Callander Square - Anne Perry [95]
She was not able to excuse herself at lunchtime, and therefore found herself taking her only opportunity to slip next door a little later than she had planned. However, no one saw her but the scullery maid and the cook’s assistant, and she was at the schoolroom before they commenced their afternoon lessons.
Jemima was standing at the window, looking down to the square at the front. She turned when Charlotte came in.
“Oh, Charlotte, how good to see you.” Her face was alight with pleasure, even excitement; and there was a starry glaze to her eyes. “Are you working for General Balantyne again?”
“Only today,” Charlotte said soberly. “I really came because I wished to see you, without drawing attention to myself.” There was no point in being evasive. She must tell her the truth about Reggie, and before the children returned.
Jemima seemed to sense no danger, and no urgency.
“I’m sure Mr. Southeron wouldn’t mind.” She was not looking at Charlotte, but a little beyond her. “I wish you had come for luncheon. You must come tomorrow.”
Had she not been listening? Charlotte had said she was only here for one day.
But Jemima had turned back to the window again.
Charlotte crossed the room and stood beside her. She looked down. There was nothing there but the silent, leafless square, rain-sodden, everything in shades of gray and black, even the grass seemed robbed of its green. Wind keened sharply through the areaways and ruffled a few last deadened leaves on the shrubs. There was nothing there to so attract a young woman’s attention. Someone must have just passed that way. Charlotte had heard no carriage, and horses’ hooves sounded sharply enough, with the rattle of wheels, on the stones. Someone on foot. In this weather? Oh no, not Brandy Balantyne.
“Jemima!”
Jemima turned, her eyes still warm and happy. She looked down suddenly, a faint color climbing her cheek.
“Brandy Balantyne?” Charlotte asked.
“Do you not like him, Charlotte? From something you said last time, I was not sure.”
Charlotte had liked him very much, but she dare not say so, yet not lie, and hurt pointlessly.
“I have only met him a few times, and then briefly. If you remember, I was not a social visitor there, only someone employed to help.” That was cruel, and she knew it, but Jemima must not be allowed to let dreams grow out of proportion. The more vivid the dream, the more painful the awakening.
The hurt showed immediately in Jemima’s face.
“Yes,” she said softly. “Yes, I know that. And I know what you are trying to say. You are quite right, of course.”
Charlotte wanted to warn her about Reggie Southeron, but that would have meant bringing up the subject of a master who slept with maids, and at this very moment it would seem a crude thing to say, and perhaps totally unjust. It was no parallel, and she did not wish Jemima to think for one moment that she imagined it was. She would have to leave it for another time, a time less open to pain and misunderstanding. All the explanations in the world would not get rid of the impression of a likeness in Jemima’s mind, if she were to mention Reggie and parlormaids and blackmail in the same breath with Brandy Balantyne.
“I must return,” she said instead. “I merely wanted to see you, and to—to ask you to take great care of yourself. Sometimes people who are frightened will blame others, in investigations like this. I heard about poor Miss Doran. Be most guarded in what you say!”
Jemima looked a little puzzled, but she agreed easily enough, and five minutes later Charlotte was out in the icy street again, hurrying back to the library and the general’s papers, feeling unsatisfied with herself, and doubly afraid for Jemima.
Christina was not away after her wedding for more than a week, possibly because of the tragedies that had happened in the square. It had been considered an unsuitable time for a holiday