Callander Square - Anne Perry [23]
“I see.”
Carlton still seemed unaware of anything but the concern of a mistress for her maids.
“Perhaps you had better make inquiries, my dear. Is that what you wish, Inspector?”
“If Lady Carlton feels she might discover something.” Pitt looked at her, deliberately choosing his words so that she should understand his meaning, in spite of his apparent casualness.
Euphemia kept her face from the light.
“What is it that you wish to know, Mr. Pitt?”
“How long the—attachment—has existed,” he said quietly.
She took a deep breath.
“It may not be,” she struggled for precisely the right expression and failed, “of the nature, or the—the emotions that you suppose.”
“The emotions are not our concern, my dear,” Carlton said quietly. “And the nature of it can hardly be in question, since there have been two dead children found in the square.”
She swiveled round to stare at them, horror in her face, eyes wide.
“You cannot suppose—I mean—you cannot leap to judge that because someone is—has an attachment, that they are responsible for those—deaths! There may be any number of people in the square who have some relationship or other— some—”
“There is a world of difference between a mild flirtation and an affair that produces two children, Euphemia.” Carlton still did not lose his courtesy, his air of judiciousness, almost indifference. “We are not speaking of a mere admiration.”
“Of course not!” she said sharply, then as his high face smoothed a little in surprise, she regained control of herself with an effort. Pitt, standing beside her, saw the muscles in her throat contract, the material of her dress strain as she held her breath in. He wondered if Carlton were as oblivious of her turmoil as he appeared. They seemed an ill-matched couple in more than years. Was she a young woman trapped by ambitious or impecunious parents in a marriage of convenience—their convenience? It flickered to his mind to wonder what Charlotte would have thought, even what she might have done, had it been she. He determined to meet young Brandon Balantyne as soon as possible.
“I will discover what I can, Mr. Pitt,” Euphemia looked directly at him, meeting his eyes with a direct, golden amber glaze. “But if anyone in my house has an attachment of such a standing, I know nothing of it.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said softly. He knew what she was trying to say, that she had understood him, and that she was denying the length of her own involvement, but he could not afford to believe her, unsubstantiated. He excused himself and left with the same feeling of sadness he had felt innumerable times before when he first glimpsed the truth of a tragedy that had turned into a crime.
Emily had no intention whatsoever of obeying Charlotte’s instructions, except insofar as she would exercise a little more caution than she had hitherto. She would no longer directly question anyone, although in truth, Sophie Bolsover had hardly required it. Instead she would cultivate friendships; and with such an end in view she again called at Callander Square, this time specifically to see Christina. She had acquired a piece of information regarding a dressmaker, which she knew would be of interest to Christina, and took the liberty of calling in the morning when she would not run into the social ritual of the afternoon.
The door was answered by the footman Max.
“Good morning, Lady Ashworth,” he said, showing only the slightest surprise. His dark eyes flickered down her habit appreciatively, then up again to her face. She stared back at him coldly.
“Good morning. Is Miss Balantyne at home?”
“Yes, my lady. If you care to come in, I will tell her you are here.” He backed away, pulling the door wider. She followed him into the hall, and then into the morning room where there was already a fire burning.
“Can I bring you anything, ma’am?” he asked.
“No, thank you,” she replied, deliberately not looking at him.
He smiled very slightly, inclined his head, and left her alone.
She had been waiting about ten minutes and was beginning to become a little impatient