Anne Perry - Callander Square

“Oh, no,” Pitt pulled a small face. “I take it you don’t want to prosecute?”

“Good God, no! Whole purpose of paying up, keep it all quiet. Deny it all, if you go to her: so shall I! Have to, after all. Wife, and all that. Got to consider the children too. Three daughters. Dare say you knew? Actually two of my own, Chastity’s my brother’s child. Poor fellow was killed. Took her in, naturally.”

“Yes, charming child.”

“Yes, yes. Well, you understand, don’t you? Got to keep it all quiet. Nasty thing if it got out. Very fond of the governess, the girls. And good at her job too,” he said hastily. “Very good.”

“Quite. Well, thank you, sir, you’ve been very helpful.”

“Good. Good. Get it all cleared up soon, I hope?”

“I hope so too. Good night sir, and thank you.”

“Good night; yes, yes, good night.”

Charlotte was incensed when she heard about it the following day. She whirled round from the sideboard where she had been standing, to face Pitt in his chair.

“You mean that that dissipated bounder claimed that Jemima was blackmailing him, and you just stood there and let him?” she demanded. “That’s dastardly!”

“I could hardly contradict him,” Pitt pointed out reasonably. “It seems unlikely, but not by any means impossible.”

”Of course it’s impossible!” Charlotte retorted. “Jemima wouldn’t dream of blackmailing anyone.”

“Spoken from the heart,” Pitt smiled at her with a mixture of affection strongly touched with amusement.

Charlotte was not to be moved. She felt convinced she was right, it was just a matter of thinking of a reason for it.

“All right then!” she looked back at him with determination. “From the head then: do you really think it is worth money to try to keep it secret that he beds the parlormaid? Everyone knows anyway. And Mary Ann hasn’t been there all that long,” she let a note of real intellectual triumph creep into her voice. “Not long enough to have been the mother of the first baby! There was one before her for a short time; she got married and left, and another before that who died.” She faced Pitt with a mounting bubble of excitement inside her. “Everyone knows he behaves badly, I expect even his wife knows, although naturally she would pretend not to-”

He frowned. “Why? Why on earth should she pretend not to know? I would have thought she would be furious, and put a stop to it instantly.”

Charlotte sighed patiently. Really, men were very unsophisticated at times!

“I dare say she doesn’t wish for his attentions all the time herself,” she explained, “and is happy enough for him to take them elsewhere. But if she were forced to know about it, I mean to be seen to know about it, then she would have to complain, be injured, horrified, and so on. Society would require it of her. Also she would look foolish, a deceived wife- a rather humiliating position.”

“But she is a deceived wife,” Pitt pointed out. “Except, of course, that she doesn’t believe the lie, but the offense is the same.”

“No, it isn’t,” she looked at him sideways for a minute. Was he affecting to be ignorant, or did he really not know? Sometimes he teased her appallingly.

He waited in innocence.

“It is not an offense,” she continued after a moment, “if she would rather he did it; at least not against her. The offense would be in making a fool of her in public. Everyone knows he does it, and everyone knows she doesn’t mind. But if she were forced to acknowledge it, then she would have either to create a scene, which would make her seem ridiculous, or else openly to condone it, which would be immoral.”

“How abysmally cynical,” he observed. “Where did you learn all that?”

Her face fell.

“Yes, I know. I think it’s rather disgusting, but that’s what happens. I’ve learned a lot from Emily. She’s very observant, you know; and of course she knows a lot of people of that sort-society, I mean. I would never do that. I should probably have a blazing row.”

He smiled broadly.

“I have no doubt at all that you would, my dear.”

She looked at him quickly.

He held his hands up in defense.

“Don’t worry, we can’t afford a parlormaid, and I swear I shall never touch Mrs. Wickes.”

Considering Mrs. Wickes was fourteen stone and had a moustache, Charlotte did not feel it a great concession.

“How about Jemima?” she asked.

“He doesn’t want to press charges,” he replied.

“Of course he doesn’t! She isn’t guilty!”

“I rather agree with you,” he said thoughtfully. “Which raises the question of why he told me about it. Rather a superfluous and dangerous invention, don’t you think?”

“I don’t care! Jemima wouldn’t blackmail him.”

“So that leaves the rather interesting question of who did.”

Charlotte caught her breath. “Oh!”

“Quite,” he stood up in a single movement.

“You’re not going to charge her?” She caught at his arm.

“No. But I do have to report it.”

“Must you?”

“Of course I must.”

“But it would damage her! She will probably not be able to disprove it; maybe not even ever!”

He put his hand on hers for a moment, before removing it gently.

“I know that, my dear. It will be a great pleasure to me if I can ever prove him a liar.”

“Oh.” She knew there was no point in arguing. If anything were to be done about it quickly, she would have to do it herself.

Accordingly when he had left, she abandoned her housework leaving a note on the door for Mrs. Wickes, and took herself immediately to Callander Square. The only excuse she had was to visit General Balantyne and quickly manufacture some further service, something she had forgotten to tell him previously.

When she arrived at the door and was faced by the footman, she still had not settled on anything satisfactory, but fortunately he did not inquire her business, and merely showed her in to the library. The general was behind his desk, apparently not working, since there was no pen to be seen; he was simply staring at a sea of papers. He looked up with some eagerness when she came in.

“Charlotte, my dear, how very nice to see you!”

She was a little unprepared for such warmth. What an unpredictable man he was. Perhaps he was still feeling the glow of Christina’s wedding?

“Good morning, General Balantyne,” she replied with the best-judged mixture of formality and feeling she could manage.

“Do come in.” He was already standing, coming round the desk toward her. “Sit down by the fire. The day is extremely unpleasant, but I suppose it is all we must expect in January.”

It came to her quite naturally to decline, then she remembered that she still had not thought of a reason for coming, and it would at least give her time.

“Thank you, yes, it is very cold. I think it is the wind that makes one feel it so much.”

He was still merely looking at her. It made her feel rather uncomfortable.

“One would think all the buildings would be some kind of shelter,” she went on, to fill the silence. “But they only seem to funnel it into fiercer blasts.”

“You must permit me to have my carriage take you home,” he said seriously. “And perhaps you would like something hot to drink now? A dish of tea?”

“Oh no, no, thank you,” she said hastily. “I don’t wish to put you to any inconvenience. I only came to-” quickly, what on earth could she have come for? “-because-I suddenly remembered that I had-had left out some rather important letters, left them out of the correct sequence. At least I think I have.” Did that sound feasible?

“That was most conscientious of you,” he said appreciatively. “I haven’t found anything out of order.”