Buckingham Palace Gardens - Anne Perry [138]
“I was asked not to, Mrs. Newsome,” Tyndale said miserably. “It was not my choice.”
She kept her back to him. Her voice trembled. “And did you complain? Did you say that it was necessary to take me into your confidence, and that I am to be trusted as much as you are?”
He did not answer. He had been distracted with anxiety, even fear, and he had not.
Gracie sighed. This was all so terribly painful, and it did not have to be. “Mrs. Newsome, ma’am,” she said softly, “if yer ’adn’t ’ated me, if yer’d bin nice ter me, like it were all all right, then someone like Ada’d ’ave known there were summink different, an’ she’d ’ave worked it out. It weren’t until Mrs. Sorokine got killed as we knew ’oo it were as done it. An’ ter be honest, even now we in’t fer certain sure. Not completely. There’s still things we don’t know—like wot were in that box wot Edwards ’elped ter carry up the stairs ter Mr. Dunkeld the same night as poor Sadie were gettin’ killed. An’ wot were in it when ’e took it back down again.”
Mrs. Newsome turned and stared at her. The color in her face was ebbing away, leaving only two blotches on her cheeks. She looked at Mr. Tyndale as if Gracie had not even been there. She drew in her breath sharply, then let it out in silence.
“We gotta find out,” Gracie urged. “We in’t got much longer before they ’ave ter take Mr. Sorokine away!”
Mrs. Newsome reacted at last. “Then I suppose we had better speak to Edwards, and see what he tells us about the box,” she replied. “I will send for him, and return.”
The moment she was gone, Gracie pushed the door closed again and looked at Tyndale. He was still unhappy. Something had been lost that he had no idea how to replace.
“She’s ’urt because she got left out,” she observed. “Yer did right ter tell ’er. We in’t got no choice.”
“Indeed,” he replied, but she knew that was not what he was thinking. Mrs. Newsome had not trusted him, and nothing she could say or do now would heal that.
“She don’t trust yer,” Gracie said aloud.
He did not meet her eyes. “I am aware of that, Miss Phipps.” He was angry and hurt that she should make a point of the obvious.
“An’ she sees it like yer don’t trust ’er,” she added.
“That is quite different! I was bound to secrecy by duty. I did not imagine for a moment that Mrs. Newsome had done anything wrong,” he protested.
Gracie gave a tiny shrug. “No, Mr. Tyndale, I don’t s’pose yer ever done nothing wrong like she thinks neither, but yer works bleedin’ ’ard ter protect them as does, an’ turn a blind eye ter things wot curls yer stomach. ’Ow’s she ter know?”
He looked startled, then deeply embarrassed. He could think of nothing to say, but she could see it in his eyes that quite suddenly he understood, and a wealth of conflict and realization opened up in front of him. Perhaps she had said far too much, but it was too late to take it back.
Mrs. Newsome returned with a very nervous Edwards, who answered Mr. Tyndale’s questions without any of his usual insolence.
“Yes, sir, it was heavy.”
“Did they rattle around?” Tyndale asked. “Move at all when you changed the balance going upstairs?”
“No, sir, not much moving at all. If it wasn’t books, what was it, Mr. Tyndale?”
“I don’t know,” Tyndale replied. “How heavy was it when you took it down again?”
“Pretty much the same, sir.”
Gracie felt her heart pounding. Maybe she was right!
Tyndale looked at her, puzzled, then back at Edwards. “Are you certain of that?”
“Yes, sir. It was still heavy. I reckon as he sent some books back as well.”
“Did you look inside it?”
“No, sir! ’Course I didn’t.”
“Thank you. You can go,” Tyndale told him.
As soon as he was gone, Gracie excused herself also and raced up the stairs to find Pitt. It was the last piece of the puzzle.
“’Ave they took ’im yet?” she said breathlessly.
“If you mean Sorokine, no.” He looked up from the paper he was writing for Narraway, a brief and unsatisfying account of the case. There would be no prosecution. Perhaps tonight Pitt would be in his own bed.
Gracie