Callander Square - Anne Perry [38]
“Good morning, Mr. Pitt,” she said coldly. “What is it this time?”
He was startled, and he took a moment to compose himself before he turned to face her.
“Good morning, ma’am. I’m afraid we have not yet discovered the truth regarding the bodies in the square—”
“Do you seriously imagine, Mr. Pitt, that you ever will?” She raised her eyebrows in disbelief.
“Perhaps not, ma’am; but I must try a great deal harder before I give up.”
“Indeed. It seems like a waste of public money to me.”
“It was perhaps a waste of human life, which is infinitely more precious.”
“We also seem to have infinitely more of it,” she said dryly. “But of I presume you have to do your duty, as you see it. What is it you imagine I can do that will help you?”
“Give me your permission to speak to your staff again, ma’am; and perhaps to Miss Christina Balantyne. She may have observed some behavior, some small sign that you have been too busy to note.”
Augusta felt her stomach tighten. Was it conceivable he had already heard something? Could Max have been so—no, surely not! Max was, above all, ambitious. He wanted his advantage to use, not to squander.
“I’m sorry, you may speak to the servants, of course; although I must insist that you do not distress them unnecessarily, and I shall have some responsible person with you, to that end; but I regret my daughter is unwell and confined to her bed. Naturally she cannot see anyone.”
“Oh dear,” his expressive face composed itself into lines of sympathy. She had no idea whether he meant it or not. “I do hope it is only a passing indisposition.”
“We believe so,” she replied. “The season of the year, no doubt. It is inclined to affect one. Now which of the servants do you wish to see? The female ones, I presume?”
“If you please.”
She reached for the bell.
“I shall have the butler assist you.”
“I should prefer to speak to them alone. His presence might inhibit them, make them feel less free to—”
“No doubt. But for their protection, the butler will remain with you. I will not have young girls who are my responsibility intimidated, even unwittingly, into saying things which they may afterward regret. Perhaps you do not realize how young and how ignorant some of them are; most suggestible, and easily led.”
“Lady Augusta—”
“Those are the conditions on which you may speak with them, Mr. Pitt. Quite reasonable, I believe.”
There was no further argument he could offer without betraying foreknowledge of some particular guilt, and she defied him at this point to do so.
“Ma’am,” he acquiesced with a slight smile in recognition of her superior tactics. Had he been a gentleman, she might even have liked him, for a moment.
She felt no such sentiment toward Charlotte Ellison when she arrived shortly before midday to assist the general with his papers. Miss Ellison was a young woman she could not warm to—there was an element of emotion about her, of unpredictability, which was dangerous. One could not plan for it because it fell within none of the rules. And yet she seemed harmless enough. She came and went silently and was certainly both civil and, at least to all appearances, well-bred enough. But why should any young woman desire to help a middle-aged general sort out papers pertaining to battles and regiments, instead of seeking herself a husband? It was a question to which, at a less preoccupied time, she would have sought an answer.
As it was she contented herself with asking Brandon over luncheon what manner of creature she was, and if she gave satisfaction as to her clerical ability.
“Yes,” he said with slight surprise, “she appears to be of uncommon intelligence, for a woman.”
“You mean of uncommon interest in those things which interest you—for a woman,” Augusta replied with some asperity.
“Is that not more or less what I said?”
“No, it is not. Most women have perfectly good intelligence for the things which matter, such as the conduct of one’s daily life; but do not desire to apply themselves to the dissection of battles