Anne Perry - Bedford Square

“Thank you, General Balantyne,” Pitt acknowledged, feeling a faintly self-conscious flush in his cheeks. “This is Sergeant Tellman. I am sorry to disturb you so early, sir, but I am afraid the beat constable found a dead body in the square at about quarter to four this morning. He was on the doorstep just outside this house.” He saw the distaste on Balantyne’s face, and perhaps shock, although of course the footman had told him, so he was not taken by surprise now.

“Who is it?” Balantyne asked, closing the door behind him.

“We don’t know yet,” Pitt replied. “But he had papers and other belongings on him, so we shall almost certainly be able to identify him quite soon.” He watched Balantyne’s face but saw no discernible change, certainly no tightening of lips or shadow across the eyes.

“Do you know how he died?” Balantyne asked. He waved one hand at the chairs to invite Pitt to be seated, and included Tellman in a general way.

“Thank you, sir,” Pitt accepted. “But I should like your permission for Sergeant Tellman to speak to your household staff. Someone may have heard an altercation or disturbance.”

Balantyne’s face was bleak. “I understand that the man did not meet a natural death?”

“I am afraid so. He was struck across the head, most likely after a fight, not long, but very fierce.”

Balantyne’s eyes widened. “And you think it happened on my doorstep?”

“That I don’t yet know.”

“By all means have the sergeant speak to my staff.”

Pitt nodded at Tellman, who left eagerly, closing the door behind him. Pitt sat down in one of the large, green-leather-covered armchairs, and Balantyne sat a little stiffly in the one opposite.

“There is nothing I can tell you,” Balantyne went on. “My bedroom is at the front of the house, but I heard nothing. A street robbery of such violence would be extraordinary in this area.” A fleeting anxiety puckered his face, a sadness.

“He wasn’t robbed,” Pitt answered, disliking what he must do next. “At least not in any usual sense. He still had money.” He saw Balantyne’s surprise. “And this.” He pulled the snuffbox out of his pocket and held it out in the palm of his hand.

Balantyne’s expression did not change. His face was unnaturally motionless; there was no admiration for the beauty of the piece, no amazement that a murdered man involved in a fight should be in possession of such a thing. But all the self-mastery in the world could not control the blood draining from his skin and leaving him ashen.

“Extraordinary …” He breathed out very slowly. “One would think …” He swallowed. “One would think a thief could hardly miss such a thing.” Pitt knew he was speaking to fill the emptiness of the moments between them while he decided whether to admit owning it or not. What explanation could he give?

Pitt stared at him, holding his eyes in an unwavering gaze. “It raises many questions,” he agreed aloud. “Have you seen it before, General?”

Balantyne’s voice was a little husky, as if his mouth were dry. “Yes … yes, it is mine.” He seemed to be about to add something, then changed his mind.

Pitt asked the question he had to. “When did you last see it?”

“I … don’t think I remember. One gets used to seeing things. I’m not sure I would have noticed its absence.” He looked profoundly uncomfortable, but he did not evade Pitt’s eyes. He anticipated the next question. “It’s kept in a cabinet in the library.”

Was there any point in pursuing it? Not yet.

“Have you missed anything else, General Balantyne?”

“Not so far as I am aware.”

“Perhaps you would be good enough to check, sir? And I’ll see if any of the servants have noticed anything moved, signs of a burglar in the house.”

“Of course.”

“It sometimes happens that burglars have called at the house earlier, to make an assessment or to-”

“I understand,” Balantyne cut across him. “You think one of us may recognize him.”

“Yes. If you, and perhaps your butler and one of your footmen, would come to the mortuary and see if he is known to you, it may help.”

“If you wish,” Balantyne agreed. He obviously disliked the idea, but he accepted the inevitability of it.

There was a sharp knock on the door, and before Balantyne could answer, it opened and a woman came in. Pitt remembered her immediately. Lady Augusta Balantyne was handsome in a dark, cold way. There was strength in her face, but it was inward, self-contained. She, too, must have remembered him, because there was instantly a chill in her when she saw him, more than could be accounted for by the fact that he had disturbed the household so early in the morning. But then, after their two previous encounters she could hardly think of him with any memory except that of pain.

She was dressed in a dark silk gown of formal cut, suitable for making morning calls, fashionable but subdued, as befitted her age and dignity. Her dark hair was streaked with white at the temples, and grief had faded her skin but not the intelligence or the iron will in her eyes.

Pitt rose to his feet. “I apologize for waking you so early, Lady Augusta,” he said quietly. “Unfortunately, there has been a death in the street outside your home, and it is necessary that I enquire if anyone here was aware of the disturbance.” He wished to spare her feelings as much as possible. He did not like her, and it made him even more careful than he would have been otherwise.

“I assumed it was some such duty that brought you, Inspector,” she answered, at once dismissing any possible social contact between them. This was her home. He could only have come in the course of his trade.

Ridiculously, he found himself clenching inside, as aware of an insult as if she had slapped him. And he should have expected it. After all that had passed between them, the tragedy and the guilt, what would he have presumed differently? He tried to make himself relax his body, and failed.

Balantyne was on his feet also, looking from one to the other of them, as if he, too, should apologize-to Pitt for his wife’s condescension, to her for Pitt’s presence and for another tragedy.

“Some unfortunate man was attacked and killed,” he said bluntly.

She took a deep breath, but her composure did not crack.

“Was it someone we knew?”

“No,” Balantyne said immediately. “At least …” He turned to Pitt.

“It is most unlikely.” Pitt looked at Augusta. “He appeared to have fallen on hard times and to have been involved in a fight. He was not apparently robbed.”

The tension slipped away from her.

“Then I suggest, Inspector, that you question the servants to see if they heard anything, and if they did not, then I regret we cannot assist you. Good day.” She did not move. She was dismissing him, not herself leaving.

Balantyne looked uncomfortable. He had no desire whatever to prolong the interview, but then neither did he wish to avail himself of a rescue by his wife. He had never retreated from battle. He was not about to do so now. He stood his ground painfully.

“If you would inform me when it would be convenient to go to the mortuary, I shall do so,” he said to Pitt. “In the meantime, Blisset will show you whatever you wish to see, and no doubt he will know if anything has been moved or is missing.”

“Missing?” Augusta queried.

Balantyne’s face tightened. “The man may have been a thief,” he said curtly, without explaining further.

“I suppose so.” She lifted one shoulder slightly. “It would account for his presence in the square.” She stood back into the hallway to allow Pitt to leave, and waited silently until he should pass.