“I am not certain that is what it was,” she conceded. “But I heard the tone of Sigmund’s voice, and I saw his face afterwards.” She shook her head quickly. “He would not discuss it with me, of course, because whatever Mr. Cadell told him was in confidence, but it was not an ordinary matter of luxuries. Sigmund was deeply troubled, and when we spoke, he referred to the blackmail letter again and asked me how deeply I would mind if we were to find ourselves in greatly reduced circumstances. Would I be prepared to leave London and live somewhere quite different, even in another country, if it should come to that.” Her voice was strong, full of confidence. “I said that of course I would. As long as we kept our honor and went together, I should live anywhere and do anything that necessity drove us to.” She lifted her chin and looked very directly into Pitt’s eyes. “I should rather be ruined by libel like poor Sir Guy Stanley than pay a halfpenny to this monster and feed his evil.”
“Thank you for your frankness, Mrs. Tannifer.” Pitt meant intensely what he said. She was a remarkable woman possessed of a courage and loyalty he admired, and at the same time in her there was passion, and a fierce knowledge and ability to feel pain. Her compassion for Stanley was not born purely of imagination.
He rose to his feet to take his leave.
“Will it help?” she demanded, standing also. “Will you be able to learn anything further?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I shall certainly go to see Mr. Cadell. He may be able to tell me more about what he has been asked for, and possibly what he is threatened regarding. All information should narrow the possibilities as to who could have known enough to write the letter. In each case the victim is accused of the sort of offense likely to hurt him the most deeply. That speaks of a certain knowledge, Mrs. Tannifer. If you should learn anything more, please call me immediately.”
“Of course. Godspeed, Mr. Pitt.” She stood in the center of her uniquely peaceful room, a slender, rather angular figure of burning emotion. “Find the devil who does this … for us all!”
7
As soon as Pitt had left to go and see Sir Guy Stanley, Charlotte picked up the newspaper and read the article again. She did not know if Stanley had been threatened by the blackmailer or not, or what he might have been asked for, and really it was irrelevant. Whatever the truth of the matter was, the other victims would feel the same horror and pity for him, and fear for themselves. Whether it was a fortuitous accident or a deliberate warning to them, the result would be exactly the same, a tightening of the pressure, perhaps this time almost beyond bearing.
She explained her intentions very briefly to Gracie, then went upstairs and changed into the same yellow morning dress she had worn on the first occasion, because it was the one in which she felt most confident, and then set out to walk to Bedford Square.
Her sense of outrage and anxiety carried her all the way to the doorstep of Balantyne’s house, and when the door was opened she explained with the greatest simplicity that she had come to call upon the General, if he was in and would receive her.
However, she was crossing the hall when she encountered Lady Augusta, dressed magnificently in browns and golds. Augusta came down the stairs just as Charlotte reached the foot with its elaborately carved newel.
“Good morning, Mrs. Pitt,” she said icily, her eyes wide, her brows arched. “Over what hitherto unknown disaster have you come to commiserate with us today? Has some catastrophe occurred of which my husband has not yet informed me?”
Charlotte was too angry to be awed by Augusta, or anyone else, and she had been lately in Vespasia’s presence. Something of the older woman’s supreme confidence had rubbed off. She stopped and regarded Augusta with equal chill.
“Good morning, Lady Augusta. So kind of you to be interested. But then as I recall, you were always a person of warmth and most generous judgment of others.” She ignored the flush of anger on Augusta’s face. “The answer to your question rather depends upon whether you are just descending for the first time today, or if you have already been down, perhaps for breakfast?” Again she overrode Augusta’s sharply indrawn breath and obvious irritation. “I am afraid the news is most distressing. There is a highly scurrilous article about Sir Guy Stanley. And of course the usual miserable disclosures about the Tranby Croft affair, although I did not read that.”
“Then how do you know they are miserable?” Augusta snapped.
Charlotte widened her eyes very slightly, as if a mere flicker of surprise had touched her.
“I regard it as miserable that an unfortunate matter of gentlemen’s behavior while playing cards should have passed into public dispute and comment,” she replied. “Was I mistaken in imagining that you would also?”
Augusta’s face was tight. “No, of course you weren’t!” she said through her teeth.
“I’m so glad,” Charlotte murmured, wishing profoundly that Balantyne would appear and rescue the situation.
Augusta was not easily bested. She resumed the attack. “Then since it is not the Tranby Croft affair which brings you here, I must assume it is because you have supposed that Sir Guy Stanley’s misfortune is somehow of concern to us. I do not believe I am acquainted with him.”
“Indeed …” Charlotte said vaguely, as if the remark was completely irrelevant, as indeed it was.
Augusta was now visibly irritated. “No! So why should you imagine that I am sufficiently distressed by his misfortune, deserved or not, that I should require your sympathy, Mrs. Pitt? Particularly at”-she glanced at the long case clock in the hall-“half past nine in the morning!” Her tone of voice conveyed how outlandish it was that anyone at all should call at such an unheard-of hour.
“I am sure,” Charlotte agreed with surprising calm, wishing even more fervently the General would appear. “Had I thought for a moment you were … concerned … I should have sent you my card, and called by at three.”
“Then not only is your journey unnecessary,” Augusta retorted, glancing again at the clock, “but you are somewhat early.”
Charlotte smiled at her dazzlingly, wondering frantically what she could say. Apart from her desire to see Balantyne, she hated to be beaten by a woman she realized she loathed-not for anything she might have said or done to Charlotte, but for her coldness towards her own husband.
“I cannot assume you could be aware of General Balantyne’s regard for Sir Guy and remain so unconcerned,” she said with glittering and spurious charm. “That would be too uncharitable. Indeed, it would be heartless … which no one would think of you.…”
Augusta drew in her breath and let it out again.
There were footsteps along the passageway, and General Balantyne appeared in the hall. He saw Charlotte and started forward.
“Mrs. Pitt! How are you this morning?” His face was haggard with anxiety, fear and distress. The skin around his eyes was shadowy and paper-thin, the lines at his mouth deeper.
She turned to him with immense relief, effectively dismissing Augusta.
“I am quite well,” she answered, meeting his look frankly. “But I found the news appalling. I had not foreseen such a thing, and I don’t yet really know what to make of it. Thomas has gone there, of course, but I will not know what he has learned until this evening, if he will discuss it at all.”
Balantyne looked beyond her to Augusta and saw the expression in his wife’s face. Charlotte did not turn.
Augusta made a slight sound, as if she thought of saying something, and then reconsidered. There was a sharp swish of skirts and a rustle and tap of feet as she walked away.
Charlotte still did not turn.
“It was kind of you to come,” Balantyne said quietly. “I admit I am extraordinarily glad to see you.” He led the way to his study and opened the door for her. Inside was warm and bright, and comfortable with long use. There was no fire lit-the unusually hot summer did not require one-and there was a large, green-glazed vase full of white lilies on the drum table. The flowers perfumed the whole room and seemed to catch the sunlight from the long windows.
He closed the door.
“You read the newspaper?” she said immediately.
