Highgate Rise - Anne Perry [132]
A spark of laughter lit Vespasia’s eyes.
“Quite,” she agreed relentiessly. “You may take my carriage.”
“Thank you, Aunt Vespasia.”
Charlotte arrived at the lodging house where Shaw was temporarily resident exactly as the landlady was serving luncheon. This was ill-mannered in the extreme, but most practical. It was probably the only time when she could have found him present and not either in the act of repacking his bag to leave again or trying to catch up with his notes and messages.
He was obviously surprised to see her, when the landlady showed her in, but the expression on his face showed far more pleasure than irritation. If he minded being interrupted in his meal he hid it with great skill.
“Mrs. Pitt. How very agreeable to see you.” He rose, setting his napkin aside, and came around to greet her, holding out his hand and taking hers in a strong, warm grip.
“I apologize for calling at such an inconvenient time.” She was embarrassed already, and she had not yet even begun. “Please do not allow me to spoil your luncheon.” It was a fatuous remark. She had already done so by her mere presence. Whatever she said, he would not allow her to wait in the parlor while he ate in the dining room, and even if he were to, it could hardly be a comfortable repast in such circumstances. She felt her face coloring with awareness of the clumsy way she had begun. How could she possibly ask him all the intimate and personal questions she wished? Whether she ever learned if he was a fool—in Aunt Vespasia’s terms of reference—she herself most certainly was.
“Have you eaten?” he asked, still holding her hand.
She seized the opportunity he offered.
“No—no, I have somehow mislaid time this morning, and it is much later than I had realized.” It was a lie, but a very convenient one.
“Then Mrs. Turner will fetch you something, if you care to join me.” He indicated the table set for one. Whatever other lodgers there were resident, they appeared to take their midday meal elsewhere.
“I would not dream of inconveniencing Mrs. Turner.” She had only one answer open to her. She cooked herself; she knew perfectly well any woman with the slightest economy in mind did not prepare more than she knew would be required. “She cannot have been expecting me. But I should be most happy to take a cup of tea, and perhaps a few slices of bread and butter—if she would be so good. I had a late breakfast, and do not wish for a full meal.” That was not true either, but it would serve. She had eaten a considerable number of tomato sandwiches at Aunt Vespasia’s.
He swung his arms wide in an expansive gesture and walked over to the bell, pulling it sharply.
“Excellent,” he agreed, smiling because he knew as well as she did that they were reaching a compromise of courtesy and truth. “Mrs. Himer!” His voice rang through the room and must have been clearly audible to her long before she had even entered the hall, let alone the dining room.
“Yes, Dr. Shaw?” she said patiently as she opened the door.
“Ah! Mrs. Turner, can you bring a pot of tea for Mrs. Pitt—and perhaps a few slices of bread and butter. She is not in need of luncheon, but some slight refreshment would be most welcome.”
Mrs. Turner shook her head in a mixture of doubt and acceptance, glanced once at Charlotte, then hurried away to do as she was requested.
“Sit down, sit down,” Shaw offered, drawing out a chair for her and holding it while she made herself comfortable.
“Please continue with your meal.” She meant it as more than good manners. She knew he worked hard, and hated to think of him obliged to eat his boiled mutton, potatoes, vegetables and caper sauce cold.
He returned to his own seat and began to eat again with considerable appetite.
“What can I do for you, Mrs. Pitt?” It was a simple question and no more than courtesy dictated. Yet meeting his eyes across the polished wood set with dried flowers, a silver cruet stand and assorted handmade doilies, she knew any evasion would meet his immediate knowledge, and contempt.
She did not want to make a fool