Seven Dials - Anne Perry [105]
Tellman pursed his lips. “It is fair,” he agreed. “But we’ve already tried. Tilda herself tried, and then you did. I’ll see what I can find out about their leaving.”
She looked at him steadily. She knew every expression of his face; she could have pictured it exactly with her eyes closed. She was surprised and a little embarrassed to realize how often she had done so, not really telling herself the truth as to her reasons, or admitting the odd sense of comfort it gave her. She knew now that he was worried, and also that he was trying to hide it from her to protect her, and partly because he was uncertain.
“Yer think there’s summink wrong, don’t yer?” she said softly. “People don’t lie fer nothin’.”
He was cautious, gentle. “I don’t know. Can you get the evening off the day after tomorrow?”
“If I need ter. Why?”
“I’ll tell you what I’ve found. It may take me a while. I’ll need to get witnesses, see train and ferry records and the like.”
“ ’Course. Mrs. Pitt’d never stand in the way of an investigation. I’ll be ’ere. Yer jus’ tell me wot time.”
“How about early? We’ll go to the music hall, see something good?” His face was eager, but the shadow in his eyes betrayed that her acceptance mattered to him, and he by no means took it for granted. This was a social engagement, something to do together for pleasure, not just as part of a case. It was the first time he had done such a thing, and they were both suddenly acutely aware of it.
She found herself blushing; the color was hot in her cheeks. She wanted to behave with lightness, as if his offer meant nothing unusual, and she was not managing it. She was awkward again.
“Yeah . . .” she said, trying to be casual, and catching her breath in a hiccup. She was going to have to make a big decision soon, and she was not ready for it. She had known for ages how he felt. She should have made up her mind by now. “Yeah. I like music.” What would she wear? It must be good enough. She wanted him to think she was pretty, but she was also afraid of it. What if he got emotional, and she did not know how to handle it? Perhaps she should have said no, kept it to business.
“Good.” He gave her no time to change her mind. Had he seen the indecision in her face?
“Well . . .” she began.
“Seven o’clock,” he went on too quickly. “We’ll have something to eat, and I’ll tell you what I’ve found, and we can go to the music hall.” He stood up, as if he felt self-conscious and wanted to escape before he did something that made him feel even more foolish.
She stood up too, knocking against the table. Thank heaven there was nothing on it to spill; the motion just rattled the glasses a little.
He waited for her to go ahead of him, and followed her out into the street. It was harder to speak there. A dray with a load of barrels was backing awkwardly around the corner into the inn yard, the driver holding the lead horse’s bridle and calling out orders. Another man balanced half a dozen kegs on a trolley as he wheeled them across the cobbles, rattling at every step. Traffic clattered past in the roadway, hooves loud, harness jingling.
Gracie was glad of it, and looking quickly at Tellman’s face, she thought he was too. Perhaps he would get cold feet and say nothing for ages? That would give her longer to think. About what? She would say yes. It was just how she would say it that was still to be considered. Change was frightening. She had been with the Pitts since she had been thirteen. She couldn’t leave them.
Tellman was saying something, shouting above the noise.
“Yeah!” she agreed, nodding. “I’ll be ’ere at seven, day arter termorrer. You find out wot ’appened ter Martin Garvie. ’Bye.” And without waiting for him to say anything else she smiled brilliantly and turned on her heel.
TWO EVENINGS LATER they met at the same table in the corner of the public house. Tellman was dressed in a plain dark jacket and his white shirt looked even stiffer-collared than usual. Gracie had put on her best blue dress and bonnet, and allowed her hair