Farriers' Lane - Anne Perry [170]
He went into a public house and pushed his way to the counter, and she went in after him, wriggling and following through people to find a place beside him, luxuriating in the warmth after the biting cold outside.
“Go away,” Joe said furiously, glaring at her.
Half a dozen people turned to look at him, then at Gracie.
“Not till yer come an’ look at the bloke wot did it,” she replied stubbornly, sniffing as the sudden warmth made her nose run.
“Don’t yer never give up?” he whispered. “I told yer—they won’t believe me, whatever I say. I’d be wastin’ me time. Don’t yer ’ave no wits at all?”
She did not bother to argue her intelligence.
“You just come an’ look at this bloke. If it were ’im, they’ll believe yer.”
“Yeah? Why’s that then?” Skepticism was deep in his thin face.
She was not going to tell him Pitt knew Harrimore was guilty. He might not understand the necessity for proof. Nor could she easily explain how she knew such a thing.
“I can’t explain everything to yer.” She sniffed again.
“Yer don’t know.”
“Yes, I do so. An’ I’m still goin’ ter foller yer till yer ’ave a real look at ’im. The rozzers won’t bovver yer, if that’s wot yer scared of.”
“Don’t yer talk down ter me like that, yer miserable little article,” he said furiously. “Yer’d be scared too, if’n yer ’ad two wits to rub tergether. You any idea wot them rozzers can do, if they takes a real nasty to yer? And they do, if yer says as their evidence in’t no good. Ask me—I know!”
“You don’t ’ave ter tell the rozzers, not ter begin wif,” she said triumphantly. “Jus’ come and look at ’im, and tell me.” He turned away and she pulled at his sleeve. “An’ I swear I’ll leave yer alone. If’n yer don’t, I’ll come wif yer everyw’ere.”
“No rozzers?” he said warily.
“I swear it.”
“Then I’ll meet yer ’ere at six, and we’ll go an’ look at ’im. Now leave me alone to ’ave a pint in peace.”
“I’ll wait outside for yer.” She sniffed again.
“Gawd, woman. I said I’ll come.”
“Yeah—and mebbe I believe yer, an’ mebbe I don’t.”
“Go on outside then. And stop sniffing!”
As a show of goodwill Gracie withdrew reluctantly out into the biting cold again. She waited patiently in the dark and the slow drizzle, watching carefully in case he should try to slip out past her.
But half an hour later she saw his thin form and pale face with a surge of relief as if he had been a long-standing friend. She darted forward, nearly slipping on the slick stones and finding her feet were totally numb. She was cold to the bone.
“Yer ready now, then?” she said eagerly.
He looked at her sideways with disgust, and she knew with a funny little sinking inside her that he had hoped she had given up and gone. She grunted with determination, and a full intention of showing how she did not care. This was entirely a matter of business. Who cared what he thought of her?
Wordlessly they walked side by side along the narrow footpath, freezing paving stones gleaming under the lamps as they passed from one pool of light to another. Dim halos of rain ringed each one, and beside them in the street wheels splashed and hissed on the wet road. Carriages loomed out of the darkness and disappeared into it again.
“Can’t yer keep up?” Joe demanded, then immediately gripped her hand and held it hard, keeping her close to him as they passed groups of people, some huddled around braziers of hot chestnuts or other food, others pressing into the half shelter of doorways.
“We gotter get an omnibus,” Gracie said breathlessly. “It’s up west. ’e’s a toff.”
“W’ere west?” he demanded.
“Chelsea—Markham Square.”
“Then we’ll go on the train,” he replied.
“Wot train?”
“The underground train. Ter Sloane Square. In’t yer never bin on the underground train?”
“I never ’eard of it.” Then she realized how ignorant that made her sound. “Me mistress goes by ’ansom, or in someone’s carriage,” she added. “We don’t ’ave no need o’ trains unless we’re goin