“Mother-”
“Brandon,” Balantyne said sharply.
In silence Christina and Brandy left.
“Well?” Balantyne asked.
Augusta looked at him incredulously. He still had no idea.
“The girl in question was Christina,” she said baldly. “She was having an affair with Max. I thought you might have perceived as much, Mr. Pitt certainly did.”
He stared at her.
“You must be mistaken!”
“Don’t be fatuous! Do you think I would make a mistake about such a thing?” Her composure slipped at last. She had either to lose her temper, or weep. “Don’t look so alarmed. I am taking care of it.” There was no need to tell him anything about the possible pregnancy. “I intend to see that she marries as soon as possible, preferably Alan Ross-”
“Does he wish to marry her?”
“Not yet, but he will be made to wish to. That is up to us-”
“Us?”
“Of course, ‘us.’ The girl cannot do it entirely by herself. I shall tell you when it is time for you to approach him. Perhaps at Christmas.”
“Isn’t that a little precipitate?” He looked at her narrowly.
“Yes. But it may be advisable.”
His face tightened.
“I see. And may I ask why Max is still in the house? Surely she does not entertain ideas about marrying him?”
“Of course not! She has no interest in him, beyond-the-anyway, it is all over. I will get rid of him as soon as I think of a satisfactory method. At the moment the most important thing is to maintain his silence. That can best be done by suffering him to remain here, at least for the present.”
“You mean until Christina is married.”
“More or less.”
“Augusta?”
For the first time she looked at him.
“No,” she said simply, answering the question in his mind. “I certainly have made a grave error over Max. I did not judge her well, not know her as I should have: but she had nothing to do with the children in the garden. I should have known that.” Peculiarly, she felt ashamed, meeting his eyes like this. It was her job to have known her daughter, and to have seen that this did not happen.
Balantyne said nothing.
“I’m sorry,” she felt compelled to say it.
He put his hand on her arm and patted it, then took it away as if he were not quite sure why he had done it.
“What about the police?” he asked.
“I think Pitt and I understand each other,” she replied. “He is a very clever man. He knows that I know it was not Christina. That will satisfy him, at least for a considerable time. Although he may well believe that Max might have-other-” she shook herself. “Anyway, Mr. Pitt is not our problem for the immediate future. We must consider Christina and Alan Ross.”
“I don’t know how you can be-so-” He looked at her with incomprehension, and something not entirely devoid of distaste.
Surprisingly, it hurt.
“What would you have me do?” she said stiffly. “Weep? Or faint? What help would that be? We must solve the problem now. There will be time enough to indulge our feelings afterward, when she is safely married.”
“And if Ross does not wish to marry her?”
“He must be made to wish to. Or else we shall find someone else. You can begin to think of others, just in case.”
“Don’t you feel anything? Your daughter has lain with a footman, in our own house-”
“What difference does it make where it happened! Of course I feel something-but I do not intend to buckle under it and let a mistake turn into a disaster! Now you had better go back to your papers, that wretched Miss what’s-her-name will soon be here. If you wish to be useful, start to think who else would be suitable for Christina, if Ross proves impossible. I am going to make up my social diary for Christina,” and before he could argue, she went out. There was much to be done.
Charlotte had been shown straight into the library when she arrived and she went immediately to the letters she had been sorting the previous day. She did not notice that it was a half hour before the general appeared.
“Good morning, Miss Ellison.”
“Good morning, General Balantyne,” she looked up as she spoke, as courtesy required, and noticed that he stood unusually stiffly, as though conscious of himself and a new awkwardness. She searched in her mind for some cause for it, and could find nothing.
“I apologize for having kept you waiting,” he said hastily. “I hope you were not-anxious-?”
She smiled, hoping to put him at ease. “Not at all, thank you. I assumed you must have another call upon your attention, and I continued with the letters.”
“Police,” he sat down.
She felt a hypocrite, knowing that it would have been Pitt, and Balantyne had no knowledge that she was his wife. She was here precisely to observe those things they would not willingly have told the police, and yet she now dreaded it. She liked Balantyne, and would have chosen to retain his regard.
“I suppose they have to pursue it,” she said softly. “It cannot be ignored.”
“Better if it could,” he said, staring ahead of him. “Lot of grief to everyone. But of course you are quite correct, the truth must be uncovered, regardless of the consequences. Trouble is-one discovers so much else. Still,” he straightened his shoulders, “we must work. I would be obliged if you would put these in chronological order as well as you can. I’m afraid they are not all dated. Perhaps your history-?” he left it hanging, not wishing to be derogatory about her knowledge.
“Oh, there is an excellent book in that case about Marlborough’s campaigns,” she replied. “I asked you if I might borrow it two days ago, and you were kind enough to allow me to.”
“Oh,” he looked taken aback, and she realized that something had indeed upset him more deeply than she had at first understood. “Oh,” he repeated foolishly. “I forgot. Of course, you will know-”
She smiled at him.
“If you have other business to take care of, I can quite well work on these by myself,” she offered. “You do not need to supervise me, if it is inconvenient.”
“You are very considerate, but I have nothing else that I-at least not now. Thank you,” and with a faint color in his face he bent to his papers.
Once or twice he spoke to her again, but his remarks were inconsequential, and she let them pass without question, knowing his mind was preoccupied. Had he newly discovered something about Christina? That she feared she was with child? Or something deeper, worse? Compassion forbade her from making any attempt to discover. She would like to have said or done something to comfort him, indeed her instinct was strong to touch him, reduce some of the stiffness out of his body, suffer him to relax. He would be stronger for having given in to himself for a few moments. But of course it would be totally improper. It would produce not the comfort of one creature for another, but embarrassment, misunderstanding, even fear. There were years of icebound convention between them. Instead she affected not to have noticed anything unusual. She could afford him at least privacy, which was second best, but gentler than nothing, and no doubt what he believed he wished for.
It was not long before midday when Max came in to say that Garson Campbell was in the morning room and wished to see General Balantyne, and could he show him in.
“What?”
Max repeated the request. Looking at him, Charlotte found him one of the most offensive men she had seen. There was a curve to his mouth, a wetness that she found repellent, as if he were forever licking his lips, although in truth she had never seen him do so.
“Oh, yes,” Balantyne acquiesced. “Send him in. I won’t come out, or he’ll think I’ve all day to waste.”
Garson Campbell came in a moment later. It was the first time Charlotte had seen him, and she kept perfectly still in the corner, the book on Marlborough held up to her face, hoping that they might not notice her. She peered over the top of it cautiously to look.
Campbell had a clever face, long nose, hard, humorous mouth, and quick eyes. He stamped his feet slightly, perhaps from the cold.