Callander Square - Anne Perry [47]
“Well?” she demanded as soon as she was through the door.
Charlotte was still in Spain and the Peninsular War. She stared at Emily blankly.
Emily shut the door behind her and took a deep breath.
“What have you found out at the Balantynes’?” she said patiently. “You have been there, I presume?”
“Oh yes, of course,” Charlotte realized with a wave of guilt that she had done nothing to justify Emily’s trust in her, over the six days she had already been in Callander Square. “Many times,” she added. “I am coming to know some of the servants quite well.”
“Never mind the servants!” Emily said quickly. “What about Christina? Is she with child? And whether she is or not, why does she think that she is? Who is the father? And why does she not marry him, instead of allowing this ridiculous situation? Is he already married, or promised to someone else?” Her eyes widened. “Oh! Of course, he is unsuitable! It is a love match!” Then her face fell again. “No, it isn’t. Not Christina.” She sighed. “Oh Charlotte! Haven’t you found out anything at all?” Her expression crumpled in disappointment till Charlotte felt genuinely sorry for her, and even more strongly that she had let her down.
“I really will try tomorrow. But Christina has been in bed ever since I got there. They say she has a chill, but they haven’t called the doctor—”
“Who are ‘they’?” Emily asked, her interest quickening again.
“The servants, of course. Good gracious, Lady Augusta doesn’t speak to me, except to be civil, and the general never talks of anything but his papers. But servants are very inquisitive, you know. They would not do anything they would be obliged to admit to as gossip, but if it can be disguised as anything else, they will tell you everything they know, and most of what they merely surmise.”
“Well?” Emily said eagerly. “What do they surmise? For pity’s sake, tell me, before I explode!”
“They think that the police will never discover the truth, and will not really exert themselves greatly to try, because whoever is guilty, it will doubtless involve a gentleman, and therefore they will not be able to prosecute anyway! Which I would like to think is nonsense, but I fear they may speak with a bitterness of experience.”
“Which gentleman?” Emily could hardly contain herself, and her words came out in exasperation between closed teeth.
“There are as many ideas on that as there are servants to propose them,” Charlotte replied honestly. “Indeed, there have been some most heated exchanges. One of the housemaids is sure it cannot be young Brandon Balantyne, because he has never made an advance toward her, although the cook tells me he has assuredly been given the opportunity! Another housemaid is perfectly certain that it is him, for precisely the same reason! He has not made an advance toward her either, therefore he must have some dreadful secret—”
“Of course! Euphemia Carlton!” But Emily’s answer lacked any satisfaction. “Somehow I am reluctant to think that it is she, perhaps because I liked her. I fear I am not cut out for detection. But it will soon be appropriate for me to call again, without appearing to be too pushy in the acquaintance.” She sighed again. “But Charlotte, you really will have to do better! You are not trying! How can you possibly consider a war that was over in 1814 to be more interesting than a murder that is going on this very minute?”
“1815,” Charlotte corrected automatically, “and we don’t know that it is murder.”
“Oh, don’t be so pernickety! What does it matter as to the niceties? It is certainly the most terrific scandal! Which is more than you can say for your wretched wars! Do pull yourself together, please, and apply your mind properly!”
“I will, I promise. I will do my very best to see Christina myself, and if possible at least to begin to discover why she does not marry her lover, and who he is, if I can.”
“Thank you,” Emily assumed an air of patient generosity, as one who has decided to overlook an offense. “You might even get the opportunity