on weight, and then dieted again. They attributed it to a healthy appetite, a love of sweet things, and then a re-emergence of vanity and the dictates of fashion. There was nothing to prove them either right or wrong. He thanked them and left the house, filling in time through the afternoon until he could call on Sir Robert Carlton and Lady Euphemia herself, and expect to find them at home.
He returned a little after six. He knew it was inconvenient, but there is no convenient time for the sort of question to which he sought an answer.
The footman received him coolly and showed him into the library. It was several minutes before the door opened and Sir Robert Carlton came in, closing it gently behind him. He was a little above average height, slender, stiff. His face was, as Charlotte had said, extremely distinguished, but the mildness of his expression robbed it of arrogance.
“I understand you wish to see me?” he said quietly. His voice was clear and precise, and contained a slight lift of surprise.
“Yes, sir,” Pitt replied. “If you please. I apologize for calling at this hour, but I wished to be sure of finding you in.” Carlton waited politely and he continued. “I’m afraid I have reason to believe that the mother of the babies found in the square may be a member of your household—” He stopped, ready for outrage, denials. Instead there was only a tightening of the skin across Carlton’s high cheeks, as if he anticipated pain. Pitt wondered quickly if either he already knew, or at least suspected his wife. Was it possible he had even personally accepted it, long since fought his private battle?
“I’m sorry,” Carlton said quietly. “Poor woman.”
Pitt stared at him.
Carlton turned his face to look at Pitt. There was anxiety and compassion in his eyes. It was something he did not understand, but struggling to imagine, and for which he was deeply sorry. Pitt felt a surge of anger against Euphemia, and against young Brandon Balantyne, whom he had not yet met. Carlton was speaking again.
“Have you any idea who it is, Mr. Pitt? Or what will happen to her?”
“That rather depends on the circumstances, Sir Robert. If the children were born dead, there may be no criminal prosecution. But she will lose her character, and unless she is extremely fortunate, her position, and be without reference to obtain another.”
“And if they were not born dead?”
“Then there will be a charge of murder.”
“I see. I suppose that is inevitable. And the wretched woman will be hanged.”
Pitt realized too late that he should not have committed himself; he should have left it in doubt. Perhaps in that single carelessness he had forfeited Carlton’s help.
“That is only an opinion,” he tried to withdraw. “There may be some mitigating circumstances, of course—” He could think of many, for himself; but none that would appeal to the lords justices.
”You said, someone in the house,” Carlton continued as if he had not spoken. “I take it you do not as yet know whom?”
“No, sir. I thought perhaps Lady Carlton, knowing the servants better, might be able to assist me.”
“I suppose it is necessary to bring her into this?”
“I regret so.”
“Very well,” Carlton reached for the bell cord and pulled it. When the footman appeared he gave instructions that Euphemia should be asked to come. They waited in silence until she arrived. She closed the door behind her and turned to them. Her face was smooth and utterly guileless, even when she saw Pitt. If she had any guilt, then she was either one of those rare creatures who genuinely see no interest but their own, or was the most accomplished actress.
“My dear, Inspector Pitt believes that the mother of these unfortunate children may be someone in our house,” Carlton said courteously. “I regret it is necessary that you should endeavor to assist him.”
Her face paled a little.
“Oh dear, I’m so sorry. Of course it can really
He returned a little after six. He knew it was inconvenient, but there is no convenient time for the sort of question to which he sought an answer.
The footman received him coolly and showed him into the library. It was several minutes before the door opened and Sir Robert Carlton came in, closing it gently behind him. He was a little above average height, slender, stiff. His face was, as Charlotte had said, extremely distinguished, but the mildness of his expression robbed it of arrogance.
“I understand you wish to see me?” he said quietly. His voice was clear and precise, and contained a slight lift of surprise.
“Yes, sir,” Pitt replied. “If you please. I apologize for calling at this hour, but I wished to be sure of finding you in.” Carlton waited politely and he continued. “I’m afraid I have reason to believe that the mother of the babies found in the square may be a member of your household—” He stopped, ready for outrage, denials. Instead there was only a tightening of the skin across Carlton’s high cheeks, as if he anticipated pain. Pitt wondered quickly if either he already knew, or at least suspected his wife. Was it possible he had even personally accepted it, long since fought his private battle?
“I’m sorry,” Carlton said quietly. “Poor woman.”
Pitt stared at him.
Carlton turned his face to look at Pitt. There was anxiety and compassion in his eyes. It was something he did not understand, but struggling to imagine, and for which he was deeply sorry. Pitt felt a surge of anger against Euphemia, and against young Brandon Balantyne, whom he had not yet met. Carlton was speaking again.
“Have you any idea who it is, Mr. Pitt? Or what will happen to her?”
“That rather depends on the circumstances, Sir Robert. If the children were born dead, there may be no criminal prosecution. But she will lose her character, and unless she is extremely fortunate, her position, and be without reference to obtain another.”
“And if they were not born dead?”
“Then there will be a charge of murder.”
“I see. I suppose that is inevitable. And the wretched woman will be hanged.”
Pitt realized too late that he should not have committed himself; he should have left it in doubt. Perhaps in that single carelessness he had forfeited Carlton’s help.
“That is only an opinion,” he tried to withdraw. “There may be some mitigating circumstances, of course—” He could think of many, for himself; but none that would appeal to the lords justices.
”You said, someone in the house,” Carlton continued as if he had not spoken. “I take it you do not as yet know whom?”
“No, sir. I thought perhaps Lady Carlton, knowing the servants better, might be able to assist me.”
“I suppose it is necessary to bring her into this?”
“I regret so.”
“Very well,” Carlton reached for the bell cord and pulled it. When the footman appeared he gave instructions that Euphemia should be asked to come. They waited in silence until she arrived. She closed the door behind her and turned to them. Her face was smooth and utterly guileless, even when she saw Pitt. If she had any guilt, then she was either one of those rare creatures who genuinely see no interest but their own, or was the most accomplished actress.
“My dear, Inspector Pitt believes that the mother of these unfortunate children may be someone in our house,” Carlton said courteously. “I regret it is necessary that you should endeavor to assist him.”
Her face paled a little.
“Oh dear, I’m so sorry. Of course it can really
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