Death in the Devil's Acre - Anne Perry [97]
“Why Bertie Astley?” It was a silly question. The answer was obvious—he had been her lover. Emily did not even bother to reply.
“All right—then why Pinchin?” Charlotte went on.
“He might have done an abortion on her, and perhaps she cannot have any children now.”
“And Pomeroy? What about him? He only liked children!”
“I don’t know. Perhaps he knew about it. Maybe he saw something.”
“I don’t believe it. I don’t believe General Balantyne would—that he could!”
“Of course you don’t. You don’t want to. But, my dear, sometimes people one cares for very much can do horrible things. Heaven knows, we even do them ourselves—ugly, stupid, and painful things. Perhaps this just grew from a small mistake till it became ...”
Charlotte took a long, deep breath and shook her head. She could feel the tears aching in her throat.
“I don’t believe it. It could have been Alan Ross. He had more reason, and he would be more likely to find out. Or it could just as easily be any other woman’s husband. We must find out more! When we do, it will prove it wasn’t the general or Alan Ross. Who else is in that fast set?”
“Lots of people. I’ve already told you a dozen or more.”
“Then we must find out who their husbands are, their fathers, brothers, their lovers, and then establish where they were on the nights of any of the murders.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to have Thomas do that?” Emily asked reasonably.
“I can’t tell him we are involved. He’s angry enough already with the little he knows. You don’t have to find out where they were on each of the nights—any one of them will do!”
“Oh, thank you very much! That makes it so much easier—a mere bagatelle! And what are you going to be doing in the meantime?”
“I’m going to see General Balantyne. I’ll prove it wasn’t him. Or Alan Ross.”
“ Charlotte—be careful!”
Charlotte gave her a withering look. “And what do you imagine they are going to do to me? The very worst they are likely to do is lie a little. They can hardly drum me out of society, since I am not in it. You get started on your own investigations. If you are nice to George, you can persuade him to do at least half of it for you. Good day.”
She arrived at the Balantyne house at the appropriate hour for calling, partly for the convenience of being allowed in but mostly because that was when she was most likely to find the general alone. Lady Augusta would be out making her own calls.
The footman opened the door and regarded her with expectation.
“Good afternoon,” she said firmly. For heaven’s sake, she must remember they knew her as Miss Ellison! She had nearly announced herself as Mrs. Pitt. That was a lie that would have to be explained, but it was too painful to contend with now.
“Good afternoon, Miss Ellison,” the footman said civilly. If he noticed her plain clothes or her wet boots, scuffed at the toes, he affected not to. “Her Ladyship is not at home, but the general is in, and Miss Christina.” He held the door wide in mute invitation.
Charlotte accepted with alacrity, hoping he attributed it to the withering wind and the hard-driving snow rather than an unbecoming eagerness to visit.
“Thank you,” she said with what she trusted was a compensating dignity. “I should be grateful to speak with the general, if I may.” She had already thought of her excuse. “It is with regard to the letters from the Peninsular War that he lent me.”
“Certainly, ma’am, if you care to come this way.” He closed the door against the ice-whirling dusk, and led her to the withdrawing room. It was empty, but a fire was burning hard. Presumably the general was in the library, and perhaps Christina was with him. That was a contingency Charlotte had not considered. She would much rather not speak in Christina’s presence. Christina would be far too quick to understand, and she was possessive of her father. She would end the whole visit as quickly as was decent, it would descend to a painful battle of wits. Charlotte would have to try to bore her away with whatever