Betrayal at Lisson Grove (Treason at Lisson Grove)

CHARLOTTE SAT BY THE fire in the parlor alone in her armchair opposite Pitt’s. It was early evening. The children were in bed. There was no sound except now and then the settling of ashes as the wood burned through. Occasionally she picked up a piece of the mending that was waiting to be done—a couple of pillowcases, a pinafore of Jemima’s. More often she simply stared at the fire. She missed Thomas, but she understood the necessity of his having pursued whoever it was to France. She also missed Gracie, the maid who had lived with them since she was thirteen and now, in her twenties, had finally married the police sergeant who had courted her so diligently for years.

Charlotte picked up the pinafore and began stitching up the hem where it had fallen, doing it almost as much by feel as by sight. The needle clicked with a light, quick sound against her thimble. Jemima was thirteen and growing tall very quickly. One could see the young woman that she would shortly become. Daniel was nearly three years younger, and desperate to catch up.

Charlotte smiled as she thought of Gracie, so proud in her white wedding gown, walking down the aisle on Pitt’s arm as he gave her away. Tellman had been desperately nervous waiting at the altar, then so happy he couldn’t control the smile on his face. He must have thought that day would never come.

But Charlotte missed Gracie’s cheerfulness, her optimism, her candor, and her courage. Gracie never admitted to being beaten in anything. Her replacement, Mrs. Waterman, was middle-aged and dour as a walk in the sleet. She was a decent woman, honest as the day, kept everything immaculately clean, but she seemed to be content only if she was miserable. Perhaps in time she would gain confidence and feel better. It was sincerely to be hoped.

Charlotte did not hear the doorbell ring and was startled when Mrs. Waterman knocked on the parlor door. The older woman immediately came in, her face pinched with displeasure.

“There’s a gentleman caller, ma’am. Shall I tell him that Mr. Pitt is not at home?”

Charlotte was startled, and her first thought was to agree to the polite fiction. Then her curiosity intruded. Surely at this hour it must be someone she knew?

“Who is it, Mrs. Waterman?”

“A very dark gentleman, ma’am. Says his name is Narraway,” Mrs. Waterman replied, lowering her voice, although Charlotte could not tell if it were in disgust or confidentiality. She thought the former.

“Show him in,” she said quickly, putting the mending out of sight on a chair behind the couch. Without thinking, she straightened her skirt and made sure she had no badly straying hairs poking out of her rather loose coiffure. Her hair was a rich dark mahogany color, but it slithered very easily out of control. As the pins dug into her head during the day, she was apt to remove them, with predictable results.

Mrs. Waterman hesitated.

“Show him in, please,” Charlotte repeated, a trifle more briskly.

“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me,” Mrs. Waterman said with a slight twist of her mouth that was definitely not a smile. She withdrew, and a moment later Narraway came in. When Charlotte had seen him a few days ago he had looked tired and a little concerned, but that was not unusual. This evening he was haggard, his lean face hollow-eyed, his skin almost without color.

Charlotte felt a terrible fear paralyze her, robbing her of breath. He had come to tell her terrible news of Pitt; even in her own mind she could not think the words.

“I’m sorry to disturb you so late,” he said. His voice was almost normal, but she heard in its slight tremor the effort that it cost him. He stood in front of her. She could see from his eyes that he was hurt; there was an emptiness inside him that had not been there before.

He must have read her fear. How could he not? It filled the room.

He smiled thinly. “I have not heard from Thomas, but there is no reason to believe he is other than in excellent health, and probably having better weather than we have,” he said gently. “Although I daresay he finds it tedious hanging about the streets watching people while trying to look as if he is on holiday.”

She swallowed, her mouth dry, relief making her dizzy. “Then what is it?”

“Oh dear. Am I so obvious?”

It was more candid than he had ever been with her, yet it did not feel unnatural.

“Yes,” she admitted. “I’m afraid you look dreadful. Can I get you something? Tea, or whiskey? That is, if we have any. Now that I’ve offered it, I’m not sure we do. The best of it might have gone at Gracie’s wedding.”

“Oh yes, Gracie.” This time he did smile, and there was real warmth in it, changing his face. “I shall miss seeing her here. She was magnificent, all five feet of her.”

“Four feet eleven, if we are honest,” Charlotte corrected him with answering warmth. “Believe me, you could not possibly miss her as much as I do.”

“You do not care for Mrs.… Lemon?”

“Waterman,” she corrected him. “But Lemon would suit her. I don’t think she approves of me. Perhaps we shall become accustomed to each other one day. She does cook well, and you could eat off the floors when she has scrubbed them.”

“Thank you, but the table will do well enough,” Narraway observed.

She sat down on the sofa. Standing so close to him in front of the fire was becoming uncomfortable. “You did not come to inquire after my domestic arrangements. And even if you had known Mrs. Waterman, she is not sufficient to cause the gravity I see in your face. What has happened?” She was holding her hands in her lap, and realized that she was gripping them together hard enough to hurt. She forced herself to let go.

There was a moment or two with no sound in the room but the flickering of the fire.

Narraway drew in his breath, then changed his mind.

“I have been relieved of my position in Special Branch. They say that it is temporary, but they will make it permanent if they can.” He swallowed as if his throat hurt, and turned his head to look at her. “The thing concerning you is that I have no more access to my office at Lisson Grove, or any of the papers that are there. I will no longer know what is happening in France, or anywhere else. My place has been taken by Charles Austwick, who neither likes nor trusts Pitt. The former is a matter of jealousy because Pitt was recruited after him, and has received preferment in fact, if not in rank, that has more than equaled his. The latter is because they have little in common. Austwick comes from the army, Pitt from the police. Pitt has instincts Austwick will never understand, and Pitt’s untidiness irritates Austwick’s orderly, military soul.” He sighed. “And of course Pitt is my protégé … was.”

Charlotte was so stunned her brain did not absorb what he had said, and yet looking at his face she could not doubt it.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

She understood what he was apologizing for. He had made Pitt unpopular by singling him out, preferring him, confiding in him. Now, without Narraway, he would be vulnerable. He had never had any other profession but the police, and then Special Branch. He had been forced out of the police and could not go back there. It was Narraway who had given him a job when he had so desperately needed it. If Special Branch dismissed him, where was there for him to go? There was no other place where he could exercise his very particular skills, and certainly nowhere he could earn a comparable salary.

They would lose this house in Keppel Street and all the comforts that went with it. Mrs. Waterman would certainly no longer be a problem. Charlotte might well be scrubbing her own floors; indeed, it might even come to scrubbing someone else’s as well. She could imagine it already, see the shame in Thomas’s face for his own failure to provide for her, not the near luxury she had grown up in, nor even the amenities of a working-class domesticity.

She looked up at Narraway, wondering now about him. She had never considered before if he was dependent upon his salary or not. His speech and his manner, the almost careless elegance of his dress, said that he was born to a certain degree of position, but that did not necessarily mean wealth. Younger sons of even the most aristocratic families did not always inherit a great deal.

“What will you do?” she asked.

“How like you,” he replied. “Both to be concerned for me, and to assume that there is something to be done.”

Now she felt foolish.

“What are you going to do?” she asked again.

“To help Pitt? There’s nothing I can do,” he replied. “I don’t know the circumstances, and to interfere blindly might do far more harm.”

“Not about Thomas, about yourself.” She had not asked him what the charge was, or if he was wholly or partially guilty.

The ashes settled even further in the fire.

Several seconds passed before he answered. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice hesitant for the first time in her knowledge. “I am not even certain who is at the root of it, although I have at least an idea. It is all … ugly.”

She had to press onward, for Pitt’s sake. “Is that a reason not to look at it?” she said quietly. “It will not mend itself, will it?”

He gave the briefest smile. “No. I am not certain that it can be mended at all.”

“Would you like a cup of tea?” she asked.

He was startled. “I beg your pardon?”

“I don’t have anything better,” she apologized. “But you look uncomfortable standing there in front of the fire. Wouldn’t sitting down with a hot cup of tea be better?”

He turned slightly to look behind him at the hearth and the mantel. “You mean I am blocking the heat,” he said ruefully.

“No,” she replied with a smile. “Actually I meant that I am getting a crick in my neck staring up and sideways at you.”

For a moment the pain in his face softened. “Thank you, but I would prefer not to disturb Mrs.… whatever her name is. I can sit down without tea, unnatural as that may seem.”

“Waterman,” she supplied.

“Yes, of course.”

“I was going to make it myself, provided that she would allow me into the kitchen. She doesn’t approve. The ladies she is accustomed to working for do not even know where the kitchen is. Although how I could lose it in a house this size, I have no idea.”

“She has come down in the world,” Narraway observed. “It can happen to the best of us.”

She watched as he sat down, elegantly as always, crossing his legs and leaning back as if he were comfortable.

“I think it may concern an old case in Ireland,” he began, at first meeting her eyes, then looking down awkwardly. “At the moment it is to do with the death of a present-day informant there, because the money I paid did not reach him in time to flee those he had … betrayed.” He said the word crisply and clearly, as if deliberately exploring a wound: his own, not someone else’s. “I did it obliquely, so it could not be traced back to Special Branch. If it had been it would have cost him his life immediately.”

She hesitated, seeking the right words, but watching his face, she had no impression that he was being deliberately obscure. She waited. There was silence beyond the room, no sound of the children asleep upstairs, or of Mrs. Waterman, who was presumably still in the kitchen. She would not retire to her room with a visitor still in the house.

“My attempts to hide its source make it impossible to trace what actually happened to it,” Narraway continued. “To the superficial investigation, it looks as if I took it myself.”

He was watching her now, but not openly.

“You have enemies,” she said.

“Yes,” he agreed. “I have. No doubt many. I thought I had guarded against the possibility of them injuring me. It seems I overlooked something of importance.”

“Or someone is an enemy whom you did not suspect,” she amended.

“That is possible,” he agreed. “I think it is more likely that an old enemy has gained a power that I did not foresee.”

“You have someone in mind?” She leaned forward a little. The question was intrusive, but she had to know. Pitt was in France, relying on Narraway to back him up. He would have no idea Narraway no longer held any office.

“Yes.” The answer seemed to be difficult for him.

Again she waited.

He leaned forward and put a fresh log on the fire. “It’s an old case. It all happened more than twenty years ago.” He had to clear his throat before he went on. “They’re all dead now, except one.”

She had no idea what he was referring to, and yet the past seemed to be in the room with them.

“But one is alive?” she probed. “Do you know, or are you guessing?”

“I know Kate and Sean are dead,” he said so quietly she had to strain to hear him. “I imagine Cormac is still alive. He would be barely sixty.”

“Why would he wait this long?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“But you believe he hates you enough to lie, to plan and connive to ruin you?” she insisted.

“Yes. I have no doubt of that. He has cause.”

She realized with surprise, and pity, that he was ashamed of his part in whatever had happened.

“So what will you do?” she asked again. “You have to fight. Nurse your wound for a few hours, then gather yourself together and think what you wish to do.”

Now he smiled, showing a natural humor she had not seen in him before. “Is that how you speak to your children when they fall over and skin their knees?” he asked. “Quick sympathy, a hug, and then briskly get back up again? I haven’t fallen off a horse, Charlotte. I have fallen from grace, and I know of nothing to get me back up again.”

The color was hot in her cheeks. “You mean you have no idea what to do?”

He stood up and straightened the shoulders of his jacket. “Yes, I know what to do. I shall go to Ireland and find Cormac O’Neil. If I can, I shall prove that he is behind this, and clear my name. I shall make Croxdale eat his words. At least I hope I will.”

She stood also. “Have you anyone to help you, whom you can trust?”

“No.” His loneliness was intense. Just the one, simple word. Then it vanished, as if self-pity disgusted him. “Not here,” he added. “But I may find someone in Ireland.”

She knew he was lying.

“I’ll come with you,” she said impulsively. “You can trust me because our interests are the same.”

His voice was tight with amazement, as if he did not dare believe her. “Are they?”

“Of course,” she said rashly, although she knew it was the absolute truth. “Thomas has no other friend in Special Branch than you. The survival of my family may depend upon your being able to prove your innocence.”

The color was warm in his cheeks also, or perhaps it was the firelight. “And what could you do?” he asked.

“Observe, ask questions, go where you will be recognized and cannot risk being seen. I am quite a good detective—at least I was in the past, when Thomas was in the police force and his cases were not so secret. At least I am considerably better than nothing.”

He blushed and turned away. “I could not allow you to come.”

“I did not ask your permission,” she retorted. “But of course it would be a great deal pleasanter with it,” she added.

He did not answer. It was the first time she had seen him so uncertain. Even when she had realized some time ago, with shock, that he found her attractive, there had always been a distance between them. He was Pitt’s superior, a seemingly invulnerable man: intelligent, ruthless, always in control, and aware of many things that others knew nothing about. Now he was unsure, able to be hurt, no more in control of everything than she was. She would have used his Christian name if she had dared, but that would be a familiarity too far.

“We need the same thing,” she began. “We have to find the truth of who is behind this fabrication and put an end to it. It is survival for both of us. If you think that because I am a woman I cannot fight, or that I will not, then you are a great deal more naïve than I assumed, and frankly I do not believe that. You have some other reason. Either you are afraid of something I will find out, some lie you need to protect; or else your pride is more important to you than your survival. Well, it is not more important to me.” She took a deep breath. “And should I be of assistance, you will not owe me anything, morally or otherwise. I care what happens to you. I would not like to see you ruined, because you helped my husband at a time when we desperately needed it.”

“Every time I think I know something about you, you surprise me,” he observed. “It is a good thing you are no longer a part of high Society; they would never survive you. They are unaccustomed to such ruthless candor. They would have no idea what to do with you.”

“You don’t need to be concerned for them. I know perfectly well how to lie with the best, if I have to,” she retorted. “I am coming to Ireland with you. This needs to be done, and you cannot do it alone because too many people already know you. You said as much yourself. But I had better have some reasonable excuse to justify traveling with you, or we shall cause an even greater scandal. May I be your sister, for the occasion?”

“We don’t look anything alike,” he said with a slightly twisted smile.

“Half sister then, if anybody asks,” she amended.

“Of course you are right,” he conceded. His voice was tired, the banter gone from it. He knew it was ridiculous to deny the only help he had been offered. “But you will listen to me, and do as I tell you. I cannot afford to spend my time or energy looking after you or worrying about you. Is that understood, and agreed?”

“Certainly. I want to succeed, not prove some kind of point.”

“Then I shall be here at eight o’clock in the morning the day after tomorrow to take us to the train, and then the boat. Bring clothes suitable for walking, for discreet calling upon people in the city, and at least one gown for evening, should we go to the theater. Dublin is famous for its theaters. No more than one case.”

“I shall be waiting.”

He hesitated a moment, then let out his breath. “Thank you.”

After he had gone Charlotte went back to the front parlor. A moment later there was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” she said, expecting to thank Mrs. Waterman for waiting up, tell her that nothing more was needed and she should go to bed.

Mrs. Waterman came in and closed the door behind her. Her back was ramrod-stiff, her face almost colorless and set in lines of rigid disapproval. One might imagine she had found a blocked drain.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Pitt,” she said before Charlotte had had time to say anything. “I cannot remain here. My conscience would not allow it.”

Charlotte was stunned. “What are you talking about? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Mrs. Waterman sniffed. “Well, I daresay I have my faults. We all do. But I’ve always been respectable, Mrs. Pitt. There wasn’t ever anyone who could say different.”

“Nobody has.” Charlotte was still mystified. “Nobody has even suggested such a thing.”

“And I mean to keep it like that, if you understand me.” Mrs. Waterman stood, if possible, even straighter. “So I’ll be going in the morning. I’m sorry, about that. I daresay it’ll be difficult for you, which I regret. But I’ve got my name to think of.”

“What are you talking about?” Charlotte was growing annoyed. Mrs. Waterman was not particularly agreeable, but they might learn to accept each other. She was certainly hardworking, diligent, and totally reliable—at least she had been so far. With Pitt away for an indefinite period of time, and now this disastrous situation with Narraway, the last thing Charlotte needed was a domestic crisis. She had to go to Ireland. If Pitt were without a job they would lose the house and in quite a short time possibly find themselves scraping for food. He might have to learn a new trade entirely, and that would be difficult for a man in his forties. Even with all the effort he would put into it, it would still take time. It was barely beginning to sink in. How on earth would Daniel and Jemima take the news? No more pretty dresses, no more parties, no more hoping for a career for Daniel. He would be fortunate not to start work at anything he could find, in a year or two. Even Jemima could become somebody’s kitchen maid.

“You can’t leave,” Charlotte said, her tone angry now. “If you do, then I cannot give you a letter of character.” That was a severe threat. Without a recommendation no servant could easily find another position. Their reason for leaving would be unexplained, and most people would put the unkindest interpretation on it.

Mrs. Waterman was unmoving. “I’m not sure, ma’am, if your recommendation would be of any service to me, as to character, that is—if you understand me.”

“No, I do not understand you,” she said tartly.

“I don’t like having to say this,” Mrs. Waterman replied, her face wrinkling with distaste. “But I’ve never before worked in a household where the gentleman goes away unexpectedly, without any luggage at all, and the lady receives other gentlemen, alone and after dark. It isn’t decent, ma’am, and that’s all there is to it. I can’t stay in a house with ‘goings-on.’ ”

Charlotte was astounded. “ ‘Goings-on’! Mrs. Waterman, Mr. Pitt was called away on urgent business, without time to come home or pack any luggage. He went to France in an emergency, the nature of which is not your business. Mr. Narraway is his superior in the government, and he came to tell me, so I would not be concerned. If you see it as something else, then the ‘goings-on,’ as you put it, are entirely in your own imagination.”

“If you say so, ma’am,” Mrs. Waterman answered, her eyes unwavering. “And what did he come for tonight? Did Mr. Pitt give a message to him, and not to you, his lawful wedded wife—I assume?”

Charlotte wanted to slap her. With a great effort she forced herself to become calm.

“Mrs. Waterman, Mr. Narraway came to tell me further news concerning my husband’s work. If you choose to think ill of it, or of me, then you will do so whatever the truth is, because that is who you are …”

Now it was Mrs. Waterman’s face that flamed. “Don’t you try to cover it with nice words and high-and-mighty airs,” she said bitterly. “I know a man with a fancy for a woman when I see one.”

It was on the edge of Charlotte’s tongue to ask sarcastically when Mrs. Waterman had ever seen one, but it was perhaps an unnecessarily cruel thought. Mrs. Waterman was exactly what her grandmama used to call a vinegar virgin, despite the courteous Mrs. in front of her name.

“You have an overheated and somewhat vulgar imagination, Mrs. Waterman,” she said coldly. “I cannot afford to have such a person in my household, so it might be best for both of us if you pack your belongings and leave first thing in the morning. I shall make breakfast myself, and then see if my sister can lend me one of her staff until I find someone satisfactory of my own. Her husband is a member of Parliament, and she keeps a large establishment. I shall see you to say good-bye in the morning.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Mrs. Waterman turned for the door.

“Mrs. Waterman!”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“I shall say nothing of you to others, good or ill. I suggest that you return that courtesy and say nothing of me. You would not come out of it well, I assure you.”

Mrs. Waterman’s eyebrows rose slightly.

Charlotte smiled with ice in her eyes. “A servant who will speak ill of one mistress will do so of another. Those of us who employ servants are well aware of that. Good night.”

Mrs. Waterman closed the door without replying.

Charlotte went to the telephone to speak to Emily and ask for her help, immediately. She was a little surprised to see her hand shaking as she reached for the receiver.

When the voice answered she gave Emily’s number.

It rang at the other end several times before the butler picked it up.

“Mr. Radley’s residence. May I help you?” he said politely.

“I’m sorry to disturb you so late,” Charlotte apologized. “It is Mrs. Pitt calling. Something of an emergency has arisen. May I speak with Mrs. Radley, please?”

“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Pitt,” he replied with sympathy. “Mr. and Mrs. Radley have gone to Paris and I do not expect them back until next weekend. Is there something I may do to assist you?”

Charlotte felt a sort of panic. Who else could she turn to for help? Her mother was also out of the country, in Edinburgh, where she had gone with her second husband, Joshua. He was an actor, and had a play running in the theater there.

“No, no thank you,” she said a little breathlessly. “I’m sure I shall find another solution. Thank you for your trouble. Good night.” She hung up quickly.

She stood in the quiet parlor, the embers dying in the fire because she had not restoked it. She had until tomorrow evening to find someone to care for Daniel and Jemima, or she could not go with Narraway. And if she did not, then she could not help him. He would be alone in Dublin, hampered by the fact that he was known there, by friend and enemy alike.

Pitt had been Narraway’s man from the beginning, his protégé and then his second in command—perhaps not officially, that was Austwick, but in practice. It had bred envy, and in some cases fear. With Narraway gone it would be only a matter of time before Pitt too was dismissed, demoted to an intolerable position, or—worse than that—met with an accident.

Then another thought occurred to her, ugly and even more imperative. If Narraway was innocent, as he claimed, then someone had deliberately reorganized evidence to make him look guilty. They could do the same to Pitt. In fact it was quite possible that if Pitt had had anything whatever to do with the case, he might already be implicated. As soon as he was home from France he would walk straight into the trap. Only a fool would allow him time to mount a defense, still less to find proof of his innocence and, at the same time, presumably their guilt.

But why? Was it really an old vengeance against Narraway? Or did Narraway know something about them that they could not afford to have him pursue? Whatever it was, whatever Narraway had done or not done, she must protect her husband. Narraway could not be guilty, that was the only thing of which she had no doubt.

Now she must find someone to look after Jemima and Daniel while she was away. Oh, damn Mrs. Waterman! The stupid creature!

CHARLOTTE WAS TIRED ENOUGH to sleep quite well, but when she woke in the morning it all flooded back to her. Not only did she have to make breakfast herself—not an unfamiliar task—but she also had to see Mrs. Waterman on her way, and explain to Daniel and Jemima at least something of what had happened. It might be easier for Jemima, since she was thirteen, but how would Daniel, at ten, grasp enough of the idea at least to believe her? She must make sure he did not imagine it was in any way his fault.

Then she must tackle the real task of the day: finding someone trustworthy with whom to leave her children. Put in such simple words, the thought overwhelmed her. She stood in her nightgown in the center of the bedroom floor, overcome with anxiety.

Still, standing here stalling would achieve nothing. She might as well get dressed while she weighed it up. A white blouse and a plain brown skirt would be fine. She was going to do chores, after all.

When she went down the stairs Mrs. Waterman was waiting in the hall, her one suitcase by the door. Charlotte was tempted to be sorry for her, but the moment passed. There was too much to do for her to relent, even if Mrs. Waterman wanted her to. This was an inconvenience. There were disasters on the horizon.

“Good morning, Mrs. Waterman,” she said politely. “I am sorry you feel it necessary to go, but perhaps in the circumstances it is better. You will forgive me if I do not draw this out. I have to find someone to replace you by this evening. I hope you find yourself suited very soon. Good day to you.”

“I’m sure I will, ma’am,” Mrs. Waterman replied, and with such conviction that it flashed across Charlotte’s mind to wonder if perhaps she already had. Sometimes domestic staff, especially cooks, found a cause to give notice in order to avail themselves of a position they preferred, or thought more advantageous for themselves.

“Yes, I imagine you will land on your feet,” Charlotte said a trifle brusquely.

Mrs. Waterman gave her a cold look, drew breath to respond, then changed her mind and opened the front door. With some difficulty she dragged her case outside, then went to the curb to hail a cab.

Charlotte closed the door as Jemima came down the stairs. She was getting tall. From the looks of it, she would grow to her mother’s height, with Charlotte’s soft lines and confident air. The day was not far off.

“Where’s Mrs. Waterman going?” she asked. “It’s breakfast time.”

There was no point in evading it. “She is leaving us,” Charlotte replied quietly.

“At this time in the morning?” Jemima’s eyebrows rose. They were elegant, slightly winged, exactly like Charlotte’s own.

“It was that, or last night,” Charlotte answered.

“Did she steal something?” Jemima reached the bottom stair. “Are you sure? She’s so terribly good I can’t believe she’d do that. She’d never be able to face herself in the glass. Come to think of it, perhaps she doesn’t anyway. She might crack it.”

“Jemima! That is rude, and most unkind,” Charlotte said sharply. “But true,” she added. “I did not ask her to leave. It is actually very inconvenient indeed …”

Daniel appeared at the top of the stairs, considered sliding down the banister, saw his mother at the bottom, and changed his mind. He came down the steps in a self-consciously dignified manner, as if that had always been his intention.

“Is Mrs. Waterman going?” he asked hopefully.

“She’s already gone,” Charlotte answered.

“Oh good. Is Gracie coming back?”

“No, of course she isn’t,” Jemima put in. “She’s married. She’s got to stay at home and look after her husband. We’ll get someone else, won’t we, Mama?”

“Yes. As soon as we’ve had breakfast and you’ve gone to school, I shall begin looking.”

“Where do you look?” Daniel asked curiously as he followed her down the passage to the kitchen. It was shining clean after last night’s dinner. Mrs. Waterman had left it immaculate, but not a thing was started for breakfast. Not even the stove was lit. It was still full of yesterday’s ashes and barely warm to the touch. It would take some time to rake it out and lay it, light it, and wait for it to heat—too long for a hot breakfast of any sort before school. Even tea and toast required the use of the stove.

Charlotte controlled her temper with difficulty. If she could have been granted one wish, other than Pitt being home, it would have been to have Gracie back. Just her cheerful spirit, her frankness, her refusal ever to give in, would have made things easier.

“I’m sorry,” she said to Daniel and Jemima, “but we’ll have to wait until tonight for something hot. It’ll be bread and jam for us all this morning, and a glass of milk.” She went to the pantry to fetch the milk, butter, and jam without waiting for their response. She was already trying to find words to tell them that she had to leave and go to Ireland. Except that she couldn’t, if she didn’t find someone totally trustworthy to care for them, and how could she do that in half a day? As an absolutely final resort she knew she could take them to Emily’s home for the servants to look after.

She came back with the milk, butter, and jam, and put them on the table. Jemima was setting out the knives and spoons; Daniel was putting the glasses out one at a time. She felt a sudden tightening in her chest. How could she have contemplated leaving them with the disapproving Mrs. Waterman? Blast Emily for being away now, when she was so badly needed!

She turned and opened the bread bin, took out the loaf, and set it on the board with the knife.

“Thank you,” she said, accepting the last glass. “I know it’s a little early, but we had better begin. I knew Mrs. Waterman was going. I should have been up sooner and lit the stove. I didn’t even think of it. I’m sorry.” She cut three slices of bread and offered them. They each took one, buttered it, and chose the jam they liked best: gooseberry for Jemima, blackcurrant for Daniel—like his father—and apricot for Charlotte. She poured the milk.

“Why did she go, Mama?” Daniel asked.

For once Charlotte did not bother to tell him not to speak with his mouth full. His question deserved an honest answer, but how much would he understand? He was looking at her now with solemn gray eyes exactly like his father’s. Jemima waited with the bread halfway to her mouth. Perhaps the whole truth, briefly and without fear, was the only way to avoid having to lie later, as more and more emerged. If they ever found her lying to them, even if they understood the reason, their trust would be broken.

“Mr. Narraway, your father’s superior, called a few evenings ago to tell me that your father had to go to France, without being able to let us know. He didn’t want us to worry when he didn’t come home …”

“You told us,” Jemima interrupted. “Why did Mrs. Waterman go?”

“Mr. Narraway came again yesterday evening, quite late. He stayed for a little while, because something very bad had happened to him. He has been blamed for something he didn’t do, and he is no longer your father’s superior. That matters rather a lot, so he had to let me know.”

Jemima frowned. “I don’t understand. Why did Mrs. Waterman go? Can’t we pay her anymore?”

“Yes, certainly we can,” Charlotte said quickly, although that might not always be true. “She went because she didn’t approve of Mr. Narraway coming here and telling me in the evening.”

“Why not?” Daniel put his bread down and stared at her. “Shouldn’t he have told you? And how does she know? Is she in the police as well?”

Pitt had not explained to his children the differences between the police, detecting any type of crime, and Special Branch, a force created originally to deal with violence, sometimes treason, or any other threat to the safety of the country. This was not the time to address it.

“No,” she said. “It is not her concern at all. She thought I should not have received any man after dark when your father was not here. She said it wasn’t decent, and she couldn’t remain in a house where the mistress did not behave with proper decorum. I tried to explain to her that it was an emergency, but she did not believe me.” If she did not have more urgent problems, that would still have rankled.

Daniel still looked puzzled, but it was clear that Jemima understood.

“If she hadn’t left anyway, then you should have thrown her out,” she said angrily. “That’s impertinent.” She was immediately defensive of her mother, and impertinent was her new favorite word of condemnation.

“Yes it was,” Charlotte agreed. She had been going to tell them about her need to go to Ireland, but changed her mind. “But since she did leave of her own will, it doesn’t matter. May I have the butter, please, Daniel?”

He passed it to her. “What’s going to happen to Mr. Narraway? Is Papa going to help him?”

“He can’t,” Jemima pointed out. “He’s in France.” She looked questioningly at Charlotte to support her, if she was right.

“Well, who is, then?” Daniel persisted.

There was no escape, except lies. Charlotte took a deep breath. “I am, if I can think of a way. Now please finish your breakfast so I can get you on your way to school, and begin looking for someone to replace Mrs. Waterman.”

BUT WHEN SHE PUT on an apron and knelt to clear the ashes out of the grate in the stove, then laid a new fire ready to light when she returned, finding a new maid did not seem nearly as simple a thing to accomplish as she had implied to Daniel and Jemima. It was not merely a woman to cook and clean that she required. It was someone who would be completely reliable, kind, and, if any emergency arose, would know what to do.

If she were in Ireland, who would they ask for help? Was she even right to go? Which was the greater emergency? Should she ask any new maid, if she could find one, to call Great-Aunt Vespasia, if she needed help? Vespasia was close to seventy, although she might not look it, and certainly had not retired from any part of life. Her passion, courage, and energy would put to shame many a thirty-year-old, and she had always been a leader in the highest Society. Her great beauty had changed, but not dimmed. But was she the person to make decisions should a child be ill, or there be some other domestic crisis such as a blocked drain, a broken faucet, a shortage of coal, a chimney fire, and so on?

Gracie had risen to all such occasions, at one time or another.

Charlotte stood up, washed her hands in water that was almost cold, and took off her apron. She would ask Gracie’s advice. It was something of a desperate step to disturb her newfound happiness so soon, but it was a desperate situation.

It was an omnibus ride, but not a very long one, to the small redbrick house where Gracie and Tellman lived. They had the whole of the ground floor to themselves, including the front garden. This was quite an achievement for a couple so young, but then Tellman was twelve years older than Gracie, and had worked extremely hard to gain promotion to sergeant in the Metropolitan Police. Pitt still missed working with him.

Charlotte walked up to the front door and knocked briskly, holding her breath in anticipation. If Gracie was not in, she had no idea where she could turn next.

But the door opened and Gracie stood just inside, five feet tall with her smart boots on, and wearing a dress that for once was nobody else’s cast-off taken up and in to fit her. There was no need to ask if she was happy; it radiated from her face like heat from a stove.

“Mrs. Pitt! Yer come ter see me! Samuel in’t ’ere now, ’e’s gorn already, but come in an ’ave a cup o’ tea.” She pulled the door open even wider and stepped back.

Charlotte accepted, forcing herself to think of Gracie’s new house, her pride and happiness, before she said anything of her own need. She followed Gracie inside along the linoleum-floored passage, polished to a gleaming finish, and into the small kitchen at the back. It too was immaculately clean and smelled of lemon and soap, even this early in the morning. The stove was lit and there was well-kneaded bread sitting in pans on the sill, rising gently. It would soon be ready to bake.

Gracie pulled the kettle over onto the hob and set out a teapot and cups, then opened the pantry cupboard to get milk.

“I got cake, if yer like?” she offered. “But mebbe yer’d sooner ’ave toast an’ jam?”

“Actually, I’d rather like cake, if you can spare it,” Charlotte replied. “I haven’t had good cake for a while. Mrs. Waterman didn’t approve of it, and the disfavor came through her hands. Heavy as lead.”

Gracie turned around from the cupboard where she had been getting the cake. Plates were on the dresser. Charlotte noted with a smile that it was set out exactly like the one in her own kitchen, which Gracie had kept for so long: cups hanging from the rings, small plates on the top shelf, then bowls, dinner plates lowest.

“She gorn, then?” Gracie said anxiously.

“Mrs. Waterman? Yes, I’m afraid so. She gave notice and left all at the same time, yesterday evening. Or to be exact, she gave notice late yesterday evening, and was in the hall with her case when I came down this morning.”

Gracie was astounded. She put the cake—which was rich and full of fruit—on the table, then stared at Charlotte in dismay. “Wot she done? Yer din’t never throw ’er out fer nothin’!”

“I didn’t throw her out at all,” Charlotte answered. “She really gave notice, just like that—”

“Yer can’t do that!” Gracie waved her hands to dismiss the idea. “Yer won’t never get another place, not a decent one.”

“A lot has happened,” Charlotte said quietly.

Gracie sat down sharply in the chair opposite and leaned a little across the small wooden table, her face pale. “It in’t Mr. Pitt …”

“No,” Charlotte assured her hastily. “But he is in France on business and cannot come home until it is complete, and Mr. Narraway has been thrown out of his job.” There was no use, and no honor, in concealing the truth from Gracie. After all, it was Victor Narraway who had placed her as a maid in Buckingham Palace when Pitt so desperately needed help in that case. The triumph had been almost as much Gracie’s as his. Narraway himself had praised her.

Gracie was appalled. “That’s wicked!”

“He thinks it is an old enemy, perhaps hand in glove with a new one, possibly someone after his job,” Charlotte told her. “Mr. Pitt doesn’t know, and is trusting Mr. Narraway to support him in his pursuit now and do what he can to help from here. He doesn’t know he will be relying on someone else, who may not believe in him as Mr. Narraway does.”

“Wot are we goin’ ter do?” Gracie said instantly.

Charlotte was so overwhelmed with gratitude, and with emotion at Gracie’s passionate and unquestioning loyalty, that she felt the warmth rise up in her and the tears prickle her eyes.

“Mr. Narraway believes that the cause of the problem lies in an old case that happened twenty years ago in Ireland. He is going back there to find his enemy and try to prove his own innocence.”

“But Mr. Pitt won’t be there to ’elp ’im,” Gracie pointed out. “ ’Ow can ’e do that by ’isself? Don’t this enemy know ’im, never mind that ’e’ll expect ’im ter do it?” She looked suddenly quite pale, all the happy flush gone from her face. “That’s just daft. Yer gotter tell ’im ter think afore ’e leaps in, yer really ’ave!”

“I must help him, Gracie. Mr. Narraway’s enemies in Special Branch are Mr. Pitt’s as well. For all our sakes, we must win.”

“Yer goin’ ter Ireland? Yer goin’ ter ’elp ’im …” She reached out her hand, almost as if to touch Charlotte’s where it lay on the table, then snatched it back self-consciously. She was no longer an employee, but it was a liberty too far, for all the years they had known each other. She took a deep breath. “Yer ’ave gotta!”

“I know. I mean to,” Charlotte assured her. “But since Mrs. Waterman has walked out—in disgust and outraged morality, because Mr. Narraway was alone in the parlor with me after dark—I have to find someone to replace her before I can leave.”

A succession of emotions passed across Gracie’s face: anger, indignation, impatience, and a degree of amusement. “Stupid ol’ ’aporth,” she said with disgust. “Got minds like cesspits, some o’ them ol’ vinegar virgins. Not that Mr. Narraway don’t ’ave a soft spot for yer, an’ all.” The smile lit her eyes for an instant, then was gone again. She might not have dared say that when she worked for Charlotte, but she was a respectable married woman now, and in her own kitchen, in her own house. She wouldn’t have changed places with the queen—and she had met the queen, which was more than most could say.

“Gracie, Emily is away and so is my mother,” Charlotte told her gravely. “I can’t go and leave Jemima and Daniel until I find someone to look after them, someone I can trust completely. Where do I look? Who can recommend someone without any doubt or hesitation at all?”

Gracie was silent for so long that Charlotte realized she had asked an impossible question.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “That was unfair.”

The kettle was boiling and began to whistle. Gracie stood up, picked up the cloth to protect her hands, and pulled it away from the heat. She swirled a little of the steaming water around the teapot to warm it, emptied it down the sink, and then made the tea. She carried the pot carefully over to the table and set it on a metal trivet to protect the wood. Then she sat down again.

“I can,” she said.

Charlotte blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I can recommend someone,” Gracie said. “Minnie Maude Mudway. I knowed ’er since before I ever met you, or come to yer ’ouse. She lived near where I used ter, in Spitalfields, just ’round the corner, couple o’ streets along. ’er uncle were killed. I ’elped ’er find ’oo done it, ’member?”

Charlotte was confused, trying to find the memory, and failing.

“You were riding the donkey, for Christmas,” Gracie urged. “Minnie Maude were eight then, but she’s growed up now. Yer can trust ’er, ’cos she don’t never, ever give up. I’ll find ’er for yer. An’ I’ll go ter Keppel Street meself an’ check on them every day.”

Charlotte looked at Gracie’s small, earnest face, the gently steaming teapot, and the homemade cake with its rich sultanas, the whole lovingly immaculate kitchen.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “That would be excellent. If you call in every day then I shan’t worry.”

Gracie smiled widely. “Yer like a piece o’ cake?”

“Yes please,” Charlotte accepted.

————

BY THREE O’CLOCK IN the afternoon, Charlotte was already packed to leave with Narraway on the train the following morning, should it prove possible after all. She could not settle to anything. One moment she wanted to prepare the vegetables for dinner, then she forgot what she was intending to cook, or thought of something else to pack. Twice she imagined she heard someone at the door, but when she looked there was no one. Three times she went to check that Daniel and Jemima were doing their homework.

Then at last the knock on the door came, familiar in the rhythm, as if it were a person she knew. She turned and almost ran to open it.

On the step was Gracie, her smile so wide it lit her whole face with triumph. Next to her stood another young woman, several inches taller, slender, and with unruly hair she had done her best to tame, unsuccessfully. But the thing that caught Charlotte’s attention was the intelligence in her eyes, even though now she looked definitely nervous.

“This is Minnie Maude,” Gracie announced, as if she were a magician pulling a rabbit out of a top hat.

Minnie Maude dropped a tiny curtsy, obviously not quite sure enough to do it properly.

Charlotte could not hide her smile—not of amusement, but of relief. “How do you do, Minnie Maude. Please come in. If Gracie has explained my difficulty to you, then you know how delighted I am to see you.” She opened the door more widely and turned to lead the way. She took them into the kitchen because it was warmer, and it would be Minnie Maude’s domain, if she accepted the position.

“Please sit down,” Charlotte invited them. “Would you like tea?” It was a rhetorical question. One made tea automatically.

“I’ll do it,” Gracie said instantly.

“You will not!” Charlotte told her. “You don’t work here, you are my guest.” Then she saw the startled look on Gracie’s face. “Please,” she added.

Gracie sat down suddenly, looking awkward.

Charlotte set about making the tea. She had no cake to offer, but she cut lacy-thin slices of bread and butter, and there was fine-sliced cucumber and hard-boiled egg. Of course there was also jam, although it was a little early in the afternoon for anything so sweet.

“Gracie tells me that you have known each other for a very long time,” Charlotte said as she worked.

“Yes, ma’am, since I were eight,” Minnie Maude replied. “She ’elped me when me uncle Alf were killed, an’ Charlie got stole.” She drew in her breath as if to say something more and then changed her mind.

Charlotte had her back to the table, hiding her face and her smile. She imagined that Gracie had schooled Minnie Maude well in not saying too much, not offering what was not asked for.

“Did she also explain that my husband is in Special Branch?” she asked. “Which is a sort of police, but dealing with people who are trying to cause war and trouble of one sort or another to the whole country.”

“Yes, ma’am. She said as ’e were the best detective in all England,” Minnie Maude replied. There was a warmth of admiration in her voice already.

Charlotte brought the plate of bread and butter over and set it on the table.

“He is very good,” she agreed. “But that might be a slight exaggeration. At the moment he has had to go abroad on a case, unexpectedly. My previous maid left without any notice, because she misunderstood something that happened, and felt she could not stay. I have to leave tomorrow morning very early, because of another problem that has arisen.” It sounded peculiar, even to her own ears.

“Yes, ma’am.” Minnie Maude nodded seriously. “A very important gentleman, as Gracie speaks very ’ighly of too. She said as someone is blaming ’im fer summink as ’e didn’t do, an’ you’re going to ’elp ’im, ’cos it’s the right thing ter do.”

Charlotte relaxed a little. “Exactly. I’m afraid we are a household of unexpected events, at times. But you will be in no danger at all. However, your job will involve considerable responsibility, because although I am here most of the time, I am not always.”

“Yes, ma’am. I bin in service before, but the lady I were with passed on, an’ I in’t found a new place yet. But Gracie said as she’ll come by every day, just ter make certain as everything’s all right, like.” Minnie Maude’s face was a little tense, her eyes never leaving Charlotte’s face.

Charlotte looked at Gracie and saw the confidence in her eyes, because she was sitting at the table sideways to her, the small hands knotted, knuckles white, in her lap. She made her decision.

“Then Minnie Maude, I would be very happy to engage you in the position of housemaid, starting immediately. I apologize for the urgency of the situation, and you will be compensated for the inconvenience by a double salary for the first month, to reflect also the fact that you will be alone at the beginning, which is always the most difficult time in a new place.”

Minnie Maude gulped. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“After tea I shall introduce you to Jemima and Daniel. They are normally well behaved, and the fact that you are a friend of Gracie’s will endear you to them from the beginning. Jemima knows where most things are. If you ask her, she will be happy to help you. In fact she will probably take a pride in it, but do not allow her to be cheeky. And that goes for Daniel as well. He will probably try your patience, simply to test you. Please do not let him get away with too much.”

The kettle was boiling and she made the tea, bringing it over to the table to brew. While they were waiting she explained some of the other household arrangements, and where different things were kept.

“I shall leave you a list of the tradesmen we use, and what they should charge you, although I daresay you are familiar with prices. But they might take advantage, if they think you don’t know.” She went on to tell her of the dishes Daniel and Jemima liked best, and the vegetables they were likely to refuse if they thought they could get away with it. “And rice pudding,” she finished. “That is a treat, not more than twice a week.”

“Wi’ nutmeg on the top?” Minnie Maude asked.

Charlotte glanced at Gracie, then smiled, the ease running through her like a warmth inside. “Exactly. I think this is going to work very well.”