torment Marguerite could not live with. And that I will not allow … whatever he does to me. There is no use arguing with me, Vespasia. I will do anything on earth before I permit her to be hurt. And she would be devastated.”
This was no time for tactful evasions. Charlotte and Marguerite would return at any moment. Charlotte had already kept the conversation on gardening alive miraculously long.
“What are you accused of?” Vespasia asked.
He was pale to the lips. Again, the answer seemed forced from him. “Suit for the paternity of the child of one of my closest friends.” He struggled for breath. “The husband passed away recently. He cannot even deny that he contemplated such a thing.” His voice rose. “Of course he did not! The child was his, and he never could have thought otherwise. But even a whisper of doubt would ruin the mother’s reputation, and mine, the more so since we were friends … and even call into question the son’s inheritance, both of his father’s title and his considerable wealth.”
His face crumpled and his voice trembled now.
“To have anyone think that I could have behaved in such a way would kill Marguerite. She is … very frail. You know that. She has never ever been strong, and of late she has suffered … I simply will not allow it!”
“But you have done nothing wrong,” she pointed out. “There is nothing for you or Marguerite to be shamed by.”
His lip curled. The bright sunlight streaming through the windows showed the contempt in his face. “And do you imagine people will believe that … all people? There will be whispers, glances.” He laughed derisively. “Some well-meaning busybody will be sure to tell Marguerite what is being said, probably in the guise of forewarning her, perhaps in simple malice.”
“And so you will do what he asks of you,” Vespasia said. “The first time, and the second … and maybe the third? By which time you will truly have done something to be ashamed of, and his hold upon you will be real!” She leaned forward a little. “How far will you go? You are a judge, Dunraithe. Justice must be your first loyalty.”
“Marguerite is my first loyalty!” His voice was raw, his fists clenched. “I have loved her nearly all my life, and I will do anything to protect her.”
Vespasia said nothing. He did not need her to repeat that for him to betray his trust, sell his honor, would also devastate Marguerite. He must see it all in her eyes. He could not bear to look beyond the first danger and deal with them one at a time, pay the cost and think about tomorrow’s evil afterwards, hope then for some escape. Perhaps someone else would defeat the blackmailer before that?
The French doors opened, and Charlotte and Marguerite came in in a gust of bright wind and billowing skirts. There was color in Marguerite’s cheeks, and she looked excited and happy.
Dunraithe made a mighty effort to master the pain and the fear that had been so naked in him a few moments before. His whole expression changed. He straightened his body. He smiled at both the women, extending his warmth towards Charlotte as well.
“Your garden is quite lovely,” Charlotte said with very real admiration. “What marvelous things can be achieved when you have both the art to see what should be done and the skill to do it. In the nicest way, I am perfectly envious.”
“I am so glad you enjoyed it,” he said. “She is very clever, isn’t she?” The pride in him was enormous, a thing of unalloyed pleasure.
Marguerite beamed with happiness.
The tea was brought, and it was now almost four o’clock anyway. They sat making another half hour’s trivial conversation, then said their farewells and the carriage was called.
Vespasia told Charlotte what she had learned as they traveled back to Keppel Street.
“I am very afraid that this is far bigger than we had at first supposed” she said grimly. “I am sorry, my dear, but you can no longer keep your knowledge of Brandon Balantyne’s involvement from Thomas. I realize it will not be easy for you to tell him how you have become aware of it, but you have no alternative now.”
Charlotte looked at her steadily. “Do you really think this is some kind of conspiracy, Aunt Vespasia?”
“Do you not think it looks like it?” Vespasia replied. “Cornwallis, Balantyne, and now Dunraithe White.”
“Yes … I suppose so. If only he had asked for money!”
“He would still have to be stopped,” Vespasia pointed out. “Money is only the beginning.”
“I suppose so.”
It was not an easy conversation, as Vespasia had predicted, but Charlotte broached the subject as soon as Pitt returned home. For once he was quite early, coming into the kitchen in his stocking feet and finding her busy putting away clean crockery. She did it immediately because once she had determined to do it, she could not settle to any kind of peace of mind until it was accomplished. She had rehearsed it several times, never entirely satisfactorily.
“Thomas, I have something I must tell you about the Bedford Square case. I don’t know whether it is relevant or not … I hope not, but I feel you should know.”
It was not her usual pattern of speech, and he caught the difference, turning from the sink, where he was washing his hands, and looking at her with surprise.
She stood in the middle of the kitchen floor, half a dozen plates in her hand. She took a deep breath and then spoke, without waiting for him to ask or allowing him to interrupt.
“I spent the afternoon with Aunt Vespasia. One of her friends, Judge Dunraithe White, is also a victim of this blackmailer who is threatening Mr. Cornwallis.”
He stiffened. “How do you know? Did he tell Vespasia?” His voice was high and sharp with incredulity.
“Not easily, of course,” she answered, putting the plates back on the table and passing him a clean towel. “But they are old friends. I occupied his wife, who is a most excellent gardener. I must tell you more about that-I know! Later,” she interrupted herself quickly.
“Vespasia spoke alone with Mr. White, and he confessed to her his situation. He is absolutely distracted with worry and fear, but the accusation is that he fathered the eldest son and heir of one of their closest friends. And now that the friend is dead and cannot deny it, the blackmailer is saying that he was actually going to sue Mr. White ….”
Pitt winced, his expression conveying plainly how he appreciated the hurt. He dropped the towel over the back of the chair nearest to him.
“And Mr. White said such a thing would devastate his wife. She is very frail and so they have no children of their own. He adores her, and will pay any price asked of him rather than allow that.”
Pitt hunched his shoulders and pushed his hands hard down into his pockets. “That’s Cornwallis, White, and, I heard today, also a man named Tannifer, a merchant banker in the City. He’s accused of fraud with his clients’ funds.”
“Another one!” She was startled. It was looking increasingly as if Vespasia was right and the problem was far larger and more serious than any individual blackmail for greed.
He looked at her gravely. “Have you considered that perhaps General Balantyne is also being blackmailed? I know you would rather not think so, in view of the murdered man on his doorstep, but I can’t dismiss it just because I would prefer to.”
Now was the time. “He is.” She watched his face to see how angry he might be. He stood absolutely still, all kinds of emotions conflicting in his eyes, anger and amazement, pity, understanding, and something which for an instant she thought was a sense of betrayal. She went on talking, quickly, trying to cover the moment. “I went to convey my sympathy for his new tragedy … really that the wretched newspapers had raised the Christina business all over again, as if living it once were not enough.” Now what was in his face was unmistakably pity, memory of indescribable pain, not for himself but for Balantyne, and understanding of what she had done. “I knew something else was extremely wrong,” she went on, smiling at him now. “And I offered my friendship, for whatever comfort that was. He told me, with great embarrassment, that he is being blackmailed over an incident in the Abyssinian Campaign twenty-five years ago which never happened, but he cannot prove it. Most of the other people concerned are either dead or abroad, or senile.”
She took a breath and hurried on again. “No one has asked him for money either, or anything else, but he has had a second letter, and it is very threatening. Such a charge would ruin him and Lady Augusta, whom I don’t care about, but Brandy too. He is trying to find anyone from the campaign who can help, but he hasn’t succeeded so far. What can we do, Thomas? This is dreadful!”
He remained silent for several moments.
