream he would prefer not to contemplate tonight.
It was after lunch the next day when he saw Alan Ross at his club. Quite naturally, since Alan was both friend and son-in-law, he went over to speak to him.
“Afternoon, Alan, how are you? Christina well?”
“Good afternoon, sir. Yes, in fine health, thank you. And you?”
“Excellent.” What a stilted conversation. Why could he not say what he meant? Had he not learned that much at least from Charlotte? “No, that’s not true. You heard about Freddie Bolsover?”
Ross frowned.
“Yes. Somebody spoke of blackmail; is that true?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. There’s been a concerted effort round the square to stop the police from investigating it any further, for fear of digging up a lot of scandal, I presume, although of course those are not the motives given. I suppose everyone has something they would prefer not known; something sordid, or foolish, or just acutely private.”
Ross made a small face of agreement. Then he looked up as if he had thought of something to say. Balantyne waited, but apparently the words eluded him. They spoke of trivialities for a little while, then Balantyne drew them back to Callander Square, feeling Ross still wished to speak to him.
Again Ross hesitated.
“Is there something you know that I don’t?” Balantyne asked quietly, commanding Ross’s attention with his eyes.
“No,” Ross shook his head, a tiny, rueful smile at the corner of his mouth. “It is something we both know; but I imagine you are not aware of it.”
Balantyne was puzzled, but he had as yet no sense of misgiving.
“Then if I already know, why are you having such difficulty finding the words for it?” he asked. “And why the need to speak of it at all?”
For the first time Ross really met his eyes, without veil or deception.
