Callander Square - Anne Perry [65]
“Charlotte—I—I—apologize for Campbell. I can only presume he did not at first realize you were here. I—I assure you—”
She forgot her own embarrassment in his.
“Of course not,” she smiled. “In truth, I had not thought of it, and knew it to be nothing more than a few unpleasant words. Pray, do not think of it again.”
He looked at her closely for a moment, then relaxed gratefully.
“Thank you, er, thank you.”
It was an additional week before Augusta finally reached a satisfactory solution to the problem of how to get rid of Max. She had required help, and had had to invent a satisfactory explanation for it before approaching her distant relations and offering to exchange favor for favor. Now it was arranged, and it only remained to inform Max.
It was one week before Christmas. She felt vastly better than she had in the appalling morning Pitt had come. Christina had employed herself excellently, and Alan Ross seemed almost resigned to his fate. Indeed she had seen him only this afternoon escorting Christina out for a drive in his carriage. She had been out in the street herself when they had left. Brandy had been on the pavement, talking to that pretty little governess of the Southerons’. Attractive creature, a little thin, but with a peculiar grace, and such a charming smile: just the person to have charge of children.
She was alone in the house. Brandy had left for his club, the general also; and that young Ellison woman had gone home early. She rang for Max.
He came after a few minutes.
“Yes, my lady?” he was smug as always.
“I have made arrangements for you to take another post, Max—”
“My lady—” He stared woodenly at her.
“In London,” she continued, “with Lord Veitch. I have given you an excellent reference, you will be footman and valet when he travels abroad, which he does frequently. He is in London for the season, and goes to the country for the summer, and for the shooting, of course. He very often journeys to Paris, and Vienna. You will travel with him, and he will increase your salary above that which we pay you. An advance, you will agree?”
“Indeed, my lady,” he bowed with a slow smile. “I am most grateful. When do I leave?”
“Immediately. Tomorrow morning. Lord Veitch goes to the country for Christmas, and to Paris for the New Year.”
“Thank you, my lady,” he bowed again, still smiling, and withdrew.
She told Balantyne of it that evening, sitting at her dressing table, her hair loose over her shoulders; her maid had brushed it and been excused.
Balantyne, in dressing gown, stared at her.
“You let the bounder go, to a better position? And what about Bertie Veitch? What has he done to deserve that?”
“He owes me a favor,” she replied.
“Augusta!”
“I warned him,” she said impatiently. “And I will pay the difference in his salary.”
“For how long? And I object to rewarding that—swine—for his vile—”
“He will not profit for long, Brandon. Bertie will take him out of the country, to Paris, and then Vienna. In Vienna he will find some occasion against him, and dismiss him for dishonesty. I dare say Max will not find a Viennese prison to his liking.”
Balantyne stared at her, his face white.
“How could you, Augusta? That is dishonest!”
“It is no more than he deserves,” she said, a chill inside her as she met his eyes, then looked away. “What would you have had me do, permit him to remain here, blackmailing us? In this house with Christina, and Alan Ross?”
“Of course not! But not this!”
“What then? Had you thought of something?”
He stood silent, tall, straight, his body frozen, simply staring at her.
She stood up and walked over to her bed, her hair falling round her shoulders, feeling appallingly vulnerable, like a new bride in a room with a stranger.
SEVEN
CHRISTMAS PASSED WITH all the trappings of tradition, the decorations, the dances, the rich food and the heavy wine, the flirtations, the presents, the bells and songs, and even, on occasion, the prayers.
For that week Charlotte did not go to Callander Square but devoted herself to her own home. Last year she had been