Pentecost Alley - Anne Perry [119]
“Yes.” He did not want to think of it.
She rose to her feet. “Then we’d better go to bed while there’s still some of tonight left. Come …”
He rose also and turned off the gas, then put his arm around her, and together they went up the stairs. At least for a few hours he did not have to think of it.
In the morning Pitt got up early and went to the kitchen while Charlotte woke the children and began the chores of her own day. Gracie cooked him breakfast, glancing at him every now and then, her eyes narrowed, her little face pinched with anxiety. She had already seen the morning newspapers and heard there had been a second murder in Whitechapel. Charlotte had quite recently taught her to read, so she also knew most of what was being written, and she was ready to defend Pitt against anyone and everyone.
The afternoon editions would probably be worse, when there was more news to relate, more details, more accuracy from which to draw blame.
She clattered around, banging the crockery and leaving the kettle to whistle, because she was furious with the people who blamed Pitt, and frightened in case they made things even harder for him, and frustrated because she did not know what she could do to help. She did not even know whether she should mention it or not.
“Gracie, you’ll break it,” Pitt said gently.
“Sorry, sir.” She dropped the kettle with a crash. “It just makes me so mad, sir. It in’t fair! What’ve they done about it? Nuffink! They wouldn’t know Ow ter begin, they wouldn’t. Stupid little article, ’e is, ’ooever wrote them things. It in’t responsible.” She was using longer words these days. Reading had changed quite a lot of her vocabulary.
Pitt smiled in spite of the way he felt. Gracie’s loyalty was peculiarly warming. He hoped he could live up to the high image she had of him. But the more he thought of it, the more afraid he was that he had made an irreparable mistake with Costigan, that it was something he had overlooked, that he should have seen and understood, which had sent him to an unjust execution.
He ate his breakfast without even being aware of what it was, and rose to leave just as Charlotte and the children came in. Gracie had hidden the newspapers. Even so, Jemima at least was aware that something was wrong. She looked from Charlotte to Pitt, then sat down.
“I don’t want any breakfast,” she said immediately.
Daniel hitched himself onto his chair, reached for the glass of milk provided for him and drank half of it, wiped the white ring off his mouth with his hand, then announced that he did not want any either.
“Yes you do,” Charlotte said quickly.
“There’s a man out in the street,” Jemima said, looking at Pitt. “He knocked on the door and Mama told him to go away. She was very rude. You told me I should never speak to anyone like that. She didn’t say please … or thank you.”
Pitt looked up at Charlotte.
“A man from one of the newspapers.” She forced a smile. “He was impertinent I told him to go away and not to knock on the door again or I’d bring the dog.”
“And she told a fib,” Jemima added. “We haven’t got a dog.”
Daniel looked frightened. “You wouldn’t give him Archie, would you? Or Angus?” he said anxiously.
“No, of course I wouldn’t,” Charlotte assured him. Then, as his face did not clear, she went on. “I wasn’t going to give him a dog, darling, I was going to tell it to bite him!”
Daniel smiled and reached for his milk. “Oh, that’s all right. Archie could scratch him,” he said hopefully.
Charlotte took his glass from him. “Don’t drink all that now or you won’t eat your porridge.”
He forgot about not wanting breakfast, and when Gracie passed him his porridge bowl he was happy enough to take it.
Jemima was more concerned. She sensed the unhappiness in the air. She fiddled with her food, and no one chastised her.
Suddenly there was a ring on the doorbell, and the instant after, a loud knocking. Gracie slammed down the kettle and marched towards the hall.
Charlotte looked at Pitt, ready to go after her.
Pitt rose to his feet. “I’ve got to face them sometime,” he said, wishing