Seven Dials - Anne Perry [54]
“This is Gracie,” Mrs. Culpepper said, suddenly recalling Gracie’s name. “She’s come ’cos Martin’s sister’s a friend of ’ers, an’ it seems the poor girl ’as the rheumatical fever, an’ she’s like ter dyin’, so Gracie’s lookin’ for Martin ter tell ’im, which is terrible ’ard.”
Bella shook her head, her face grave. “I wish we could help you, but we don’t know where he is,” she said candidly. “Usually when Mr. Stephen goes away it’s in the middle of the morning, and we all know for days beforehand, but this is different . . . He just . . . isn’t here.”
Gracie was not going to give up without trying every avenue. “Mrs. Culpepper’s been very gracious,” she said warmly. “An’ she says as Mr. Garrick really depended on Martin, so ’e wouldn’t a’ got rid of ’im on a fancy, like.”
Bella’s face pinched with anger. “He behaved pretty rotten at times. My ma’d have taken a slipper to me if I’d thrown tantrums the way he does, kicking and shouting and—”
“Bella!” Mrs. Culpepper said warningly, her voice sharp.
“Well, goes on like a three-year-old, he does sometimes!” Bella protested, her cheeks flushed. “And poor Martin put up with it without a word of complaint. Cleaning up behind him, listening to him weeping and wailing about everything you could name, or just sitting there like the misery of the whole world was on his plate. You’d—”
“Yer’d best keep a still tongue in yer ’ead, my girl, or yer’ll ’ave the misery o’ the world on your plate, an’ all!” Mrs. Culpepper warned her. “Yer might be an ’andsome piece, as speaks like a lady, but yer’ll be out in the street in ’alf a trice, wi’ yer bags in yer ’and an’ no character if the master catches yer talkin’ about Mr. Stephen ter strangers, an’ that’s a fact!” There was a note of urgency in her voice, and her black eyes were sharp. Gracie was sure it was not anger or dislike but affection which prompted her.
Bella sat down on the other kitchen chair, her skirts swirling around her, her white lace apron clean and starched stiff. “It’s not fair!” she said fiercely. “What that man put up with is more than a soul should take. And if they’ve put him out . . .”
“ ’Course they haven’t put him out, yer daft a’p’orth!” a young footman said as he came in. His hair grew up in a quiff on his forehead; his breeches were still a fraction too large for him. Gracie guessed that he had only just graduated from bootboy within the last few weeks.
Bella rounded on him. “And how come you know so much, Clarence Smith?”
“ ’Cos I see things what you don’t!” he retorted. “There’s nobody but Martin can do anything with him when he gets one of his black miseries. And nobody else even tries, when he flies into one of his rages. I wouldn’t try for all the tea in China. Even Mr. Lyman’s scared of him . . . and Mrs. Somerton. And I didn’t think as Mrs. Somerton was scared of nothing. I’d have put a shilling on her against the dragon, never mind St. George, an’ all.”
“You get about your business, Clarence, afore I report you ter Mr. Lyman fer lip!” Mrs. Culpepper said tartly. “Yer’ll be eatin’ yer supper out in the scullery, an’ lucky ter get bread and drippin’, if ’e catches yer.”
“It’s true!” Clarence said indignantly.
“True in’t got nothin’ ter do with it, yer stupid article!” she retorted. “Sometimes I think yer in’t got the wits yer was born with. Get on and carry them coals through fer Bella. On with yer.”
“Yes, Mrs. Culpepper,” he said obediently, perhaps recognizing in her voice anxiety rather than criticism.
Gracie thought for a moment that perhaps it would be fun to work in a large house, just for a week or two. But of course it was not nearly as important as what she was doing. She watched as Clarence went out to perform his task. She picked up her tea and finished it.
“Sorry, luv, but we can’t ’elp yer,” Mrs. Culpepper said to her, shaking her head and pouring out the batter into the tin at last. “Gotta get