Highgate Rise - Anne Perry [91]
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Pitt. Are you looking for someone?”
“I expect you could help me, if you would be so kind,” Charlotte answered, forcing a warmth into her voice which did not come naturally in the face of Lally’s chill gaze.
“Indeed?” Lally looked beyond her at Gracie with slightly raised brows. “Is this lady with you?”
“She is my maid.” Charlotte was conscious as she said it of sounding a trifle pompous, but there was no other reasonable answer.
“Good gracious!” Lally’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you unwell?”
“I am perfectly well, thank you.” It was becoming harder and harder to keep an amiability in her tone. She wanted to tell Lally she owed her no account of her arrangements and would give none, but that would defeat her purpose. She needed at the least an ally, better still a friend. “It is on Gracie’s behalf we are here,” she continued her civil tone with an effort. “She has just heard that her uncle has died and left her aunt in very poor circumstances, most probably a charge on the parish. Perhaps you would be kind enough to tell me which of the ladies in the neighborhood have been most involved in charitable works and might know of her whereabouts.”
Lally was quite obviously torn between her dislike for Charlotte and her compassion for Gracie, who was staring at her belligerently, but Lally apparently took it for well-controlled grief.
“You do not know her address?” She looked past Charlotte as if she had not been there. It was an excellent compromise.
Gracie’s mind was quick. “I know ’er old ’ouse, ma’am; but I’m afraid wot wif poor Uncle Albert bein’ took so sudden, and not much put by, that they might’a bin put out on the street. They’d ’ave no one to turn to, ’ceptin the parish.”
Lally’s face softened. “There’s been no Albert buried in this parish, child; not in more than a year. And believe me, I mark every burial. It is part of my Christian duty, as well as my wish. Are you sure it is here in Highgate?”
Gracie did not look at Charlotte, but she was acutely conscious of her a foot or two away.
“Oh, yes ma’am,” she replied earnestly. “I’m sure that’s wot they said. Per’aps if you would just tell us the names o’ the other ladies as ’elps them as is in trouble, we could ask an’ mebbe they’d know, like?” She smiled appealingly, putting to the front of her mind their purpose in having come; it was, after all, the greater loyalty. This must be what detecting involved, learning facts people were reluctant to tell you.
Lally was won over, in spite of herself. Still ignoring Charlotte she directed her answer to Gracie.
“Of course. Mrs. Hatch may be able to assist you, or Mrs. Dalgetty, or Mrs. Simpson, Mrs. Braithwaite or Miss Crombie. Would you like their addresses?”
“Oh, yes ma’am, if you’d be so good?”
“Of course.” Lally fished in her reticule for a piece of paper, and failed to find a pencil.
Charlotte produced one and handed it to her. She took it in silence, wrote for several moments, then gave the slip to Gracie, who took it, still without looking at Charlotte, and held on to it tightly. She thanked Lally with a slight curtsey.
“That’s ever so kind of you, ma’am.”
“Not at all,” Lally said generously. Then her expression clouded over again and she looked at Charlotte. “Good day, Mrs. Pitt. I hope you are successful.” She passed back the pencil. “Now if you will excuse me I have several vases of flowers to finish and then some calls to make.” And she turned her back on them and began furiously poking daisies into the rolled-up wire mesh in the vase, sticking them in at all angles.
Side by side Charlotte and Gracie left, eyes downcast until they were outside. Then immediately Gracie pushed the paper at Charlotte with a glow of triumph.
Charlotte took it and