Buckingham Palace Gardens - Anne Perry [76]
In spite of the danger, Gracie felt a surge of elation.
“You are being too quick, Mrs. Newsome,” Mr. Tyndale said with an edge to his voice. “The circumstances are unusual at the moment. Everyone is frightened and shocked by what has happened—”
“Phipps was not here when it happened,” Mrs. Newsome interrupted him. “She cannot use that as an excuse.”
“It was not Phipps who raised the issue, Mrs. Newsome.” The color was high in Mr. Tyndale’s face now also, and his hand on the table was clenched. “It was I. Before you spoke, I was about to say that none of the staff is behaving as usual. I have noticed several other irregularities. But with the police questioning people, and guests who are plainly under a great burden of anxiety, and even greater fear than ours, we cannot expect the same standard of conduct from anyone as we would at any other time.”
Mrs. Newsome opened her mouth, and then closed it again. Her lips were white, her eyes burning with anger and embarrassment. He had curbed her, quite sharply, in front of the junior servants. Judging from the silence all around the table, that was something that had not happened before. Gracie was surprised to feel so uncomfortable for her.
“Continue with your supper,” Mr. Tyndale ordered, and one by one they all picked up their knives and forks again and began to eat, conscious of every movement, every sound. No one spoke, not even to ask for the salt or the teapot.
Gracie’s mind raced. She had seen Ada’s look of anger and puzzlement, and she knew it would not be long before she worked out how to launch another attack. Next time it might even compromise Mr. Tyndale. He had been unwise, at the very least, to expose his position as Gracie’s defender, and Ada had unquestionably noticed it.
Mrs. Newsome would not forget that either, and both Gracie and Mr. Tyndale would probably have to pay. This rivalry, anger, and manipulation was something she had not even thought about before. In comparison, Keppel Street seemed an island of peace, nothing to do but tasks she was used to and knew she did well. No one to answer to most of the time, and when there was, it was only Mrs. Pitt, who, in spite of being born into gentry, never gave herself airs.
Gracie wondered if she would be as happy as Mrs. Pitt when she married Samuel! It would be a totally new experience and she would lose all the little things she was familiar with. She was taken aback to realize that as well as excited, she was also a little afraid, even sad.
Of course, if Mr. Pitt did not solve this horrible crime, then everything might change, probably for all of them. And if it did, would Gracie be able to leave them at all, even to marry Samuel? It would seem like a desertion. She might even have to stay and work without any pay, just her food. Not that she would mind that; it would be fair.
Gracie finished her rice pudding and declined another slice of bread and jam. When they had all put down their knives or spoons, she rose and waited a few moments to see which way Mr. Tyndale was going, then followed after him. She hoped everyone else assumed she was going to apologize.
She caught up with him in the pantry. She wanted to close the door, but she remembered the speculation that had caused before and left it ajar. She spoke very quietly. This was desperately awkward, and she had to do it immediately, before she lost her nerve.
“Mr. Tyndale, sir,” she began, “I’m very grateful that you stood up for me, ’cos Ada’s making things right awkward, which is why I were late. But you didn’t ought ter, ’cos yer can’t tell no one why I’m ’ere, an’ being the way they are, they’re gonna think summink else, wot in’t fair.” She took a deep breath. “You gotter stay ’ere, sir, but I don’t, so it don’t matter wot they think