Free Bedford Square by Anne Perry Page A

against the Jowaki Afridis in Peshawar.
    During the Indian Mutiny he had been with Outram and Havelock in the first relief of Lucknow, and then in its final capture. There he had served brilliantly, chasing rebel bands in Oudh and Gwalior in ’58 and ’59. He had gone on to command a division in the China War of 1860, where he had been decorated for valor.
    He was in the Bombay army with General Robert Napier when Napier had been ordered to command the expedition to Abyssinia in ’67. Balantyne had gone with him.
    After that Balantyne had been promoted to command himself, and remained in Africa, fighting with continued distinction in Ashantiland in ’73 and ’74, then in the Zulu Wars of ’78 and ’79. After that he retired and returned home to England permanently.
    It was a career of apparent distinction and honor, and undeserved privilege, paid for in the first place by his father.
    That was a deep offense to Tellman, an injustice inherent in a social system he despised. On the surface, he was more angered that apparently Balantyne’s path had never crossed that of Albert Cole.
    He thanked the clerk for his assistance and left.
    The following morning Tellman began the task of learning about Balantyne in earnest. He waited outside the house in Bedford Square, standing across from it on the pavement under the trees, alternatively kicking his heels or pacing back and forth, always swinging around to look at the front door or the main entrance. He had little hope that any of the servants would talk. In that sort of establishment, he knew, they had loyalties, and it was more than a servant’s job was worth to gossip about his or her employers. No one could afford to be dismissed without a reference. It was ruin.
    General Balantyne emerged from the front door a little after half past ten and walked uprightly along the pavement along Bayley Street and turned left into the Tottenham Court Road down towards Oxford Street, where he turned right and walked westward. He was dressed formally in dark trousers and a beautifully tailored coat. Tellman had vivid opinions about anyone who required a servant to dress him satisfactorily.
    The General spoke to no one and appeared not to look either to right or left as he went.
Marched
would have been the appropriate word. He looked stiff, as if he were going into battle. A cold, rigid man, Tellman thought as he walked behind him. Probably proud as Lucifer.
    What was he thinking about the crowds he passed through? That they were the civilian equivalent of foot soldiers, people it was not necessary to make way for, even to regard at all?Certainly he barely seemed to be aware of them, and he spoke to no one, nor raised his hat. He passed two or three soldiers actually in uniform, but ignored them, and they him.
    At Argyll Street he turned sharply right, and Tellman almost missed him climbing the steps of a handsome house and going inside.
    Tellman went to the door after him and saw the brass plate on which was engraved the words THE JESSOP CLUB FOR GENTLEMEN . He hesitated. There would be a steward of some sort in the vestibule. He would no doubt know all the members. He would therefore be an excellent source of information, but again, one whose livelihood depended upon his discretion.
    He must be inventive. He was serving no purpose standing in the street. People would think him a peddler! He jerked his lapels straighter, squared his shoulders and pulled the doorbell.
    It was answered by a middle-aged steward in well-cut, slightly faded livery.
    “Yes sir?” He regarded Tellman blankly, summing up his social status in a glance.
    Tellman felt the blood burn in his face. He would have liked to tell the man his opinion of gentlemen who spent their days with their feet up or playing games of cards or billiards with each other. Parasites on decent people, the lot of them. He could also have added his contempt for those who earned their living by pandering to such leeches.
    “Good