Bedford Square - Anne Perry [83]
“I regard it as miserable that an unfortunate matter of gentlemen’s behavior while playing cards should have passed into public dispute and comment,” she replied. “Was I mistaken in imagining that you would also?”
Augusta’s face was tight. “No, of course you weren’t!” she said through her teeth.
“I’m so glad,” Charlotte murmured, wishing profoundly that Balantyne would appear and rescue the situation.
Augusta was not easily bested. She resumed the attack. “Then since it is not the Tranby Croft affair which brings you here, I must assume it is because you have supposed that Sir Guy Stanley’s misfortune is somehow of concern to us. I do not believe I am acquainted with him.”
“Indeed …” Charlotte said vaguely, as if the remark was completely irrelevant, as indeed it was.
Augusta was now visibly irritated. “No! So why should you imagine that I am sufficiently distressed by his misfortune, deserved or not, that I should require your sympathy, Mrs. Pitt? Particularly at”—she glanced at the long case clock in the hall—“half past nine in the morning!” Her tone of voice conveyed how outlandish it was that anyone at all should call at such an unheard-of hour.
“I am sure,” Charlotte agreed with surprising calm, wishing even more fervently the General would appear. “Had I thought for a moment you were … concerned … I should have sent you my card, and called by at three.”
“Then not only is your journey unnecessary,” Augusta retorted, glancing again at the clock, “but you are somewhat early.”
Charlotte smiled at her dazzlingly, wondering frantically what she could say. Apart from her desire to see Balantyne, she hated to be beaten by a woman she realized she loathed—not for anything she might have said or done to Charlotte, but for her coldness towards her own husband.
“I cannot assume you could be aware of General Balantyne’s regard for Sir Guy and remain so unconcerned,” she said with glittering and spurious charm. “That would be too uncharitable. Indeed, it would be heartless … which no one would think of you.…”
Augusta drew in her breath and let it out again.
There were footsteps along the passageway, and General Balantyne appeared in the hall. He saw Charlotte and started forward.
“Mrs. Pitt! How are you this morning?” His face was haggard with anxiety, fear and distress. The skin around his eyes was shadowy and paper-thin, the lines at his mouth deeper.
She turned to him with immense relief, effectively dismissing Augusta.
“I am quite well,” she answered, meeting his look frankly. “But I found the news appalling. I had not foreseen such a thing, and I don’t yet really know what to make of it. Thomas has gone there, of course, but I will not know what he has learned until this evening, if he will discuss it at all.”
Balantyne looked beyond her to Augusta and saw the expression in his wife’s face. Charlotte did not turn.
Augusta made a slight sound, as if she thought of saying something, and then reconsidered. There was a sharp swish of skirts and a rustle and tap of feet as she walked away.
Charlotte still did not turn.
“It was kind of you to come,” Balantyne said quietly. “I admit I am extraordinarily glad to see you.” He led the way to his study and opened the door for her. Inside was warm and bright, and comfortable with long use. There was no fire lit—the unusually hot summer did not require one—and there was a large, green-glazed vase full of white lilies on the drum table. The flowers perfumed the whole room and seemed to catch the sunlight from the long windows.
He closed the door.
“You read the newspaper?” she said immediately.
“I did. I don’t know Guy Stanley well, but the poor devil must be feeling … beyond description.” He ran his hands over his brow, pushing his hair hard back. “Of course, we don’t even know yet if he is one of us, but I dare not believe he isn’t. It almost seems irrelevant; this has shown just what ruin can come upon us with a whisper, an innuendo. As if we didn’t know … with the Tranby Croft affair. Although I think Gordon-Cumming might well have been guilty.”