Treason at Lisson Grove - Anne Perry [39]
“I won’t forget why I’m there,” Charlotte promised.
“Or that Victor knows Ireland very well, and the Irish also know him?” Vespasia added. “Do not underestimate his intelligence, Charlotte, or his vulnerability. By the way, you have not mentioned how you intend to carry this off without causing a scandal that might not damage Narraway’s good name any further, but would certainly ruin yours. I assume your sense of fear and injustice did not blind you to that?” There was no criticism in her voice, only concern.
Charlotte felt the blood hot in her face. “Of course not. I can’t take a maid, I don’t have one, or the money to pay her fare if I did. I am going to say I am Mr. Narraway’s sister—half sister. That will make it decent enough.”
A tiny smile touched the corners of Vespasia’s lips. “Then you had better stop calling him Mr. Narraway and learn to use his given name, or you will certainly raise eyebrows.” She hesitated. “Or perhaps you already do.”
Charlotte looked into Vespasia’s steady silver-gray eyes, and chose not to respond.
NARRAWAY CAME EARLY THE following morning in a hansom cab. When she answered the door he hesitated only momentarily. He did not ask her if she were certain of the decision. Perhaps he did not want to give her the chance to waver. He called the cabdriver to put her case on the luggage rack.
“Do you wish to go and say good-bye?” he asked her. His face looked bleak, with shadows under his eyes as if he had not slept in many nights. “There is time.”
“No thank you,” she answered. “I have already done so. And I hate long good-byes. I am quite ready to go.”
He nodded and walked behind her across the footpath. Then he helped her up onto the seat, going around to the other side to sit next to her. The cabbie apparently knew the destination.
She had already decided not to tell him that she had visited Vespasia. He might prefer to think Vespasia did not know of his dismissal. She also chose not to let him know of Mrs. Waterman’s suspicions. It could prove embarrassing, even as if she herself had considered the journey as something beyond business herself.
“Perhaps you would tell me something about Dublin,” she requested. “I have never been there, and I realize that beyond the fact that it is the capital of Ireland, I know very little.”
The idea seemed to amuse him. “We have a long train journey ahead of us, even on the fast train, and then a crossing of the Irish Sea. I hear that the weather will be pleasant. I hope so, because if it is rough, then it can be very violent indeed. There will be time for me to tell you all I know, from 7500 BC until the present day.”
She was amazed at the age of the city, but she would not allow him to see that he had impressed her so easily. It might look as if she were being deliberately gentle with the grief she knew he must be feeling.
“Really? Is that because our journey is enormously long after all, or because you know less than I had supposed?”
“Actually there is something of a gap between 7500 BC and the Celts arriving in 700 BC,” he said with a smile. “And after that not a great deal until the arrival of Saint Patrick in AD 432.”
“So we can leap eight thousand years without further comment,” she concluded. “After that surely there must be something a little more detailed?”
“The building of Saint Patrick’s Cathedral in AD 1192?” he suggested. “Unless you want to know about the Vikings, in which case I would have to look it up myself. Anyway, they weren’t Irish, so they don’t count.”
“Are you Irish, Mr. Narraway?” she asked suddenly. Perhaps it was an intrusive question, and when he was Pitt’s superior she would not have asked it, but now the relationship was far more equal, and she might need to know. With his intensely dark looks he easily could be.
He winced slightly. “How formal you are. It makes you sound like your mother. No, I am not Irish, I am as English as you are, except for one great-grandmother. Why