Treason at Lisson Grove - Anne Perry [24]
But Charlotte missed Gracie’s cheerfulness, her optimism, her candor, and her courage. Gracie never admitted to being beaten in anything. Her replacement, Mrs. Waterman, was middle-aged and dour as a walk in the sleet. She was a decent woman, honest as the day, kept everything immaculately clean, but she seemed to be content only if she was miserable. Perhaps in time she would gain confidence and feel better. It was sincerely to be hoped.
Charlotte did not hear the doorbell ring and was startled when Mrs. Waterman knocked on the parlor door. The older woman immediately came in, her face pinched with displeasure.
“There’s a gentleman caller, ma’am. Shall I tell him that Mr. Pitt is not at home?”
Charlotte was startled, and her first thought was to agree to the polite fiction. Then her curiosity intruded. Surely at this hour it must be someone she knew?
“Who is it, Mrs. Waterman?”
“A very dark gentleman, ma’am. Says his name is Narraway,” Mrs. Waterman replied, lowering her voice, although Charlotte could not tell if it were in disgust or confidentiality. She thought the former.
“Show him in,” she said quickly, putting the mending out of sight on a chair behind the couch. Without thinking, she straightened her skirt and made sure she had no badly straying hairs poking out of her rather loose coiffure. Her hair was a rich dark mahogany color, but it slithered very easily out of control. As the pins dug into her head during the day, she was apt to remove them, with predictable results.
Mrs. Waterman hesitated.
“Show him in, please,” Charlotte repeated, a trifle more briskly.
“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me,” Mrs. Waterman said with a slight twist of her mouth that was definitely not a smile. She withdrew, and a moment later Narraway came in. When Charlotte had seen him a few days ago he had looked tired and a little concerned, but that was not unusual. This evening he was haggard, his lean face hollow-eyed, his skin almost without color.
Charlotte felt a terrible fear paralyze her, robbing her of breath. He had come to tell her terrible news of Pitt; even in her own mind she could not think the words.
“I’m sorry to disturb you so late,” he said. His voice was almost normal, but she heard in its slight tremor the effort that it cost him. He stood in front of her. She could see from his eyes that he was hurt; there was an emptiness inside him that had not been there before.
He must have read her fear. How could he not? It filled the room.
He smiled thinly. “I have not heard from Thomas, but there is no reason to believe he is other than in excellent health, and probably having better weather than we have,” he said gently. “Although I daresay he finds it tedious hanging about the streets watching people while trying to look as if he is on holiday.”
She swallowed, her mouth dry, relief making her dizzy. “Then what is it?”
“Oh dear. Am I so obvious?”
It was more candid than he had ever been with her, yet it did not feel unnatural.
“Yes,” she admitted. “I’m afraid you look dreadful. Can I get you something? Tea, or whiskey? That is, if we have any. Now that I’ve offered it, I’m not sure we do. The best of it might have gone at Gracie’s wedding.”
“Oh yes, Gracie.” This time he did smile, and there was real warmth in it, changing his face. “I shall miss seeing her here. She was magnificent, all five feet of her.”
“Four feet eleven, if we are honest,” Charlotte corrected him with answering warmth. “Believe me, you could not possibly miss her as much as I do.”
“You do not care for Mrs.… Lemon?”
“Waterman,” she corrected him. “But Lemon would suit her. I don’t think she approves of me. Perhaps we shall become accustomed to each other one day. She does cook well, and you could eat off the floors when she has scrubbed them.”
“Thank you, but the table will do well enough,” Narraway observed.
She sat down on the sofa. Standing so close to him in front of the