Callander Square - Anne Perry [86]
“Yes, of course it is! But aren’t you shocked? I mean—Freddie!”
“It’s years since I’ve been shocked,” Campbell answered, holding his port glass up to the light and examining the color. “I am occasionally surprised; usually pleasantly, when I have expected the worst and it has not happened, when my luck has held longer than I thought likely. But most people who are honest are only so through lack of courage, or lack of imagination. Man is basically a selfish animal. Watch children some time, and you’ll see it very quickly. We’re all much the same, one hand out to grab what we can, and one eye over our shoulders to see who’s looking, and make sure we don’t have to pay for it. Freddie’s just rather better at it than I gave him credit for.”
“Never mind the philosophy, what in hell are we going to do about it?” Reggie demanded. “We can’t let him go on!”
“There’ll be nothing to go on to,” Campbell pointed out. “When the police either find out who is responsible, which I admit is unlikely, or give up, which I dare say they will, in another few weeks, that will be the end of it. After all, they can’t waste time indefinitely on some servant girl’s mistakes. It’s not as if anyone cared or as if discovering anything would make a ha’porth of difference to its happening over and over again into an infinite future precisely the same. Just keep your head. I’ll have a word with Freddie, warn him of the several nasty things that could happen to his practice, if he makes a habit of this.”
For the first time Reggie felt a spark of hope: sane, rational hope. If Campbell spoke to Freddie, he might realize he could not go on demanding money, that he would make his own position impossible. He would never be frightened of Reggie, but he might well take Campbell more seriously.
“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “That will do it; make all the difference. He’ll see it will only work once. Yes, excellent. Thank you again.”
Campbell pulled a face of incredulousness mixed with amusement, but he said nothing. Reggie left with a firmness to his step. He could see light ahead, comfort again.
Of course General Balantyne also heard about the appalling discovery in the empty garden, and he was deeply shocked by it. He had not known Helena well, but she had been a lovely creature, full of life, gentle, a woman with all her promise ahead of her. To find her in such—the thought of it was too dreadful to frame. Someone had abused and violated her, and even presumably killed her. No one knew a great deal yet, and the police had not so far called. It was to be supposed they would come today.
Meanwhile he would work on his papers. Miss Ellison, although he thought of her as Charlotte now, had done all that she could for the time being, and in truth, he missed her. The library seemed empty without her presence and he found it harder to resume his concentration, as if he were awaiting something.
He had still not settled his mind to work when the police came. It was the same fellow, Pitt. He received him in the library.
“Good morning, Inspector.” There was no need to ask what he was here for.
“Good morning, sir.” Pitt came in gravely.
“I’m afraid I cannot tell you anything of value,” Balantyne said straight away. “I did not know Miss Doran other than to see her occasionally when she visited my wife and daughter. I imagine you will wish to see them. I would appreciate it if you could keep the most distressing facts to yourself. My daughter is about to be married, day after tomorrow, to be precise. Don’t want to spoil the—” he stopped; it sounded callous, offensively trite, when another girl was lying alone, a few rag-covered bones in some police mortuary, obscenely eaten by small animals and maggots! It made him faintly sick.
Pitt seemed to read Balantyne’s confused thoughts and feelings in his face.
“Of course,” he said, without sympathy in his voice; or so it seemed to Balantyne. And why should he have sympathy? Christina was alive and well, on her way to marriage, a life of security and comfort, of social privilege.