Cardington Crescent - Anne Perry [100]
Then more regular contractions cut out all conversation, and it was time for Tassie to begin her work with words of command and encouragement, and all the towels, and eventually, water. Without ever making the decision to, Charlotte helped. And at half past three in the narrow, shabby room the old miracle was fulfilled, and a perfect child was born. The girl, in a clean nightgown, exhausted, hair wet, but flushed with joy, held him in her arms and asked Charlotte timidly if she would mind if the baby were named Charlie, after her. She said quite honestly that she would count it a very great honor.
At quarter past four, as the summer dawn splashed the sky pearl above the sloping maze of roofs, gray with grime and soot, Charlotte and Tassie left the house and, with the urchin dancing a little jig, were led back to the avenue from which they could find Cardington Crescent and home. Mungo Hare did not come with them; he had said goodbye to Tassie at the corner of the alley. He had other tasks before he reported to Mr. Beamish for the ritual of the morning service.
Charlotte felt like dancing, too, except that her legs would not obey such a hectic call after the extraordinary demands that had already been made upon them. But she found herself singing some snatch of a music hall number because of its sheer joy, and after a moment Tassie joined in. Side by side they marched along the avenue in the white dawn, blood-spattered, hair wild, as the birds in the sycamores welcomed the day.
In Cardington Crescent they found the scullery door still unlocked and crept in past the piles of vegetables and the rows of pans on the wall, up the stone step into the kitchen. Another half hour and the first maids would be down to clean out the stove, renew the blacking, and get the fires going and the ovens ready for breakfast when the cook appeared. Not long after that the housemaids would be up, too, to prepare the dining room and begin the daily round.
“Haven’t you ever run into anyone?” Charlotte whispered.
“No. I have had to hide in the stillroom once or twice.” Tassie looked at her anxiously. “You won’t tell anyone about Mungo, will you? Please.”
“Of course not!” Charlotte was horrified that the possibility could have crossed Tassie’s mind. “What do you think of me that you need to ask? Are you going to marry him?”
Tassie’s chin came up. “Yes! Papa will be furious, but if he won’t give me permission I shall just have to do without. I love Mungo more than anyone else in the world—except Grandmama Vespasia, and William. But that’s different.”
“Good!” Charlotte clasped her arm in a fierce little gesture of companionship. “If I can help, I will.”
“Thank you.” Tassie meant it profoundly, but there was no time for conversation now. They could not afford to linger; they were later than was safe as it was. On tiptoe Charlotte followed her along the corridor, past the housekeeper’s sitting room and the butler’s pantry to the baize door and the main hallway.
They were as far as the foot of the great stairway when they heard the click of the morning room door and Eustace’s voice behind them.
“Mrs. Pitt, your conduct is beyond explanation. You will pack your belongings and leave my house this morning.”
For an instant Charlotte and Tassie both froze, tingling with horror. Then, slowly and in unison, they turned to face him. He stood three or four yards away, just outside the morning room door, a candle in his hand dripping hot wax into its holder. He was wearing his nightshirt with a robe over it, tied round the waist, and a nightcap on his head. It was broad sunrise outside, but in here the velvet curtains had not been drawn and the flame of the candle held high was necessary to see their faces and the dark stains of the afterbirth splashed down their skirts. In spite of the dreadfulness of the moment, Charlotte could not quench in herself