Betrayal at Lisson Grove - Anne Perry [37]
‘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 a 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 teapot and cups ready, 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 disfavour came through her hands. Heavy as lead.’
Gracie turned round 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 . . . ?’ Her voice was husky with sudden fear.
‘No,’ Charlotte assured her hastily. She should not have let her think it even for an instant. ‘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 honour, 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. This was absurd, and certainly no time for such self-indulgence.
‘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.