Betrayal at Lisson Grove - Anne Perry [26]
Only a matter of hours had passed since Austwick had come into Narraway’s office. Narraway had thought little enough of it: a nuisance, no more. Then Croxdale had sent for him, and everything had changed. It was like going down a steep flight of stairs, and finding the last step was not there. You were plunged into a void, arms flailing, and there was nothing at all to catch on to.
He lay until daylight, realising with a pain that amazed him how much of himself he had lost. He was used to getting up whether he had slept or not. Duty was a relentless mistress, but suddenly he knew also that she was a constant companion, loyal, appreciative, above all never meaningless.
Without her he was naked, even to himself, let alone to others. He was accustomed to being not particularly liked. He had had too much power for that, and he knew too many secrets. But he had never before not been needed.
Chapter Three
Charlotte sat by the fire in the parlour alone, 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 Pitt, 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 took up the pinafore and began stitching 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 in her 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 total candour, 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 parlour door. The older woman immediately came in, her face pinched with displeasure.
‘There’s a gentleman called, 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 hair poking out of her rather loose coiffure. Her hair, which was a rich dark mahogany colour, 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