Bedford Square - Anne Perry [40]
“Drink water,” he replied.
She shot him a razor-sharp look, but took the caddy in her hand and went over to the stove. “Yer’d best get some plates down too, then,” she instructed. “T want some cake, whether you do or not.”
He obeyed. He might as well leave the message with her. It would get to Pitt the fastest way.
They sat on opposite sides of the kitchen table, stiff and very formal, sipping tea that was too hot and eating the cake, which was excellent.
He told her about Albert Cole and the 33rd Foot Regiment, and the Abyssinian Expedition, and that Balantyne had been there too, seconded from India.
She looked very serious indeed, as if the news upset her.
“I’ll tell ’im,” she promised. “D’yer think as General Balantyne did this feller in, then?”
“Could have.” He would not commit himself too far. If he said yes, and was then proved mistaken, she would lose respect for him.
“Wot’ll yer do next?” she asked gravely, her eyes steady on his face.
“Learn everything else I can about Cole,” he told her. “He must have had a reason for finding Balantyne again after all this time. It’s nearly a quarter of a century since then.”
She leaned forward. “It must be summink terrible important. If yer find it, yer’ll ’ave ter tell Mr. Pitt … w’erever ’e is or whatever ’e’s doin’. Yer’d best come ’ere an’ leave a message wif Mrs. Pitt or me. It can get real serious w’en it’s quality, like generals. Don’t you go doin’ nothin’ by yerself.” She looked at him with deep anxiety. “In fact … yer’d better let Mrs. Pitt know afore yer tell anyone else, ’cos she’s quality ’erself, so she can ’elp. She’d stop you an’ the Master from goin’ about it wrong, jus’ ’cos yer in’t the same kind o’ persons.” She looked at him with deep concern that he should understand.
She was just a maid, she had only very recently learned to read and write and she came from the back street of … he did not know where. Probably the same sort of place as he had himself, somewhere like Wandsworth or Billingsgate, or any of a hundred other downtrodden, overcrowded warrens of the poor. But she was a girl, and therefore not given even the rudiments of an education. Tellman, on the other hand, had definitely bettered himself.
But her suggestion did make a certain amount of sense.
She refilled his cup and cut him another slice of cake.
He accepted both with pleasure. She was a good cook, which surprised him. She looked too small and thin to know anything about food.
“You come an’ tell me,” she repeated. “An’ I’ll make sure the Mistress keeps the Master from gettin’ inter trouble ’cos o’ folks wot ’ave influence an’ could ’urt ’im, if it in’t done right.”
He was getting more and more comfortable in the kitchen. He disagreed with Gracie about all sorts of things. She had a great deal to learn, especially about social issues and fairness, and justice for people, but she was well-meaning, and no one could say she wasn’t brave and prepared to fight for her beliefs.
“I suppose that would be quite a good idea,” he conceded. He did not want Pitt to get into political trouble if it could be avoided, not necessarily entirely from loyalty to Pitt, about whom he told himself he was still ambivalent. But there was the matter of justice. If General Balantyne thought himself above the law, it would take skill, as well as good detective work, to catch him and prove it.
“Good,” Gracie said with satisfaction, taking a large piece of cake. “So yer’ll come ’ere an’ tell me, or the Mistress, wot yer know, an’ she’ll tell the Master, an’ at the same time ’elp ’im ter not go chargin’ in an’ mebbe the real truth’ll never get told. Back stairs and front stairs is different, yer know.” She watched him carefully to make sure he understood.
“Of course I know!” he said. “But they shouldn’t be. Rich men don’t make any better soldiers than poor men. In fact, worse!”
She squinted at him. “Wot yer talkin’ about?”
“General Balantyne is only a general because his father bought his commission for him,” he explained patiently. Perhaps he was expecting her to grasp too much.