Callander Square - Anne Perry [61]
Pitt merely waited, letting it play itself out in front of him, watching.
“Good family?” the general said with incredulity.
“Yes, sir.”
“Who?”
“I would prefer to protect her, sir. There is no need for her name to be discussed in front of the police. Lady Augusta knows, if you wish to ask her—” He let it hang.
Christina was white-faced, the painted color on her cheeks standing out like a clown’s.
“Will that be all, sir?” Max inquired.
Balantyne was staring at Augusta.
Augusta collected herself.
“Yes, thank you, Max. If we require anything, we shall call again.”
“Thank you, my lady,” he bowed very, very slightly and left, closing the door silently behind him.
“Well?” Balantyne demanded.
“He is quite correct,” she replied quickly. “It can be of no possible interest to the police.”
Pitt spoke very courteously, softly.
“Why did you not tell me that in the beginning, my lady?”
She felt the cold run through her.
“I beg your pardon?” She played for time, a few seconds to think of an answer.
“Why did you not tell me that when the subject was first raised, Lady Augusta?”
“I—I had temporarily forgotten. It is not important.”
“Who is this woman—of good family, Lady Augusta?”
“I do not feel free, nor do I wish, to disclose her name.”
“Oh, come on, Augusta,” Balantyne said exasperatedly. “If she’s not involved, Pitt isn’t going to do anything to her. You’ll be discreet, won’t you? Besides, Max’s idea of a ‘good family’ and ours will be quite different things.”
“I prefer not to.” She could not lie and blame some totally innocent woman—it would be immoral, even if it were practicable.
Pitt turned and looked at Christina, frozen where she stood.
“Miss Balantyne?” he said slowly. “Perhaps you would care to tell me?”
She was speechless.
“Christina?” For the first time there was doubt in the general’s voice.
“Never mind,” Pitt said quietly. “I shall pursue my investigations elsewhere for a while, and perhaps return here later.”
“Yes, by all means,” Augusta agreed. She could hear the tension slip out of her voice, and try as she would, she could not control her relief. She understood what he meant—that he knew about Christina and Max, and would seek other ways of discovering whether it was she who had borne the children. But Augusta was sure that it was not. She would have known; Christina had neither the nerve nor the art to have concealed it from her. And now that she had had time to consider it, neither had she the opportunity. She had not spent the appropriate times where such a thing could have been hidden.
She faced Pitt confidently.
“That would be by far the best thing to do.”
Pitt looked at her, his curious, penetrating eyes full of knowledge. There was understanding between them. She was not bluffing; she was acknowledging the truth, and he knew it.
“Excellent advice,” he bowed very slightly. “Good morning, Lady Augusta, Miss Balantyne, General, Mr. Balantyne.”
When he was gone Balantyne turned to Augusta, his face puckered.
“What was all that about, Augusta? What is the man playing at?”
“I’ve no idea,” she lied.
“Don’t be ridiculous! You and he understood each other, even I could see that much. What is going on? What has it to do with Max? I require to know.”
She considered for a moment. She had forgotten the strength in him, when he chose to interest himself. She remembered how she had loved him twenty years ago. He had been everything that was masculine, clean, powerful; and a little mystical, because it was unknown. The years had brought familiarity, knowledge that his strength was spasmodic, that hers was deeper, more resilient, would rise to meet everything, day by day; the strength that endures wars, not merely battles.
“Christina, you may go,” she said quietly. “There is no need to worry about Mr. Pitt, at least for the time being. Address yourself to the problem in hand, and prepare for the dinner engagement this evening. Brandy, you may go also.”
“I should prefer to stay, Mother.”
“Probably, but you will go, just the