Callander Square - Anne Perry [5]
“Good morning,” Pitt said solemnly.
“Good morning,” she replied, letting the door swing open a little farther, her eyes still fixed on his face.
“You have a very elegant house,” he said to her with courtesy, as if she had been an adult, and the house hers. “Are you the mistress?”
She giggled, then straightened her face with quick recollection of her position.
“No, I’m Chastity Southeron. I live here, since my Mama and Papa died. Papa was Uncle Reggie’s brother. Who are you?”
“My name is Thomas Pitt, I’m an inspector of police.”
She let out her breath in a long sigh.
“Has somebody stolen something?”
“Not as far as I know. Have you lost something?”
“No. But you can question me,” she came into the room. “I might be able to tell you something.” It was an offer.
He smiled.
“I’m sure you could tell me a great deal that is interesting, but I don’t know what questions to ask, yet.”
“Oh.” She made as if to sit down, but the door opened again and Reginald Southeron came in. He was a wide man, fleshy-faced and comfortable.
“Chastity?” he said with good-humored exasperation. “Jemima will be looking for you. You should be at your lessons. Go upstairs this moment.”
“Jemima is my governess,” Chastity explained to Pitt. “I have to do lessons. Are you coming back?”
“Chastity!” Southeron repeated.
She dropped a tiny curtsey to Pitt and fled upstairs.
Southeron’s attitude stiffened slightly, but the good humor did not leave him.
“Mary Ann says you are from the police.” He sounded faintly disbelieving. “Is that so?”
“Yes, sir.” Again there was no point in circumlocution, and Pitt explained his visit as simply as he could.
“Oh dear,” Reggie Southeron sat down quickly, his rather florid face paling. “What an—a—” he changed his mind and began again. “What a shocking affair,” he said with more composure. “How very distressing. I assure you I know nothing that could be of help to you.”
“Naturally,” Pitt agreed hypocritically. He looked at the man’s wide mouth, sensuous jowls, and soft, well-manicured hands. No doubt he knew nothing of the bodies in the square, but if he knew nothing of their conception it might be more by good fortune than intent. “But I would like your permission to interview your staff,” he asked.
“My staff?” The momentary discomposure returned.
“Belowstairs gossip is invaluable,” Pitt said easily. “Even those who are in no way involved may know something, a word here or there.”
“Of course. Yes, yes, I suppose so. Well, if you must. But I should be obliged if you would not upset them more than is absolutely necessary; so difficult to get good staff these days. I’m sure you understand—no—no—of course not—you wouldn’t.” He was oblivious of patronage. “Very well. I suppose it is unavoidable. I’ll get my butler to see to it.” He hauled himself to his feet and went out without saying anything further.
Pitt spoke to all the staff one by one, informed the butler, and took his leave. It had occupied the best part of the morning and it was already time for lunch. In the afternoon he returned to the square. It was two o’clock when he knocked at the third door, which, according to General Balantyne, should be that of Dr. and Mrs. Frederick Bolsover. During lunch he had seen Stillwell again, and asked him if he knew of Bolsover professionally.
“Hardly in my category,” Stillwell had pulled a face. “Probably makes more in a month than I do in a year. Must do, to live in Callander Square. Society doctor, comforting a lot of hypochondriac ladies who have nothing more interesting to do than contemplate their health. Nice practice, if you have the patience, and the manners, and from what I hear Bolsover has. Good family, good start, all the right connections.”
“Good doctor?” Pitt had asked.
“No idea.” Stillwell’s eyebrows had gone up. “Does it matter?”
“Not in the least, I should think.”
The Bolsovers’ door was opened by a somewhat surprised parlormaid, small and pert, but in her own way almost as attractive as