Pentecost Alley - Anne Perry [120]
Charlotte started to speak, then stopped.
“What is it?” Jemima asked, looking at her mother, then at her father. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”
Charlotte put her hand on Jemima’s shoulder. “Nothing you need to worry about,” she said quickly. “Finish your breakfast.”
The front door opened and they heard a man’s voice, then Gracie’s answer, high-pitched and furious. A moment later the door banged shut, and then Gracie’s feet marched back down the corridor. For a small creature, she could make a lot of noise when she was angry.
“Cheek of them!” she said, coming into the kitchen, her face white, eyes blazing. “Who do they think they are? Write a few words and think they have all the brains in London! Nothing but a tuppenny upstart.” She turned the tap full on and the jet hit the spoon in the sink and rebounded back, soaking the top half of her dress. She drew in her breath to swear, then remembered Pitt was in the room and choked it back.
Charlotte stifled a laugh that was too close to hysteria.
“I assume that was a reporter from the newspaper, Gracie?”
“Yes,” Gracie conceded, dabbing at herself with a tea towel and not making the situation appreciably better. “Worthless little item!”
“You’d better go and put on a dry dress,” Charlotte suggested.
“Don’t matter,” Gracie responded, putting the tea towel down. “It’s warm enough in ’ere. Won’t come to no ’arm.” And she began rummaging furiously in the flour bin and then the dried fruit bin, looking for ingredients for a cake which would not be baked until mid-morning, but the physical activity was a release for the pent-up tension in her. She would probably pound the dough for bread to within an inch of flattening it altogether.
Pitt smiled a trifle weakly, kissed Charlotte good-bye, touched Jemima on the top of the head and Daniel on the shoulder as he passed and went out to begin the day’s investigation.
Jemima turned wide eyes to Charlotte. “What is it, Mama? Who’s Gracie angry with?”
“People who write things in the newspapers when they don’t know the whole story,” Charlotte replied. “People who try to make everyone upset and frightened because it sells more papers, regardless of the fact that it may make a lot of other things worse.”
“What things?”
“What things?” Daniel echoed. “Is Papa frightened and upset? Is he people?”
“No,” Charlotte lied, wondering frantically how to protect them. Which was worse: trying to pretend everything was all right when it obviously was not, and only making them feel more frightened because they were lied to; or telling them something of the truth, so at least it made sense and they were part of the family? They would be worried and frightened, but not by the formless horrors of imagination and the feeling that they were alone and not trusted.
Without having made a conscious decision, she found herself answering.
“There has been another lady died in Whitechapel, just the same as the one a little while ago. It looks as if perhaps the wrong man was punished. People are very upset about it, and sometimes when you are angry or frightened, you want to blame someone. It makes it feel less difficult.”
Jemima was puzzled. “Why does it?”
“I don’t know. But you remember when you walked into the chair and stubbed your toe?”
“Yes. It went all blue and yellow and green.”
“Do you remember how you felt?”
“It hurt.”
“You said it was my fault.” Daniel’s eyes narrowed and he looked at his sister accusingly. “It wasn’t my fault. I never put the chair there! You weren’t looking where you were going.”
“I was!” Jemima said indignantly.
“You see?” Charlotte interrupted. “It’s easier to be angry than to admit you were clumsy.”
Daniel beamed with triumph. For once his mother had actually taken sides and he had won the argument.
Jemima looked cross. A flash of temper lit her eyes and she glared at him.
“The point is,” Charlotte went on, realizing her example had not been a fortunate one, “that when people are upset, they get