Treason at Lisson Grove - Anne Perry [94]
PITT ARRIVED HOME AT Keppel Street in the early afternoon. Both Daniel and Jemima were still at school. He knocked on the door, rather than use his key and startle this Minnie Maude in whom Vespasia seemed to have so much confidence.
He stood on the step shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his mind racing over what changes he might find: what small things uncared for, changed so it was no longer the home he was used to, and which he realized he loved fiercely, exactly as it was. Except, of course, Charlotte should be there. Without her nothing was more than a shell.
The door opened and a young woman stood just inside, her expression guarded.
“Yes, sir.” She said it politely, but stood squarely blocking the way in. “Can I ’elp yer?” She was not pretty but she had beautiful hair: thick and curling and of a rich, bright color. And she had the freckles on her face that so often went with such vividness. She was far taller than Gracie and slender; however, she had the same direct, almost defiant gaze.
“Are you Minnie Maude?” he asked.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but that in’t yer business,” she replied. “If yer want the master, yer gimme a card, an’ I’ll ask ’im to call on yer.”
He could not help smiling. “I’ll give you a card, by all means.” He fished for one in his pocket and passed it to her, then wondered if she could read. He had become used to Gracie reading, since Charlotte had taught her.
Minnie Maude looked at the card, then up at him, then at the card again.
He smiled at her.
The blush spread up her cheeks in a hot tide. “I’m sorry, sir.” She stumbled over the words. “I din’t know yer.”
“Don’t be sorry,” he said quickly. “You shouldn’t allow anyone in unless you know who they are, and not just because they say so.”
She stood back, allowing him to pass. He went into the familiar hallway, and immediately smelled the lavender floor polish. The hall mirror was clean, the surfaces free of dust. Jemima’s shoes were placed neatly side by side under the coat stand.
He walked down to the kitchen and looked around. Everything was as it should be: blue-and-white-ringed plates on the Welsh dresser, copper pans on the wall, kitchen table scrubbed, the stove burning warm but not overhot. He could smell newly baked bread and the clean, comfortable aroma of fresh laundry hanging from the airing rail up near the ceiling. He was home again. There was nothing wrong, except that his family was not there. But he knew where Charlotte was, and the children were at school.
“Would you like a cup o’ tea, sir?” Minnie Maude asked in an uncertain voice.
He did not really need one so soon after leaving Vespasia’s, but he felt she would like to do something familiar and useful.
“Thank you,” he accepted. He had been obliged to buy several necessities for the days he had been in France, including the case in which he now carried them. “I have a little laundry in my bag, but I don’t know whether I shall be home for dinner or not. I’m sorry. If I am, something cold to eat will do very well.”
“Yes, sir. Would you like some cold mutton an’ ’ot bubble and squeak? That’s wot Daniel an’ Jemima’ll be ’avin’, as it’s wot they like. ’Ceptin’ they like eggs wif it.”
“Eggs will be excellent, thank you.” He meant it. Eggs sounded familiar, comfortable, and very good.
VESPASIA HAD WARNED PITT not to go to Lisson Grove, but he had no choice; he could do nothing to help Narraway and Charlotte, without information held there.
Of course there was the question of explaining what had happened to Gower. Pitt had no idea how badly he had been disfigured by the fall from the train, but every effort would be made to identify him. Indeed, by the time Pitt reached Lisson Grove he might find that it had already been done.
What should his story be? How much of the truth could he tell without losing every advantage of surprise that he had? He did not know who his enemies were, but they certainly knew him. His instinct was to affect as much ignorance as possible. The