Silence in Hanover Close - Anne Perry [109]
Her voice barely came through her lips. “No thank you.”
The boy turned away and drew in his breath to shout again. Then she realized it was foolish to run away from it. If she were to be of any use she needed to know. “Yes please! Yes, I will buy one,” she called after him, fishing in her reticule for a coin and offering it to him.
“There y’are, lady. Ta.” He gave her a penny change and went on his way. “Extra! Rozzer commits ’orrible murder in Seven Dials!”
She pushed it under her arm, out of the way. She would rather look at it alone. The omnibus had nearly arrived, and when it came she climbed on, giving her fare to the “cad,” and sat down, this time oblivious of the other passengers.
When she got off it was raining heavily and she was thoroughly soaked by the time she reached her own front door and got inside. She was greeted almost immediately by Gracie, her eyes red-rimmed and her apron filthy. Charlotte took off her sodden coat and hung it up without caring where it dripped.
“What is it, Gracie?” she said impatiently.
“Oh, ma’am—I’m terrible sorry.” Gracie was on the edge of tears again, her voice thick with crying.
“What?”
“Mrs. Biggs ’as gorn, ma’am. Never so much as did the floors. Said she wouldn’t work for nobody what murdered women. I’m terrible sorry, ma’am—I wouldn’t ’a’ told yer, but I ’ad to say as why she went, an’—” She gulped deeply, tears running down her cheeks. “An’ the butcher wouldn’t give no credit. As good as said as ’ow ’e’d sooner we got our meat somewheres else!”
Charlotte was stunned. She had not even thought of that, and here it was, so soon. She felt breathless and a little sick.
“Ma’am?” Gracie sniffed fiercely but it did not stop her crying.
Suddenly Charlotte put her arms round her and they clung to each other, letting the tears come in a storm of misery.
It was several moments before Charlotte was able to pull herself together, blow her nose, and go into the kitchen. She splashed her face with cold water and rubbed it dry so fiercely her red eyes hardly showed. Ordering Gracie about was a kind of relief, chopping vegetables savagely helped to calm her while she tried to think.
She told Daniel and Jemima nothing, doing what she could to behave normally. Daniel was too hungry to be observant, but Jemima noticed and asked what was wrong.
“I have a cold,” Charlotte said, forcing herself to smile. “Don’t worry about it.” She might as well get the initial news over now. She was dreading the lies, but the sooner she started the less horrible it would be. “Papa won’t be home for a few days. He’s away on a very special job.”
“Is that why you’re unhappy?” Jemima said slowly, watching her.
The closer she could stay to some kind of truth the better.
“Yes. But don’t worry—we’ll keep each other company.” She tried to smile and knew it was a disaster.
Jemima smiled back, and immediately her lip began to tremble. She had always been quick to grasp Charlotte’s mood, whether she understood it or not: she was like a little mirror reflecting gestures, expressions, tones of voice. Now she knew there was something wrong.
“Yes, I will miss him,” Charlotte repeated. “And I miss Aunt Emily, too, since she went on holiday. Never mind; I shall have to be busy and then the time will pass. Now eat your supper or it will get cold.”
She bent to her own plate, forcing herself to spoon down the stew and mashed potatoes although she was barely aware of their taste. Her throat ached and her stomach felt like stone.
She was barely finished when the doorbell rang. Both she and Gracie stopped, fear returning. Who could it be? For one wild moment Charlotte thought perhaps Pitt had been released and somehow lost his key; then she realized it was far more likely to be some neighbor seeking to confirm the worst, full of curiosity and spurious pity, or worse, another tradesman.
It rang again, more insistently this time.
She looked at Gracie.
“Don’t ’ave me answer it, ma’am!” Gracie said urgently.