Anne Perry - Callander Square

“About Euphemia-” Carlton said hesitantly.

Balantyne tried to show in his face some of the gentleness he wanted to feel, did feel. He said nothing, thinking it better merely to wait.

“I-” Carlton was stumbling for words. “I didn’t understand. I must have seemed-very cold-to her. She wanted a child. I–I didn’t know that. I wish-I wish she could have felt she could tell me so. It must have been my fault that she couldn’t. I was too-I put her on a pedestal-I didn’t realize what a-comfortless thing respect is. She wanted a child-that’s all.”

“I see.” Balantyne did not see at all, but he felt Carlton’s need, his groping toward belief that it was understandable, and that he himself understood. “Yes, I see,” he repeated.

“I find it,” Carlton swallowed. “I find it hard to come to terms with, but in time I shall. I shall consider the child to be mine. Balantyne-you will?” His skin colored deeply. He could not put it into words.

“Of course,” Balantyne said immediately. “To do anything else would be monstrous, and quite wrong!”

“Thank you,” Carlton’s hand was clenched by his side and there was a nervous flick in his temple. “I–I love her very much, you know.”

“She’s a very fine woman,” Balantyne said generously, and he meant it. “And she will love you the more for your understanding.”

Carlton looked up quickly.

“Do you think so?” There was a stab of hope in his voice that was painful to hear.

“I’m sure,” Balantyne said firmly. “Now are you sure you won’t have some port? Very good, you know. Reggie Southeron recommended it, and he may know damn all else, but he does know his palate.”

Carlton took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Thank you, perhaps I will.”

Reggie Southernon was not visited by Pitt until late the following afternoon. He was just settling into his deep chair to thaw out from the unpleasantness of travel, the hard springs, the drafts, the rain down the neck, when Pitt was announced. He seriously gave thought to the possibility of refusing to see him; but perhaps it would be unwise. It might make him dig the harder into matters preferably left alone: and of course not to see him would be to lose an opportunity to put his own case, defend himself before he was attacked. Damn Freddie Bolsover!

“Send him in,” he said a little irritably. “And you’d better put away the good sherry and bring some of that other stuff.” Silly to insult him by not offering him any at all, but no need to waste the good.

Pitt came in, untidy as usual, his coat flapping, wet across the shoulders; his face was genial, good-tempered, but his eyes were sharper than Reggie had noticed before.

“Good evening, sir,” he said easily. Odd that such a fellow should have so fine a voice, such diction. Ideas above himself, shouldn’t wonder; aping his betters.

“Evening,” Reggie replied. “I suppose you’ve come about Helena Doran, poor creature? Can’t tell you anything; don’t know.”

“No, of course not,” Pitt agreed civilly. “I’m sure if you had known anything, you would have told us long before we came and sought you out. Still,” he smiled suddenly with what would, at another time, have been charm-had he been a social equal, of course! “Still, you might be able to fill in a few blanks.”

“Sherry?” Reggie offered, holding up the decanter.

“No, thank you,” Pitt declined with a small wave of his hand.

Reggie poured himself some in considerable annoyance. He had got in this wretched kitchen stuff, and now the damned fellow did not want it. He was obliged to stand here like a fool and drink it himself.

“I’ve told you,” he said petulantly. “I don’t know anything about Helena Doran.”

“Not about her death, perhaps; but you must know something about her life,” Pitt said easily. “Maybe more than you realize. I would like your opinions. You’re a man of the world, you must have to make judgments about people, as a banker.”

Reggie should not have been surprised. Of course the fellow would have found out what he did. It was true, he was a pretty good judge, in the general way of things. Made a mistake about Freddie, though!

“Tell you anything I can, naturally,” he mellowed a bit. “Shocking thing; very young, you know.”

“And pretty, they say.” Pitt raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“Very, in a pale sort of way. A bit fair for my taste, a bit fragile looking, but very nice for those who like that type. Prefer something a bit more robust, myself.” Must not let it even cross his mind that Reggie would be the one. Good idea to clear that up right at the outset.

“Not fond of blondes myself,” Pitt agreed. “Not the very fair ones. Always look a little cold to me.”

Maybe the fellow was not so bad; human, anyway.

“Quite,” Reggie agreed. “Nice girl, always civil and conducted herself well, far as I know. Pity. Great pity.”

Pitt’s bright eyes were still on him.

“Who did admire her, do you know? There must have been some who did.”

“Oh, of course,” Reggie agreed. Good opportunity, this. “Alan Ross was very much in love with her, at the time. But I suppose you knew that?”

“Alan Ross?”

“Yes. Fellow who just married Christina Balantyne, this morning, in fact.”

“Oh yes, of course; yes, I had heard he was fond of Helena Doran.”

“Damn sight more than fond of her; crazy about her. Terribly upset when she ran off-or I suppose I should say, was murdered.” He looked up at Pitt. “I suppose she was murdered?”

“Oh, yes. I’m afraid there is no doubt.”

“How can you tell? Thought the body was-well-”

“So it was. But a few rags of the clothes left, and of course the bones. The flesh was eaten away, but the bones were all there. The neck was broken. Must have been very powerful hands to do it so neatly.”

Reggie flinched in disgust.

“Yes, nasty, isn’t it?” Pitt agreed, although Reggie detected a tone in his voice he could not entirely place. Peculiar fellow. Still, no doubt he served his purpose; and with care, he could serve Reggie’s as well.

“Very cut up, he was,” Reggie went on. “Quite unhinged the poor chap for a while. Not that I want to suggest-of course-!”

“But it’s a possibility,” Pitt finished for him.

Reggie assumed an air of reluctance. “Have to admit it,” he said slowly.

“Did he ever say anything to you about another man, a lover?”

Reggie screwed up his face in an effort to bring something to mind.

“Can’t recall. But my dear fellow, you can’t expect me to repeat some casual word, even if I could remember it, that might hang a chap!” he protested.

“Won’t hang anybody on a few words,” Pitt said softly, smiling again. “And you have a moral duty, after all.”

“Oh, quite,” Reggie agreed. This was turning out very well: unfortunate about Alan Ross, but then he might very well have killed Helena in a fit of jealousy. It was the most likely explanation, after all!

Pitt was waiting.

“Well-” Reggie hesitated, not through reluctance, but because he had not yet thought of anything suitable to say. “Can’t bring back words, of course,” he lifted his voice a little at the end, as if to question whether Pitt really wished him to continue; then he hurried on, in case Pitt, by chance, should take it into his mind to stop him. “Just the general meaning. He was very much in love with her. We all thought they would marry, quite soon, in fact. Of course the rest of us had no idea there was another lover. I suppose Ross found out. No idea how. Never said anything to us; but then he wouldn’t, would he? Make rather a fool of him, what? Woman you loved taking some other fellow into her bed.”