Long Spoon Lane - Anne Perry [66]
“Isn’t that what you’d want?” he asked, hearing the fierce admiration in her voice, and seeing it in the brilliance of her eyes as she stared at him.
She hesitated, somehow caught in doubt.
He did not understand. “Well, isn’t it?” He was certain he had not misread her emotion. Apart from knowing her, it was what he believed himself.
She looked away. “I know as ’e’s gotter do it,” she said so softly he only just heard her. Then she swung back, her eyes blazing, full of tears. “But you ’aven’t! If they guesses wot yer doin’, ’oo’s gonna pull yer out, eh?” She gulped, her body stiff, shoulders square and tight. “Yer in the police all by yerself, an’ if they catch yer ’e can’t do nothin’ ter ’elp, nor can nobody else!”
He opened his mouth to deny that he was doing anything dangerous.
“An’ don’t yer lie ter me, Samuel Tellman!” she said, almost choking on the words. “Jus’ don’t yer dare!”
“I wasn’t going to lie,” he said stiffly. Now he had no choice. If he allowed her to dictate to him what he was going to do, or not do, he would be making a rod for his back from which he would not be free for the rest of his life. No matter how he loved her, he was not going to have that. “I wanted to save you the worry of talking about it,” he went on. “But you pushed your way in, I don’t know how. I never told you, and I’m sure Mr. Pitt didn’t either.”
“Yer don’t ’ave ter tell me,” she retorted, still whispering fiercely. “I can work it out for meself! Them anarchists blew up ’ouses wot belongs ter a rozzer from Cannon Street, on purpose, like. Parliament’s busy tryin’ ter make laws ter give yer all guns, wot Mr. Pitt don’t want, cos ’e says they’ll just make policin’ ’arder by puttin’ everyone’s back up agin yer. An ’is ’ole station o’ Bow Street is run by a schemin’ sod as we all know is ’ead o’ the Inner Circle wot near killed Mr. Pitt before.”
“Gracie!” he hissed warningly. “Keep your voice down! You don’t know who’s listening!”
She ignored him. “Lady Vespasia’s all worried about it, and Miss Emily,” she went on. “Yer can’t go ter the music ’all cos yer too busy, an’ when yer do, yer that tired yer got circles ’round yer eyes like someone’s ’it yer! Yer think I can’t work it out fer meself?”
He should have known better than to hope she would remain ignorant of at least the size of the trouble. But it made no difference to his duty.
“It seems you can,” he conceded. “I hoped you would not need to know, so you wouldn’t worry.”
She snorted with contempt for the idea.
“But I’m still going to do all I can,” he said firmly. “And don’t ask me again, because I don’t want to have to tell you not to, and I’m definitely not saying what’s happening, not because I don’t trust you, but so’s you don’t have to keep secrets from Mrs. Pitt, nor tell lies to her.”
“She knows!” Gracie said with a gulp. “She can work it out too! We know they blew up that ’ouse cos the policeman wot lived in it’s rotten!”
“Then it won’t matter if I don’t say anything,” he responded. “Now there’s an end to it, Gracie. That’s how it’s going to be, and you’d best get used to it.” He sat very still and stared at her levelly, his face grave.
She looked furious, her fists clenched in her lap, small, white-knuckled, almost like a child’s. She breathed in and out several times, as if her mind were racing for some answer to give him. He saw the fear in her eyes, wide, dark, and overwhelmingly real.
He almost wavered. What if she felt so shut out, so excluded, that she would not forgive him? He drew in his breath to say something gentler.
“Yes, Samuel,” she said softly.
“What?” He was astounded. She was obeying him!
“Yer ’eard me!” Her voice was high and angry again. “I in’t saying it twice fer yer! Jus’…jus’ take care o’ yerself, eh? Promise me…”
“I promise you!” he answered with overwhelming relief. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her, but she would be mortified if he were to do something like that in such a public place.