Betrayal at Lisson Grove - Anne Perry [141]
Pitt wanted to argue with her, but he was exhausted. If it was in any way morally acceptable he would like to lie down for an hour or two and allow his mind to let go of everything. He couldn’t remember when he had last relaxed totally, let alone had the inner peace of knowing that Charlotte was beside him, that she was safe.
He looked at Narraway.
Narraway gave a bleak smile. ‘It’s good advice. We’ll get up at four, and leave at five.’ He glanced towards Vespasia to see that it met with her agreement.
She nodded.
‘I’m coming with you,’ Charlotte said, there was no question in her voice, just a simple statement. She turned to Pitt. ‘I’m sorry. It is not a question of not wanting to be left out, or of any idea that I am indispensable. But I can’t let Aunt Vespasia travel alone. It would be remarked on, for a start. Surely the servants at Osborne would consider it very odd?’
Of course she was right. Pitt should have thought of it himself. It was a large omission on his part that he had not. ‘Of course,’ he agreed. ‘Now let’s retire while we still have a couple of hours left.’
When they were upstairs and the door closed Charlotte looked at him with gentleness and intense apology. ‘I’m sorry . . .’ she began.
‘Be quiet,’ he answered. ‘Let’s just be together, while we can.’
She walked into his arms and held him close. He was so tired that he was almost asleep on his feet. Moments later, when they lay down, he was dimly aware that she was still holding him.
In the morning Pitt left to return to Lisson Grove. Charlotte, Vespasia and Narraway took the coach south along the main road to the nearest railway station to catch the next train to Southampton, and from there the ferry to the Isle of Wight.
‘If nothing is happening yet we may have a little trouble in gaining an audience with the Queen,’ Narraway said when they were sitting in a private compartment in the train. The soothing rattle of the wheels over the rails rhythmically clattered at every joint. ‘But if the enemy are there already, we will have to think of a better way of getting inside.’
‘Can we purchase a black Gladstone bag in Southampton?’ Charlotte suggested. ‘With a few bottles and powders from an apothecary, Victor could pose as a doctor. I shall be his nurse.’ She glanced at Vespasia. ‘Or your lady’s maid. I have no skills in either, but am sufficiently plainly dressed to pass, at least briefly.’
Vespasia considered for only a moment. ‘An excellent idea,’ she agreed. ‘But we should get you a plainer gown, and an apron. A good white one, without ornament, should serve for either calling. I think Victor’s nurse would be better. The staff will be very familiar with lady’s maids; nurses they might know less. Do you agree, Victor?’
There was a flash of amusement in his eyes. ‘Of course. We will arrange it all as soon as we arrive at the station.’
‘You think we are late already, don’t you?’ Charlotte said to him.
He made no pretence. ‘Yes. If I were they, I would have acted by now.’
An hour and a half later they approached the spacious, comfortable house in which Queen Victoria had chosen to spend so many years of her life, particularly since the death of Prince Albert. Osborne seemed to offer her a comfort she found nowhere else in the more magnificent castles and palaces that were also hers.
The house looked totally at peace in the fitful spring sun. Most of the trees were in leaf, in a clean, almost gleaming translucency. The grass was vivid green. There was blossom on the blackthorn and the may was in heavy bud.
Osborne was set in the gently rolling parkland that one would expect of any family mansion of the extremely wealthy. Much of the land was wooded, but also there were wide, well-kept sweeps of grass, which gave it a feeling of great space and light. The house had been designed by Prince Albert himself, who had clearly much admired the opulent elegance of the Italian villas. It had two magnificent