Betrayal at Lisson Grove - Anne Perry [38]
‘Yer goin’ ter Ireland? Yer goin’ ter ’elp ’im . . . ?’ She reached out her hand, almost as if to touch Charlotte’s where it lay on the table, then snatched it back self-consciously. She was no longer an employee, but it was a liberty too far, for all the years they had known each other. She took a deep breath. ‘Yer ’ave gotta!’
‘I know. I mean to,’ Charlotte assured her. ‘But since Mrs Waterman has walked out – in disgust and outraged morality, because Mr Narraway was alone in the parlour with me after dark – I have to find someone to replace her before I can leave.’
A succession of emotions passed across Gracie’s face: anger, indignation, impatience and a degree of amusement. ‘Stupid ol’ ’ap’orth,’ she said with disgust. ‘Got minds like cesspits, some o’ them ol’ vinegar virgins. Not that Mr Narraway don’t ’ave a soft spot for yer, an’ all.’ The smile lit her eyes for an instant, then was gone again. She might not have dared say that when she worked for Charlotte, but she was a respectable married woman now, and in her own kitchen, in her own house. She wouldn’t have changed places with the Queen – and she had met the Queen, which was more than most could say.
‘Gracie, Emily is away and so is my mother,’ Charlotte told her gravely. ‘I can’t go and leave Jemima and Daniel until I find someone to look after them, someone I can trust completely. Where do I look? Who can recommend someone without any doubt or hesitation at all?’
Gracie was silent for so long that Charlotte realised she had asked an impossible question.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘That was unfair.’
The kettle was boiling and began to whistle. Gracie stood up, picked up the cloth to protect her hands, and pulled it away from the heat. She swilled a little of the steaming water around the teapot to warm it, emptied it down the sink, and then made the tea. She carried the pot carefully over to the table and set it on a metal trivet to protect the wood. Then she sat down again.
‘I can,’ she said.
Charlotte blinked. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I can recommend someone,’ Gracie said. ‘Minnie Maude Mudway. I knowed ’er since before I ever met you, or come to yer ’ouse. She lived near where I used ter, in Spitalfields, just round the corner, couple o’ streets along. ‘Er uncle were killed. I ’elped ’er find ’oo done it, ’member?’
Charlotte was confused, trying to find the memory, and failing.
‘You were riding the donkey, for Christmas,’ Gracie urged. ‘Minnie Maude were eight then, but she’s growed up now. Yer can trust ’er, ’cos she don’t never, ever give up. I’ll find ’er for yer. An’ I’ll go ter Keppel Street meself an’ check on them every day.’
Charlotte looked at Gracie’s small, earnest face, the gently steaming teapot and the home-made cake with its rich sultanas, the whole lovingly immaculate kitchen.
‘Thank you,’ she said softly. ‘That would be excellent. If you call in every day then I shan’t worry.’
Gracie smiled widely. ‘Yer like a piece o’ cake?’
‘Yes, please,’ Charlotte accepted.
By three o’clock in the afternoon, Charlotte was already packed to leave with Narraway on the train the following morning, should it prove possible after all. She could not settle to anything. One moment she wanted to prepare the vegetables for dinner, then she forgot what she was intending to cook, or thought of something else to pack. Twice she imagined she heard someone at the door, but when she looked there was no one. Three times she went to check that Daniel and Jemima were doing their homework.
Then at last the knock on the door came, familiar in the rhythm, as if it were a person she knew. She turned and almost ran to open it.
On the step was Gracie, her smile so wide it lit her whole face with triumph. Next to her stood another young woman, several inches taller, slender, and with unruly hair she had done her best to tame, unsuccessfully. But the thing that caught Charlotte’s attention was the intelligence in her eyes, even though now she looked definitely