Callander Square - Anne Perry [42]
“For God’s sake, man! Would you know if they had?” Reggie lost his temper at last. “Augusta runs your house like a regiment. Most efficient creature I’ve ever met. She wouldn’t tell you if the whole lot were in revolt! She’d deal with it, and you’d still get your dinner in time.”
Balantyne resented the implication that he was a useless appendage to his own household, but he reminded himself that the man was frightened, although he had no idea why; and he made an allowance for him.
“It is not very likely anyone will give notice now,” he said calmly. “It would suggest guilt to the police, and no doubt make things harder for them than remaining here and carrying on in a normal manner.”
Oddly enough, even this, with its impeccable logic, did not noticeably soothe Reggie. He sat rumpled, deep in the armchair, and glowered at his glass.
“Bad business, though,” he said gloomily. “Don’t suppose for a moment they’ll ever find out who did it. Waste of time. All they’ll do is stir up a lot of speculation and gossip.” He looked up. “Could do us a lot of harm, you know, Brandon. Not good to have the police hanging around. People think there must be something wrong.”
Balantyne could see his point, but there was nothing they could do about it, and he was inclined to think that Reggie was exaggerating.
“I’ll lay you odds Carlton would agree,” Reggie said quickly, a lift in his voice. “‘Above suspicion,’ you know, ‘Caesar’s wife,’ and all that. Foreigners are inclined to be funny. Got to keep an immaculate reputation.”
What he said was probably true. Balantyne frowned, looking at Reggie through narrowed eyes. Reggie had poured himself another glass, and unless Balantyne was mistaken, it was not his second, or even his third today. What was he really frightened of?
“What does he say?” Reggie pressed.
“Haven’t spoken to him,” Balantyne replied honestly.
“Might be a good idea if you did,” Reggie tried to smile, and ended with a grimace that was more like bared teeth. “Would myself but I don’t know him as well as you do. Influential man. He might be able to make the police see sense. They’ll never find out who the woman was, not a chance in hell. Probably some servant girl who’s moved away by now. Wouldn’t want to hang around, would she?”
“The police will have thought of that,” Balantyne answered. “We haven’t dismissed any servants or had them leave in the last couple of years; have you?” Suddenly recollection came to him in a blinding understanding. It seemed stunningly obvious now. “How long ago since Dolly died?” he said baldly.
The blood drained from Reggie’s face till Balantyne thought he was going to faint. His skin looked sweaty gray.
“Was that your child that killed her, Reggie?” he asked.
Reggie’s mouth opened, like a fish, and closed again silently. He could not find a lie that would be of any use.
“I thought that was more than two years ago,” Balantyne went on.
“It was!” Reggie found his tongue at last, his lips stiff. “It was! Four years. Couldn’t possibly have anything to do with it! But you know what people are, give a dog a bad name. They’ll think because—” he foundered in the lie, and took another glass of Madeira.
There was no need to press him about the present; the truth was too obvious, the reason he wanted the police out of the square, away from talkative servants. Poor fool!
“I expect they’ll give up of their own accord soon,” Balantyne said with a pity he resented feeling. “But I’ll see what Carlton feels, when I get an opportunity. Don’t suppose that Pitt chap wants to spend more time than he has to up a blind alley. No good for his career.”
“No,” Reggie cheered up visibly. “Don’t suppose we need to point that out to him.” His words were a little blurred. “But speak to Carlton all the same. He must know people; few words in the right places, could get it closed a bit sooner. Save a lot of nasty gossip; some public money too. Whole thing’s a waste of time.” He stood up a little shakily. “Thanks, old man. Thought you’d understand.”
Christina did not appear for luncheon, and Brandy was spending a week