Bedford Square - Anne Perry [118]
“I didn’t follow him today,” he replied. “Nothing to follow him for.”
“So ’e din’t do nuffin’, then?” she concluded. “Never thought as ’e did.” She sniffed.
Tellman was silent. If anything, his discomfort seemed to have increased. Watching him, Charlotte was aware that his mind was going through a kind of turmoil quite unfamiliar to him. His ideas had been challenged and found severely wanting. He had been forced to change his opinions about someone, presumably General Balantyne, and so perhaps a great many other people he had previously grouped together as a class and now had been obliged to see as individuals. To have one’s prejudices overthrown is always painful, at least at first, even if one can eventually accommodate them, and it becomes liberating in some distant future.
She felt sorry for him, but that would be the last thing he would want. She still remembered now and then how when she had first met Pitt he had shown her another world, full of individual people with loves and dreams, fears, loneliness and pain, perhaps different in cause but essentially the same as her own. Before that she had barely noticed some of the ordinary men and women in the streets; they had been a class to her rather than people just as unique as she was, with lives as full of incident and feeling as her own. The realization of how blind she had been was painful. She had despised her own narrowness, and it was not easy to acknowledge it even now.
She could see the confusion in Tellman’s face, his bent head, his bony hands lying on the table beside the mug of tea Gracie had given him.
Angus, the black cat, came in through the back door and sauntered across to sit so close to Archie that he was obliged to move. Angus began to wash himself.
Gracie cleared her throat. “Well, if yer like I can get yer a kipper an’ some bread an’ butter?” she offered, barely glancing at Charlotte to gain her permission. She was about detecting business, and that did not really require any additional sanction.
Tellman hesitated, but his desire to accept was far plainer than he could possibly have realized.
Gracie gave up, shrugging her shoulders. She treated him as she would seven-year-old Daniel; she took the decision out of his hands. She snatched the skillet from the rack and put it on the hob, poured water from the kettle into it, then went for the kipper.
“Yer ’avin’ it poached,” she said over her shoulder. “I in’t messin’ around wif fryin’. Anyway, tenderer poached.” And she disappeared into the larder to fetch it.
Tellman glanced up to Charlotte anxiously.
“You are very welcome, Mr. Tellman,” she said warmly. “I’m glad you have discovered General Balantyne is not involved in the death of Josiah Slingsby, and I am grateful to hear it.”
He bit his lip. He was still confused inside himself.
“He seems to be a good man, Mrs. Pitt, a good soldier. I spoke to quite a few men who served with him. They have a lot of … respect for him … more than that … a kind of … loyalty … affection.” The surprise and reluctance was still in his voice.
Charlotte found herself smiling, partly with sheer relief. She had not thought differently, but it was important to have Tellman say so. She was also amused to see his expression.
Gracie came back with a large kipper and, ignoring both of them, placed it in the simmering pan with satisfaction. Both cats immediately sat up, noses quivering, startled, and went eagerly towards the stove. Then Gracie went to the wooden breadbox and took out a loaf. Cutting them first from the end, she buttered several thin slices and laid them on a plate. She refilled the kettle and set it on the hob, working busily, as if she were alone in the room.
Still smiling to herself, Charlotte decided to leave them. Tellman could work through his awkwardness the best he was able. He gave her a quick, rather desperate look as she went to the door, but she pretended to have no idea of the emotion in the room, and excused herself to have a game of charades with Jemima and Daniel, leaving Gracie to finish