Free Callander Square by Anne Perry

required it. Instead she would cultivate friendships; and with such an end in view she again called at Callander Square, this time specifically to see Christina. She had acquired a piece of information regarding a dressmaker, which she knew would be of interest to Christina, and took the liberty of calling in the morning when she would not run into the social ritual of the afternoon.
    The door was answered by the footman Max.
    “Good morning, Lady Ashworth,” he said, showing only the slightest surprise. His dark eyes flickered down her habit appreciatively, then up again to her face. She stared back at him coldly.
    “Good morning. Is Miss Balantyne at home?”
    “Yes, my lady. If you care to come in, I will tell her you are here.” He backed away, pulling the door wider. She followed him into the hall, and then into the morning room where there was already a fire burning.
    “Can I bring you anything, ma’am?” he asked.
    “No, thank you,” she replied, deliberately not looking at him.
    He smiled very slightly, inclined his head, and left her alone.
    She had been waiting about ten minutes and was beginning to become a little impatient when finally Christina came in. Emily turned to greet her, and was surprised to see her looking quite casual, almost disheveled. Her hair was less than perfectly done, there were dark wisps lopsidedly on her neck, and she looked unbecomingly pale.
    “My dear, have I caught you at an inconvenient time?” Emily had nearly asked if she were unwell, then realized that to suggest someone looked ill was less than flattering, and she did not wish to jeopardize Christina’s somewhat tenuous friendship so soon.
    “I confess,” Christina put her hand on the back of the chair and held it firmly, “I do not feel in the best of health this morning. Most unusual, for me.”
    “Pray sit down,” Emily went toward her, taking her hand. “I do most sincerely hope it is but a passing indisposition, a slight chill, perhaps? After all, the change in the weather can so easily cause such things.” She was doubtful in her mind as she said it. Christina was an extremely healthy girl and she showed none of the signs of a chill, no rasping in the throat, no running nose or feverishness.
    Christina slid into the chair. She looked uncommonly pale and there were the faintest of beads of perspiration on her skin.
    “Perhaps a little tisane?” Emily suggested. “I’ll call the footman.”
    Christina protested and shook her head, but Emily had already rung the bell. She stood by it, and when Max appeared she spoke over Christina’s head to him.
    “Miss Balantyne is feeling a little unwell. Will you please have cook brew her a tisane, and send it up?”
    The man’s heavy eyes looked across at Christina and Emily caught the glance. He looked away quickly and retreated to obey.
    “I am sorry to have found you so,” Emily said with the best mixture of cheerfulness and sympathy she could manage. “I only came to tell you the name of the dressmaker you were inquiring for. I managed to persuade her to consider us both, although she is in the most absolute demand. She has such skill in cutting she can make even the ugliest creatures look graceful,” she smiled at Christina’s white face. “And meticulous at finishing off, no threads or half-stitched buttons. And she is so clever at designing she can hide a few extra inches so one’s own mother would not know one had put on weight.”
    Christina blushed suddenly and deeply.
    “What on earth are you suggesting? I am not putting on weight,” she crossed her hands over her stomach.
    Emily’s mind raced.
    “You’re lucky,” she said lightly. “I fear I always do in the winter.” It was a complete fabrication. “It happens without fail,” she went on. “It must be all the hot puddings and things. And I have a dreadful weakness for chocolate sauce.”
    “If you will excuse me,” Christina climbed to her feet, still clutching her hands in front of