Cardington Crescent - Anne Perry [74]
Involuntarily Stripe stole a look at Lettie, prim in white lace over her black, and found she was also looking at him. Even in the gaslight her eyes were just as blue. He looked away again quickly, and was too self-conscious to eat, afraid he would push peas off his plate onto the sparkling cloth.
“Is your meal not to your taste, Mr.—er, Stripe?” the housekeeper asked coolly.
“Oh, excellent, ma’am, thank you,” he answered. Then as they were still looking at him he felt something more was required, and went on. “I—I suppose my thoughts was a little taken up.”
“Well, I hope you in’t going to discuss them ’ere!” The cook blew down her nose in distaste. “Really! We’ve already ’ad Rosie in ’ysterics, and Marigold given notice and gone ’eavens knows where. I don’t know what things are coming to, I swear I don’t!”
“We’ve never had police in a house where I’ve been before,” Sybilla’s maid said stiffly. “Never. It’s only my loyalty that keeps me in this house a moment longer.”
“Neither have we!” Lettie answered her, so quickly the words tripped off her tongue before she had time to consider them. “But what do you want? That we should be left to be murdered in our beds with no one to protect us? I’m very glad they’re here.”
“Ha! I daresay you are.” the housekeeper said tartly.
Lettie blushed a deep pink. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” She looked down at her plate, and beside her one of the upstairs maids giggled, stifling it in her napkin when the butler glared at her.
Stripe felt an undeniable compulsion to defend her. How dare anyone slight her and cause her embarrassment!
“Very dignified of you, miss,” he said, looking straight at her. “Understandin’ adversity and takin’ it calm, like. Good sense is about the best cure for times like these. Lot of ’arm avoided if there was more who showed it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Stripe,” Lettie said demurely. But the pinkness crept further up her cheeks, and he dared to hope it was pleasure.
The rest of the meal passed in conversation about trivialities, but when Stripe could no longer think of anything else to ask, Pitt having exhausted his duties in the front of the house, it was time to leave. He went with regret, replaced by a ridiculous elation as Lettie came down into the kitchen on some slight pretext, caught his eye and bade him good night, and then, swishing her skirt with an elegant little step, vanished up the stairs and into the hallway.
Stripe opened his mouth to reply, but it was too late. He turned and saw Pitt smiling, and knew his admiration—he would still call it that—was too plain in his face.
“Very nice,” Pitt said approvingly. “And sensible.”
“Er, yes, sir.”
Pitt’s smile widened. “But suspicious, Stripe, very suspicious. I think you had better question her a lot more—see what she knows.”
“Oh no, sir! She’s as—Oh.” He caught Pitt’s eye. “Yes, sir, I’ll do that, sir. Tomorrow morning, first thing, sir.”
“Good. And good luck, Stripe.”
But Stripe was too full of emotion to speak.
Upstairs in the dining room, dinner was worse than even Charlotte could have imagined. Everyone was there, including Emily, looking ashen with misery. All the women wore either black or gray, except Aunt Vespasia who always refused to. She wore lavender. The first course was served in near silence. By the time they had let their soup grow cold and pushed whitefish in a sauce like glue from one side of the plate to the other, the oppression was becoming unbearable.
“Impertinent little man!” Mrs. March burst out suddenly.
Everyone froze, horrified, wondering wildly whom she was addressing.
“I beg your pardon?” Jack Radley looked up, eyebrows raised.
“The policeman—Spot, or whatever his name is,” Mrs. March