“Because you may otherwise go to some lengths to keep it from me.”
Balantyne stared.
“Christina,” Ross replied. “I am perfectly aware of her liaison with Max, and the reason for her somewhat precipitate pursuit of me. No, there’s no need to look like that. I knew at the time. I don’t mind. I loved Helena, and I shall never love anyone else. I have a high regard for you; and, it may surprise you, for Lady Augusta also. I was quite willing to be of use to Christina. I shall never love her, but I shall be a good husband to her; and I intend to see that she is a good wife to me: as good as our feelings, or lack of them, will permit. There is still an honorable way to behave, love or not.” He looked down for a moment, then up again. “What I am trying to say is that there is no need to fear my hearing of the affair and treating Christina any differently.” The smile warmed his eyes. “Also, I am very fond of Brandy. Although he has tended to avoid me since my engagement. I think perhaps his conscience is affecting him. He was not born for deceit and it sits ill with him.”
Balantyne would have defended himself against the implication of his own deceit, but it was true and he had no defense; and also there was no criticism in Ross’s face. He had a sudden feeling that Ross was a better man than Christina deserved, a man he both liked and respected himself.
“Thank you,” he said warmly. “You could well have let me stew in fear, even betray myself, and have been justified. It is a great kindness that you do not. I hope in time you will learn to forgive us, not only in charity, but in understanding; although I have no right to ask.”
“I might well have done the same,” Ross brushed it away. “Might yet, if I have children. Join me in a glass of claret?”
“Thank you,” Balantyne accepted with real pleasure, and a sense of ease inside himself. “Yes, I will.”
When Pitt was called again to Colonel Anstruther’s presence he was surprised and relieved to be told that there had been a change of directive from the Home Office, and he was to proceed with his inquiries into all the matters to do with Callander Square. He was surprised, because he had not expected a change of heart, not knowing Charlotte had visited General Balantyne, nor expecting there to have been any results had he been fully conversant with it; and relieved because he had had every intention of pursuing it to the last clue whatever anyone said. Although of course it would have had to be done in roundabout fashion, and largely in his own time, both of which would have been awkward. He did not wish to run the risk of serious demotion for disobedience, and he would very much rather have spent such free time as he had at home with Charlotte, particularly now when she had but four months to go till the birth of their first child.
Therefore it was with a feeling almost of excitement that he ran down the steps and hailed a cab to take him, post haste, back to Callander Square.
Sitting, jolting over the rough paving, he gave his mind to going over, yet again, all that he knew.
He had no doubt in his own mind that Freddie Bolsover had been killed because of his blackmailing; whether or not he had ever actually used the information that had brought about his death, the mere knowledge of it had been fatal to him, the danger of his using it too great for someone to permit. It had been a daring and urgent murder. The murderer had considered his position in imminent peril. What could Freddie have known? Some affair, some illegitimate child? Hardly. With all the other scandals in Callander Square that barely seemed a matter over which to risk murder. Had he known who was the mother, or more likely the father, of the babies buried in the gardens? Certainly not from the beginning, or he would either have used the information sooner, or been killed sooner-
Unless of course he had only just discovered it!
Or there was another possibility-that the murderer had only just discovered that Freddie knew: Freddie had either never intended to use the information, knowing it was too dangerous, or else not understood its meaning. Yes, that made sense. The murderer had killed him so precipitately before he could learn the value of what he knew!
He had arrived at Callander Square and was standing huddled in his coat, collar up, watching the cab clop away into the mist before he realized the last possibility-that it was the knowledge that Freddie had blackmailed Reggie Southeron that had woken the murderer to his own danger! That was the most promising, it gave a precise point at which he could start.
He crossed the square over the muddy gardens, past where the babies had been found, and where Freddie Bolsover had lain; his feet rang hollowly on the road again, the pavement, and up the steps to Reggie Southeron’s house.
Since it was a cold and thoroughly unpleasant day Reggie had not troubled to go to the bank, however he sent a message that he would not see the police any further, nor permit the rest of his household to do so.
Pitt replied to the footman that he had authorization from the Home Office, and if Mr. Southeron made it necessary for him to return with a warrant, then he would do so, but in view of the fact that nobody else in the square had yet behaved in such a way-true so far as it went, he had called on no one else-it might prove more embarrassing for Mr. Southeron than for him!
Ten minutes later Reggie appeared, red-faced and extremely angry.
“Who in hell do you think you are, quoting the Home Secretary at me?” he demanded, slamming the door behind him.
“Good morning, sir,” Pitt answered courteously. “There is only one thing I would appreciate knowing, and that is, who else did you confide in about Dr. Bolsover’s attempts to blackmail you?”
“No one. Hardly the sort of thing you go telling your friends!” Reggie said sharply. “Idiotic question!”
“That’s odd, Mr. Campbell told me you mentioned it to him, and asked his advice.” Pitt raised his eyebrows.
“Damned fool!” Reggie swore. “Well, daresay I did. Must have, if he says so.”
“Who else? It is rather important, sir.”
“Why? Why in hell should it matter now?”
“You seem to have forgotten, Mr. Southeron, that there is a murderer still in Callander Square. He has killed once, maybe more. He may kill again, if he feels threatened. Does that not frighten you at all? It could be the next friend you speak to as you walk to your own door, the next muffled figure to bid you good night, then stick a knife into you. Dr. Bolsover was stabbed in the front, by someone he knew and trusted, not twenty yards from his own house. Does that not disturb you? It would me.”
“All right!” Reggie’s voice rose sharply. “All right! I didn’t speak to anyone but Campbell. Carlton is as stuffy as hell, and Balantyne is hardly any better, there’s no man in the Doran house, and Housman, the old buzzard at the other end, never speaks to anybody. Campbell’s a pretty useful fellow, and not too self-righteous or scared of his own shadow to do anything. I told him. And he stopped it, too!”
“Indeed,” Pitt invested it with more meaning than Reggie understood. “Thank you, sir. That may be most helpful.”
“I’m damned if I can see how!”
“If it does turn out so, you will know eventually; and if not, it hardly matters,” Pitt replied. “Thank you sir. Good morning.”
“Morning,” Reggie answered with a frown. “Silly ass,” he muttered to himself. “Footman will show you out.”
Pitt still did not know what he was looking for, but at long last he thought he at least knew where to look.
He knocked at the Campbells’ door and asked permission to speak to Mr. Campbell. He was admitted and shown into the morning room where Mariah was writing letters.
“Good morning, ma’am,” he said, hiding his surprise.
“Good morning, Mr. Pitt. My husband is engaged at the moment, but he should be able to see you in a short while, if you do not mind waiting.”
“Not at all, thank you.”
“Would you care for some refreshment?”
“No, thank you. Please do not let me disturb you.”
“Did you come to see my husband about the murder of Dr. Bolsover?”
“In part.”
Her face was very pale. Perhaps she was not well this morning, or was the strain of comforting Sophie beginning to tell on her?
