Callander Square (16 page)

Georgiana looked at her narrowly.

”Who did you say you were?”

“Charlotte Ellison, Mrs. Duff. Lady Augusta wished me to bring you these. I believe they are said to be excellent for the house, a very delicate perfume,” she proffered them to the clawlike little hand, winking with jewels.

“Nonsense,” Georgiana put them to her nose. “They smell like dust. Still, it was civil of Augusta to send them; no doubt she thinks they will suit Laetitia, and I daresay she is right.”

Charlotte could not help glancing at the velvet and plush roses that decorated the couch, the cushions, and Georgiana herself.

Georgiana’s diamond-sharp little eyes caught her.

“Quite different,” she said simply. “I love beauty. I am very sensitive. I suffer, you know, and it helps to have flowers.”

“I’m sure it must,” Charlotte could think of nothing sensible to say to such a remark. She stood awkwardly in the center of the room, unsure whether to remain, or to excuse herself.

Georgiana was regarding her with curiosity.

“You don’t look like a maid. What did you say you were?”

“I am helping General Balantyne with his war memoirs.”

“Disgusting. What does a young woman like you want with war memoirs? Money, I suppose?”

“I find them very interesting,” Charlotte did not feel obliged to prevaricate or hide her feelings. “I think it becomes us all to know the history of our country, and the nature of the sacrifices that have been made.”

Georgiana’s eyes narrowed.

“What a quaint creature you are. Please either take your leave, or sit down. You are tall, and peering up at you makes my neck ache. I am very delicate.”

Charlotte was tempted to stay, but she was aware that the general would be waiting for her, and of her duty to him, both as a matter of honor and because she might lose her position and its opportunities if she were to stretch his patience too far.

“Thank you, Mrs. Duff,” she said demurely, “but I must return. It has been most pleasant to meet you.”

“Come again. You are quite entertaining,” Georgiana lay back, the better to survey her frankly. “I don’t know what the world’s coming to. Give Augusta my thanks. Don’t tell her I do not care for the flowers, or that they smell like unlived-in houses.”

“Of course not,” and Charlotte left her still gazing at the door.

Back in the library Balantyne was waiting for her.

“Georgiana hold you in conversation?” he said, looking at her with a smile, the first she could remember on his face. “Poor old creature. It can’t be easy living there with Laetitia. I sometimes think Helena’s leaving turned her mind a little.”

“Helena?” Charlotte could not place the name, although she thought Emily had mentioned it.

“Laetitia’s daughter,” Balantyne explained. “Wretched girl eloped with someone about two years ago. Never found out who. Poor Laetitia was quite deranged by it. Never mentioned Helena’s name since, pretends she had no children. Husband’s been dead for years and she had no one else, so Georgiana came to live with her.”

“How very sad.” Charlotte saw the waste and her imagination tried to visualize the loneliness, Helena’s love—or temptation—all the regret since. She wondered if the marriage was happy. “Has she never written to her mother since?”

“Not so far as I know. Of course Laetitia admired Ross as well, which made it all the harder.”

“Who is Ross?”

“Alan Ross. He was in love with Helena. We all thought it was only a matter of time before they married. Shows what nonsense we talk!” He sat down behind the desk again, and she found his eyes on her faintly disturbing. “He has never got over it,” he added.

She could think of no expression that was not unbearably trite.

“We so seldom really know what another person feels,” she said, picking up the papers again. “There are your uncle’s diaries. Do you wish me to number the pages that refer specifically to military matters?”

“What?”

She repeated her question, holding up the books for him to see.

“Oh yes, yes, please. You are most helpful—” he hesitated, “Miss Ellison.”

She smiled quickly and looked away.

“I’m glad. I assure you I find it very interesting,” and immediately she opened the book in her hand and bent her head to read. As soon as it was five o’clock she closed it and bade him good night, and had Max call her a hansom cab. She gave the driver Emily’s address, and went clattering through the darkness, news bursting on her lips.

I
T WAS BY NOW
rapidly approaching Christmas, there were but two weeks to go, and Augusta decided that the matter of Christina and Max must be resolved. She could not expect the child to spend the holiday season in bed; but before she got up, Max must be out of the house. She had been in touch with her relations in Stirlingshire and a position was arranged for him. Nothing now remained but for him to accept the inevitable, and take his leave with a good grace. Augusta had already made the most discreet inquiries regarding his replacement. It would be difficult to find a man as competent, or even as good-looking, as satisfactory a pair for Percy, the other footman, and footmen came in pairs; but that was of secondary consideration.

With a view to informing him of the imminence of his departure, she sent for Max to wait on her in the morning room. She had not yet told the general anything about it, but there would be time enough for that when it was all over. And since he had been agitating her to get rid of Max for months now, he would no doubt be perfectly satisfied.

Max came in and closed the door silently behind him.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Good morning, Max.”

“Good morning, my lady.”

“I have concluded my arrangements for your new position in Stirlingshire. You are to go to Lord and Lady Forteslain. She is a cousin of mine, and you will find the situation adequate, although it may not extend your abilities as London does. However, that is a misfortune you will have to make the best of.”

“I have been giving the matter some consideration, my lady.” There was a small, complacent smile on his mouth. Augusta wondered how Christina could ever have found him attractive, how she could have wanted to be kissed, to be touched by him. The thought was repellent.

“Indeed?” she said coldly.

“Yes, my lady. I don’t think I should care for Stirlingshire; or indeed for any other part of Scotland.”

She raised her eyebrows slightly.

“That is unfortunate, but I am not concerned with your likes and dislikes. You will have to learn to make the best of it.”

“I think not, my lady. I should prefer to remain in London. In fact Callander Square suits me very well.”

“I dare say, but that is not possible. I thought I had already made that clear to you.”

“You did state your position, ma’am. But as I said, I have been giving the matter some thought, and an alternative has occurred to me which I greatly prefer.”

“It will not be acceptable to me!” She tried to stare him out, but his insolence was insurmountable.

“I regret to be so discourteous, my lady, but that is of no concern to me. As you pointed out so plainly, last time you spoke, there are some things which one is obliged to accept, whether one wishes to, or not.”

“There is nothing I am obliged to accept from you, Max. I have told you what I shall do if you do not go to Scotland, and do it graciously. That is an end to the matter.”

“If you charge me with theft, my lady, you will regret it,” his eyes did not waver.

She stiffened, she could feel the skin tighten across the bones of her face.

“Are you threatening me, Max?”

“If you wish to see it that way, yes, my lady, I am.”

“It is an idle threat. There is nothing you can do. I should be believed, and you should not.”

He faced her unflinchingly.

“That depends upon what you value, Lady Augusta. Certainly, if I were to say that I had lain with your daughter, the courts would no doubt believe you, and not me, if you were to swear that I was speaking only out of revenge. It would be a lie,” he smiled very slightly, a light of wry, superior humor in his heavy face. “But I have no delusions that you would not take your oath on it, even so.”

She flushed, feeling the heat in her face, under the sting of his contempt because she was no better than he, and she had permitted him to prove it.

“But,” he went on, “I should not claim it was I who had lain with her. I have a friend, not a servant; I’m afraid he is something of a rake—a gambler who has seen better times, but handsome, in a vulgar way, and with no lack of female friends. Most of them are whores, of course, but they find him attractive. Unfortunately,” his smile curled a little, “he has a disease.” His eyebrows rose, to question if she took his precise meaning.

Augusta shivered with revulsion.

“I should say,” Max continued, “that it was he who had seduced Miss Christina; or to be more correct, he would say so. There would be no connection with my misfortune, and it would be uncommon hard for you to disprove, and hardly worth it, I think. The damage would have been done. Men’s clubs, and so forth, spread the word; all very discreet, nothing open, nothing for you to deny. And if you charge me with theft, I swear it will happen.”

She was frightened, really frightened. There was a power in the man, and a certainty of his own victory. She struggled for something to say. Above all, she would not give in.

“And why should anyone believe that this disgusting friend of yours had ever even seen Christina,” she said slowly, “or that she would speak to him, let alone touch him?”

“Because he will be able to describe this house, in detail, her bedroom, even to the decorations on her bed—”

“Which you know!” she said quickly. “He could have got it from some housemaid easily enough. There is nothing to that,” she felt a quick resurgence of hope.

His eyes were slow, moist, raking her over.

“She has a mole under her left breast,” he said distinctly, “and a scar on her buttock, also the left, as I remember. You will say I also knew that, but I doubt the housemaid does. Do you take my point, my lady?”

It took her the greatest effort of will she could remember not to shout at him, to let go of her temper, her rage and frustration, and scream, “Get out, out of my sight!” She took a deep breath, and summoned a lifetime of discipline.

“Yes, I take your point,” she said quietly, her voice very nearly steady. “You may go.”

He turned, then hesitated at the door.

“You will inform your relations in Stirlingshire that I shall not be coming, my lady?”

“I shall. Now go.”

He bowed very slightly, still smiling.

“Thank you, my lady.”

As soon as the door was closed she gave way. For nearly five minutes she sat and let the shudders of disgust and anger pass through her. To be bested by a servant, a footman with morals of the gutter! She would never forget his hot, familiar eyes on her. To think that Christina had voluntarily lain with this—creature! That she could even now be with his child. It was not to be endured. She must pull herself together. Something must be done. She could not now think how to get rid of Max, but she must at least make absolutely sure that he never touched Christina again. From this hour onward Christina’s behavior must be perfect. Max would not use his trump card unless forced, unless he had nothing to lose by it: because he had only the one play. In ruining her he would ruin himself, therefore he would not press Christina if she treated him with total disinterest from now on. And most certainly Augusta intended to see that she did!

She stood up and composed herself. There was no further purpose in Christina’s remaining in bed. She was perfectly recovered. She might as well get up and resume her normal life: in fact better that she should, before there was too much speculation as to what condition kept her out of society. If by some disaster she should prove to be with child, Augusta would have to see that she was married as soon as possible, and hope that the birth could be passed off as premature. Fortunately Christina was as dark as Max, so if the child were equally dark there would be no comment. In fact it might be as well if Christina were to be married at the earliest convenience anyway. She obviously had a weakness that required a solution, and there was only one satisfying one. Her mind began to consider possibilities as she crossed the hall and climbed the stairs. It would have to be someone who could be persuaded to marry at very short notice, and without causing a lot of raised eyebrows: therefore he would have to be someone she knew already, so a courtship could be presumed to have taken place. It was hardly feasible that someone of such devastating charm as to make a whirlwind romance believable would marry other than one of his own desire; and for such a man to cross Christina’s path in the next few weeks, and fall in love with her, was expecting too much of fate.

She enumerated the young men of suitable position in her mind, and came up with lamentably few. And among those most owed the Balantynes nothing, nor sought anything from them that would be worth marrying for, without the romantic inclination. Most men married of their wives’ or their mothers-in-law’s choosing, but preferred to think that it was of their own. In this case such a feat of self-deception might be difficult. Fortunately Christina was engaging enough, pretty, spirited, and of an excellent taste in fashion. And she had a sense of wit, and of enjoyment, which was peculiarly attractive to most men.

By the time she had reached Christina’s bedroom door she had whittled the choice down to three, of whom the best seemed to be Alan Ross. Of course everyone knew he had never entirely recovered from his infatuation with Helena Doran, but that also meant he had no attachment to anyone else, and therefore might be agreeable to the arrangement. He could be intractable if he were pressured—he was a man of strong will—but if approached with charm, if Christina exerted herself to attract him, delight him, woo him, he might well, with a tiny added pressure from the general, prove amenable. It was certainly worth trying. There were others who could be bought with military advancement, which of course could be arranged; but they would be far less likely to afford Christina any happiness.