Callander Square

by Anne Perry

  “Helena,” Charlotte whispered. “Poor Helena.”

  EIGHT

  REGGIE SOUTHERON ARRIVED home from his afternoon of card-playing to find Adelina looking tearful and white-faced. It was annoying. He himself was in excellent spirits, having won a handsome sum of money, shared some excellent brandy, rich cigars, and even richer jokes. He had fully intended to keep the same roseate glow all evening, and to discover Adelina in such mind was distinctly dampening. He tried to jolly her out of it; after all, women wept so easily, it was probably nothing of significance.

  “Don’t you feel very well?” he said cheerfully. “Never mind, it’ll pass. Take half a glass of brandy, pick you up no end. I’ll join you.”

  To his surprise she agreed, and a few minutes later they were in the withdrawing room, curtains closed against the night, sharing the warmth of a considerable fire. Suddenly Adelina began weeping again, dabbing a handkerchief to her eyes.

  “For goodness’ sake, my dear,” he said a little sharply. “Pull yourself together! Nothing is helped by sniffling.”

  She gave him a bleak look and wiped her eyes harder.

  “I can only presume that you do not know,” she said indignantly.

  “I do not,” he agreed. “And if it makes you as miserable as you look, I do not wish to. If some sort of calamity has befallen someone, I’m sorry, but since I cannot help, I am happy to remain ignorant of the sordid details.”

  “It is your duty to know!” she said accusingly.

  He started to protest, but she was not to be stemmed.

  “Helena Doran has been found!”

  “Is that cause for weeping? She ran off. If she now does not like her circumstance, that is a pity, but hardly our responsibility!”

  “Dead!” Adelina let the word fall like a damnation. “She has been dead for two years, sitting there on the swing seat in the garden of the empty house, all by herself, just as if she were alive. She must have been murdered, of course!”

  He did not wish to believe it; it was horrible, a rude and ugly disturbance of all that was safe and comfortable, all that he liked.

  “Why ‘of course’?” he demanded. “She could have died of a heart attack, or a seizure, or something.”

  “She was with child!”

  “You mean they’ve done a post mortem?” he said in surprise, and some disgust. “Already?”

  “She was barely more than a skeleton,” she began to weep again. “There were bones. Nellie told me.”

  “Who is Nellie?” Nobody came to mind.

  “The scullery maid. Can’t you even remember your own servants’ names?”

  He was genuinely surprised.

  “Why on earth should I? I don’t suppose I’ve ever seen her. I’m sorry about Helena, but really my dear, it is a most gruesome subject. Let us discuss something else. I’m sure you’ll feel better for it.” He had a sudden inspiration. “And we don’t want to upset the children. They will know if you are distressed. It is hardly something we would wish them to know about.” It was actually a ridiculous hope. Chastity at least would discover it in great detail, in fact probably already knew: but it sounded both sympathetic and wise to say so.

  Adelina looked at him dubiously, but she did not argue.

  Reggie settled down to a pleasant evening by the fire, a good dinner, a little port; and perhaps just a touch more brandy. Helena and her affairs were beyond help now, so there was nothing to be gained for anyone by dwelling on thoroughly unpleasant subjects such as corpses in wet gardens, and murders, and the like.

  However, his peace was broken about nine o’clock when the butler brought a new bottle of port, and announced at the same time that Dr. Bolsover had called to see him.

  Reggie sat up and opened his eyes.

  “Oh well, you might as well send him in,” he said reluctantly. He was not really in the mood for conversation, but Freddie was an easy fellow, well mannered, fond of a little civilized conversation, and a good port. “Bring another glass, will you?”

  “I have done, sir. I’ll ask Dr. Bolsover to join you. Mrs. Southeron is still upstairs.”

  “Oh good. Yes, thank you. That’s all,” he reclined again. No need to hitch himself up and be formal for Freddie, thank goodness.

  Freddie came in a moment later, elegant in a wine-colored smoking jacket that complemented his fair face.

  “Evening, Freddie,” Reggie said indolently. “Help yourself to a glass of port. Filthy evening, isn’t it? Still, fire’s good. Sit down.”

  Freddie did as he was bidden, and with a glass in his hand, settled in the chair opposite. He sipped slowly, and rolled it round his mouth.

  “Miserable business about poor Helena Doran, isn’t it?” he said, looking across.

  Reggie was annoyed. He did not want to discuss it.

  “Miserable,” he agreed succinctly. “Still, all over now.”

  “Oh, hardly,” Freddie demurred with a smile.

  “She’s dead,” Reggie slid even deeper into the chair. “Can’t be more finished than that.”

  “It’s the end of Helena, poor girl,” Freddie agreed. He held up his glass to look at the rich color against the light. “But only the beginning of a lot of other things.”

  “Such as what?”

  “Well, how did she die, for one thing?” Freddie’s clear blue eyes fixed on Reggie. “And who killed her? The police are going to want to know that, you know.”

  “She might have died quite naturally.” Reggie found the subject most disagreeable. He wished Freddie would leave it alone. “Anyway, not our business.”

  “Police all over the place will be our business,” Freddie was still looking at him, smiling faintly. Charming fellow, Freddie, but less sensitivity than Reggie would have expected. Rotten subject to bring up in a fellow’s house over a good port.

  “Not mine,” Reggie stretched his legs out. Fire really was excellent, warmed him right through.

  “Oh, they’ll be onto all of us, asking questions again. Bound to.”

  “Don’t know anything. Can’t help. Not a clue who her lover was. Not interested in that kind of thing. Women’s business, gossip. Ask the women, if he’s any good at his job.”

  “Pitt?”

  “If that’s his name.”

  “No doubt he will. But he’ll ask us too,” Freddie also sank a little into the deep leather.

  “Nothing to tell him,” Reggie finished the last of his port and poured some more. The room seemed to glow warmer and redder. “Nothing at all.”

  There was a moment’s silence.

  “Suppose it wasn’t you?” Freddie said suddenly.

  “Me?” Reggie had dismissed the matter and was drifting pleasantly into other things, pretty women, Jemima to be precise. Charming creature, so feminine. “What are you talking about?”

  “Helena’s lover, of course,” Freddie was still faintly smiling. “Wasn’t you, was it, old boy?”

  “Good God!” Reggie jerked up a full six inches in the chair. “Of course it wasn’t!”

  “Just thought it might be. You do have rather a taste for that sort of thing, after all.”

  “Taste for it! What in hell do you mean?” Reggie was offended. It was an ill-bred thing to remark.

  “Taste for young women,” Freddie did not appear in the least abashed. “Mary Ann, and Dolly, and who knows who else?”

  “Mary Ann is a parlormaid!” Reggie said indignantly. “Everyone has a fancy for parlormaids now and then, if they’re honest. And Dolly was a long time ago. I prefer not to discuss that. I thought I told you as much.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you do,” Freddie agreed. “Especially now.”

  “What do you mean, especially now?” Reggie did not care for the turn the conversation was taking. “Why now?”

  “Well, apparently Helena was pregnant too,” Freddie was still looking directly at him, and still smiling. “And then there are the babies in the gardens. If they knew about Mary Ann, and about poor Dolly, they might le
ap to the very nasty conclusion that they were all connected; don’t you think?”

  Suddenly the heat of the fire scorched Reggie’s legs, and left the inside of him bitterly cold. The thought was appalling, terrifying! His mouth was dry. He stared at Freddie, trying to pretend he did not understand, pretend to himself.

  “You do,” Freddie’s smile was fixed on his face, it seemed to hang in the air in front of Reggie, as if there were nothing else in the room. “You see what I mean?” Freddie pressed the point.

  “Yes,” Reggie heard his own voice far away. He cleared his throat, and his voice returned louder than he intended. “But they won’t, I mean there’s no reason why they should hear about any of that. You’re the only other person who knows about it, about Dolly, I mean.”

  “Quite,” Freddie reached for the port and poured himself more, still meeting Reggie’s eyes over the top. “So it all rather depends on me; doesn’t it?”

  “Well, for God’s sake, you won’t say anything! Will you!”

  “Oh no,” Freddie sipped his port gently. “No, I shouldn’t think so, for a moment.” He sipped again. “As long as I remember what I’ve said, and don’t contradict myself.”

  “You won’t!”

  “Hope not. But rather important, you know. Could do with a small reminder.”

  “What—what do you mean, Freddie?”

  “Reminder,” Freddie said easily, “something to keep my memory on the job, something that was always there, something big enough to be important.”

  Reggie stared at him in cold fascination. The glimmering of understanding was coming into his mind, and it was ugly.

  “What did you have in mind, Freddie?” he asked slowly. He would like to have hit him, kicked him, sitting so smugly there in front of the fire. But he knew he could not afford to. The police were too busy, too watchful of anything different just now. The time would come, of course, after all this business was finished, and life went back to the way it had been before: then he would be able to sort Freddie out. The fellow was a bounder.

  But in the meantime—

  “What do you want, Freddie?” he asked again.

  Freddie was still smiling. What a charming fellow he used to think he was! That smile was so frank, so quick to grace his features.

  “Got this rotten bill outstanding at my tailor’s,” Freddie seemed quite unabashed. “Been there rather a long time. Give me a hand with it, old boy. As a favor. Feel that if I actually owned my clothes, instead of that damned stitchin’ fellow, I’d be enormously grateful.”

  “You damn better be!”

  “Will, I assure you. Think of you every time I dress.”

  “How much?”

  “Oh, hundred pounds should about do it.”

  “A hundred pounds!” Reggie was shattered. He did not spend that much on clothes in a year, and he would not have allowed Adelina half of it. Damn it all, he paid maids only twenty pounds a year. “How in God’s name did you permit yourself—?”

  “Like to dress well, you know.” Freddie stood up. He was tall, slim, elegant: indeed he did dress well, far better than Reggie; then of course he had the figure for it, but even so! “Thanks, old boy,” he said cheerfully. “Shan’t forget it.”

  “By God, you’d better not!” Reggie could feel anger and panic rising in him. If Freddie did forget, or went back on his word—

  “Don’t worry,” Freddie said easily. “Got an excellent memory, when I choose. Doctor, you know. Doctors never repeat what their patients tell them in confidence. Police can’t make them. Perfectly safe.” He moved to the door gracefully. “I’ll take the hundred now. Tailor chap a bit impatient, you know. Won’t take any more orders till I cough up. Miserly wretch.”

  “Haven’t got it now,” Reggie replied stiffly. “I’ll send the footman round to the bank in the morning. Give it to you by tomorrow.”

  “Yes, don’t forget, Reggie. Good memory could be vital; I’m sure you understand.”

  Reggie understood perfectly. He would have a footman at the bank door the moment it opened. Damn Freddie. And the worst of it was he would have to go on being civil to the cad; there was no way out of it. If he cut him people would notice, and he must at any cost keep Freddie’s good will, at least until the police gave up and left the square.

  He sat down again after Freddie had gone. He was glad Adelina had not come back into the room. He wished to be alone. He had had a very considerable shock, and the more he thought about it, the nastier it became. Who would have credited that Freddie could behave in such a way? If a chap was a bit short of ready money, anyone could understand that. But to resort to—well—it amounted to blackmail.

  Of course it would all blow over when the police either found out who the wretched girl was, which was unlikely, or gave up, which on the face of it was probably what would happen. Then another very unpleasant thought came to him. What did the police do if they could not solve a case? Did they give up? Or did they put it aside, but always keep it at the back of their minds: someone detailed to keep an ear to it? The possibility was frightening! What if they never gave up, if they kept at it, like an open wound, probing it every time it threatened to close over? That could be very nasty, a permanently ugly rumor never either exposed and lived down, nor yet laid to rest as false.

  Good God! What could he do about Freddie then? The man, if he were cad enough, could keep coming back over and over again! A hundred pounds here, a social favor there, or a spot of financial advice under the counter, a gift of this or that—God in heaven, it could be never ending! It was monstrous!

  The best thing for Reggie would be if this damned Pitt fellow found out who it was and cleared up the whole wretched business. Then Freddie could say what he liked. It would certainly damage Reggie’s reputation for a while, and Adelina would be pretty upset. But then their relationship was not so very close anyway: not a lot to lose, compared with permanent leeching by Freddie! And the very fact that as a doctor and a friend he had broken such a confidence would do Freddie himself a damn sight more damage. Who would trust the fellow after that? No, to tell the police, under pressure, was one thing, there could be a good excuse for that: but to spread it around, merely as gossip, that was unpardonable, and Freddie would be sure to know that.

  No, quite definitely, if Pitt found out who it was, Reggie would be safe. He settled down deeper into the chair and stretched his legs out again. This really was an excellent fire. He rang for the footman, gave him instructions about the bank, and ordered more port. He would not have thought the two of them could have got through a whole bottle, but there it was, empty; so they must have. Still, a wretched experience like this called for a little fortification. Natural enough.

  Thing was, must see what he could do to help this police fellow to get the matter solved, so everyone knew who was to blame, and thus who was not: and the police took themselves off back to the usual sort of crimes they were really employed to deal with.

  He fell asleep, still wondering what he could do to help Pitt.

  He woke late the following morning, as was his habit, rose, was dressed by his valet, and took a good breakfast of porridge, bacon, eggs, deviled kidneys, sausage, mushrooms, then several slices of toast, butter, and preserves, then of course a fresh pot of tea. He should have felt a great deal better after it: but he did not. In the gray, pedestrian light of morning, the more he thought about the likelihood of the police discovering the girl to blame, the less likely he considered it to be that they would meet with any success. The fellow Pitt was probably bright enough, he was certainly inquisitive; but where could he find proof? After all, it was all months ago now, even years! Could have been anybody! Some wretched girl even from the neighboring blocks! Did not have to be Callander Square at all! Now had the fools thought of that?

  “Don’t be an ass! Calm yourself, Reggie. Of course they have. That is probably what they spent their time doing, when they were not here. And they were here quite a small part of the time, considering the
y quite probably worked from breakfast till dinner, five or six days a week. Yes, of course, they will have asked all over the place.” He began to feel better again, and spent a pleasant enough morning going into the city, wandered round the merchant bank of which he was a director, had a long luncheon at his club, and was home again by half past four when it became dark and began to drizzle. The gas lamps in the square were partly obscured by drifting mist and the trees rattled in the rising wind. A filthy night. Glad to have a good fire and a good table to go to.

  He greeted the children civilly enough, and of course Adelina, and was relaxing after dinner when there was a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” he said with some surprise.

  Chastity came in, looking very prim and clean.

  “What is it, child?” he was a little annoyed. He did not wish to talk.

  “Uncle Reggie, Miss Waggoner says I must ask you if I wish to learn mathematics. Please, may I?”

  “No. Whatever would you require mathematics for?”

  “I would like to learn for the sake of learning,” she replied sedately. “You have said to me that it is good to do so.”

  “They would be of no use to you,” he said decisively.

  “Neither is painting, but you say I should learn it.”

  “Painting is an art, that is quite different. Women should become proficient in some art or other: give them something to do when they grow up. Otherwise how will you employ your time?” That was faultless logic. She would have no answer for that. He faced her with satisfaction.

  “I shall marry a policeman,” she said immediately. “And I shall be poor, so I shall have to keep my own house. It might be very useful to be able to do mathematics. I could deduce things.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” he snapped. Really, the child was becoming impossible. “Why ever should you marry a policeman?”

  “Because I like them. I like Mr. Pitt. I should like to marry him, only he is already married. He was here again today. He was talking to Mary Ann. I don’t think he’ll ever find out who killed those babies, you know. He says so himself. It will just remain a mystery for ever and ever and ever. We shall all wonder who it was, and we shall think dreadful things about each other, and no one will ever know. When I grow to be very old, about fifty, I shall tell my grandchildren about it, and I shall say the square is haunted by crying babies who were murdered in olden times; that’s now; but it will be olden times by then, and nobody ever knew who did it. And we shall play games as to whom it might have been, and—”