The Hyde Park Headsman - Anne Griffin Perry [60]
“Oh, she’s still at the new ’ouse, sir. Like ter be there all evenin’, I shouldn’t wonder,” she replied, standing up and going to fetch a basin of steaming water. “There’s a terrible lot ter be done, sir, an’ she said as I was to make your supper—that was if you came ’ome for supper, o’ course. An’ I done some lamb stew for yer, sir, wi’ potatoes an’ onions an’ some ’erbs from the new garden.” Her eyes were bright with pride in it.
He swallowed his disappointment with difficulty. Charlotte had been away so often lately he was beginning to feel unreasonably resentful. And it was unreasonable, he knew that. She was working at the new house with builders, decorators, plumbers and so on, things he would have done himself had he the time, but none of those arguments stopped the feeling of having been let down.
“Thank you, Gracie,” he said somberly. “It sounds excellent. Where are the children?”
“Upstairs, sir. I told ’em not to bother yer till you’d ’ad yer supper.” She screwed up her face and regarded him narrowly. “Yer lookin’ a little peaked, sir. Shall I get yer summat ter eat before yer change yer clothes? I’m sure it don’t matter, not in the kitchen, like.”
He smiled in spite of himself. “Thank you,” he accepted. “That would be a good idea.”
She looked relieved. It was a big responsibility Charlotte had left her with. She was not a cook, just a maid-of-all-work who was day by day growing into a mixture of housemaid, parlormaid and kitchen maid, with a good deal of nursery maid as well. She was desperately eager to please him, and not a little in awe. She had been even prouder of his promotion than some of his family.
Hastily she set about mashing potatoes and serving them with a thick, deliciously aromatic stew, then sat down at the end of the table to await his further needs or instructions. She regarded him steadily, still a small pucker between her brows.
“Would you like some pudding, sir?” she asked at length. “I got some treacle sponge.”
“Yes, yes I would.” Treacle sponge was one of his favorites, which he thought she knew.
Her face lit up again, and she forgot to behave with the new dignity she had assumed and scrambled off the seat to get it for him. She presented it with a flourish.
“Thank you,” he accepted. Actually it was extremely good, and he told her so.
She blushed with pleasure.
“Yer gettin’ closer ter catchin’ the ’Eadsman?” she asked with concern.
“Not much.” He continued eating, then thought that was a bit abrupt. “I have been asking the local prostitutes if they knew of anyone who has been abusing the girls and brought a pimp down on them, but they say not. They’ve none of them seen anything, no one living in the park or wandering around.”
“D’yer believe ’em?” she asked skeptically.
He smiled at her. “I don’t know. It would take a lot for a pimp to kill a customer, if he paid—let alone two.”
“Maybe they would if the customer marked a girl, like?” she said thoughtfully. “That’s damaging goods. If you break summat in a shop, yer ’as ter pay for it”
“Quite true,” he agreed, his mouth full of sponge and treacle.
“Yer like a nice ’ot cup o’ tea?” she offered.
“Yes—please.”
She got up and went over to the kettle, apparently lost in contemplation. Several minutes later she returned with a mug full of tea and set it on the table. She did not even seem to have considered bringing the whole teapot.
“Gracie?” he said questioningly.
“Yes sir? Is that too strong?”
“No, it’s just right. What are you thinking about, the girls in the park?”
Her face cleared and she looked at him out of innocent eyes.
“Oh, nuffink really. I ’spec they told yer the truth. Why not?”
It was a wholly unsatisfactory answer, but he did not know why. He drank the tea and thanked her again, then excused himself. He must go upstairs and change into his best clothes. Since Charlotte was not home, he would go and visit the widow of Aidan Arledge.
It was early evening when he finally passed his card to Dulcie