“What do you mean-mattered? How can a murder not matter?”
“If only one mattered to the murderer,” Emily said deliberately. “What if Beau Astley wanted to kill his brother for the money? I believe there is quite a lot of it. If he killed Bertie ordinarily, he would be the first suspect himself. But if Bertie were only one of several deaths, all the others having no connection with Beau at all-”
“That’s ghastly!”
“Yes, I know. And I like Beau better each time I see him. But murderers, even lunatics, are not necessarily personally objectionable. And unfortunately plenty of totally worthy and sane people are.”
Charlotte had found this painfully true. “Bertie Astley owned a whole row of houses in the Acre. That’s where the Astley money comes from.”
“Oh.” Emily let out her breath in a sigh. “I suppose I should have thought of that.”
“I don’t see where it helps very much.”
“Who does Thomas think it was?”
“He won’t tell me.”
Emily considered in silence for a while.
“I wonder-” Charlotte began.
“What?”
“I’m not sure.” She was thinking of Christina. If Christina had also been one of Max’s women-young, hungry, dissatisfied because Alan Ross did not give her the fierce, total love she wanted, the essence of him was always just out of reach-had she looked to prove herself with other men, and so been drawn into one affair after another, in an endless pursuit?
And if Ross had found out-And why should he not? It would surely be simple enough, once he suspected.
“Don’t be stupid,” Emily said impatiently. “Of course you’re sure. You may not be right, but you know what you mean!”
“No, I don’t.”
“Oh, Charlotte!” Emily’s face softened. “You can’t hide from it-not once you’ve realized. Of course it could be Balantyne.”
“The general!” Charlotte was appalled. “Oh, no! No, it couldn’t!”
“Why not?” Emily said gently. “If Christina is one of Max’s women, he wouldn’t be able to bear the disgrace. He’s used to discipline and sacrifice. Soldiers who disgrace themselves find a gun and take the honorable way out. Somehow it evens the balance for them-they can be looked on with an obscure kind of respect. He would do that for Christina, wouldn’t he?”
“But Christina wasn’t shot! Why would he do that to all those other people? It doesn’t make any sense!” It was a protest in the wind, and she knew it.
“Of course it does.” Emily put out her hand and touched Charlotte. “He fought in Africa, didn’t he? He’s seen all kinds of savage rituals and atrocities. Perhaps it isn’t so terrible to him. Maybe Max came back to her, saw her at some party or out somewhere, and approached her-and she became one of his women. That would be reason to kill Max, and dismember him that way.”
“Why Bertie Astley?” It was a silly question. The answer was obvious-he had been her lover. Emily did not even bother to reply.
“All right-then why Pinchin?” Charlotte went on.
“He might have done an abortion on her, and perhaps she cannot have any children now.”
“And Pomeroy? What about him? He only liked children!”
“I don’t know. Perhaps he knew about it. Maybe he saw something.”
“I don’t believe it. I don’t believe General Balantyne would-that he could!”
“Of course you don’t. You don’t want to. But, my dear, sometimes people one cares for very much can do horrible things. Heaven knows, we even do them ourselves-ugly, stupid, and painful things. Perhaps this just grew from a small mistake till it became …”
Charlotte took a long, deep breath and shook her head. She could feel the tears aching in her throat.
“I don’t believe it. It could have been Alan Ross. He had more reason, and he would be more likely to find out. Or it could just as easily be any other woman’s husband. We must find out more! When we do, it will prove it wasn’t the general or Alan Ross. Who else is in that fast set?”
“Lots of people. I’ve already told you a dozen or more.”
“Then we must find out who their husbands are, their fathers, brothers, their lovers, and then establish where they were on the nights of any of the murders.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to have Thomas do that?” Emily asked reasonably.
“I can’t tell him we are involved. He’s angry enough already with the little he knows. You don’t have to find out where they were on each of the nights-any one of them will do!”
“Oh, thank you very much! That makes it so much easier-a mere bagatelle! And what are you going to be doing in the meantime?”
“I’m going to see General Balantyne. I’ll prove it wasn’t him. Or Alan Ross.”
“ Charlotte-be careful!”
Charlotte gave her a withering look. “And what do you imagine they are going to do to me? The very worst they are likely to do is lie a little. They can hardly drum me out of society, since I am not in it. You get started on your own investigations. If you are nice to George, you can persuade him to do at least half of it for you. Good day.”
She arrived at the Balantyne house at the appropriate hour for calling, partly for the convenience of being allowed in but mostly because that was when she was most likely to find the general alone. Lady Augusta would be out making her own calls.
The footman opened the door and regarded her with expectation.
“Good afternoon,” she said firmly. For heaven’s sake, she must remember they knew her as Miss Ellison! She had nearly announced herself as Mrs. Pitt. That was a lie that would have to be explained, but it was too painful to contend with now.
“Good afternoon, Miss Ellison,” the footman said civilly. If he noticed her plain clothes or her wet boots, scuffed at the toes, he affected not to. “Her Ladyship is not at home, but the general is in, and Miss Christina.” He held the door wide in mute invitation.
Charlotte accepted with alacrity, hoping he attributed it to the withering wind and the hard-driving snow rather than an unbecoming eagerness to visit.
“Thank you,” she said with what she trusted was a compensating dignity. “I should be grateful to speak with the general, if I may.” She had already thought of her excuse. “It is with regard to the letters from the Peninsular War that he lent me.”
“Certainly, ma’am, if you care to come this way.” He closed the door against the ice-whirling dusk, and led her to the withdrawing room. It was empty, but a fire was burning hard. Presumably the general was in the library, and perhaps Christina was with him. That was a contingency Charlotte had not considered. She would much rather not speak in Christina’s presence. Christina would be far too quick to understand, and she was possessive of her father. She would end the whole visit as quickly as was decent, it would descend to a painful battle of wits. Charlotte would have to try to bore her away with whatever details of soldiering she could bring to mind!
The footman left her. Several minutes later, he returned and conducted her to the library. Thank heaven Christina had already gone, perhaps finding even the thought of Charlotte and her letters too tedious to bother with.
General Balantyne was standing with his back to the fire. He was tense, his eyes on the doorway, waiting for her.
The footman disappeared discreetly, leaving them alone.
“Charlotte-” He was unsure whether to step toward her or not. Suddenly he was awkward, his feelings so close to the surface that they were embarrassing, even frightening.
She had prepared some scrambled comment about the letters. Now they were not necessary; she had no excuse to prevaricate. Her mouth was dry, her throat tight.
“The footman said something about the letters.” He was trying to help her. “Have you discovered something?”
