by Anne Perry
‘You can’t leave,’ she said aloud, her tone angry now. ‘If you do, then I cannot give you a letter of character.’ That was a severe threat. Without a recommendation, no servant could easily find another position. Their reason for leaving would be unexplained, and most people would put the unkindest interpretation on it.
Mrs Waterman was unmoving. ‘I’m not sure, ma’am, if your recommendation would be of any service to me, as to character, that is — if you understand me.’
Charlotte felt as if she had been slapped. ‘No, I do not understand you. I have no idea what you are talking about,’ she said tartly.
‘I don’t like having to say this,’ Mrs Waterman replied, her face wrinkling with distaste. ‘But I’ve never before worked in a household where the gentleman goes away unexpectedly, without any luggage at all, and the lady receives other gentlemen, alone and after dark. It isn’t decent, ma’am, and that’s all there is to it. I can’t stay in a house with such goings-on.’
Charlotte was astounded. ‘“Goings-on”!’ She could feel the heat rise up her face and was furious with herself. It must look like the flush of guilt, not anger. ‘Mrs Waterman, Mr Pitt was called away on urgent business, without time to come home or pack any luggage. He went to France in an emergency, the nature of which is not your concern. Mr Narraway is his superior in the government, and he came to tell me, so I would not be concerned. If you see it as something else, then the “goings-on”, as you put it, are entirely in your own imagination.’
‘If you say so, ma’am,’ Mrs Waterman answered, her eyes unwavering. ‘And what did he come for the second time? Did Mr Pitt give a message to him, and not to you, his lawful wedded wife — I assume?’
Charlotte wanted to slap her. It was an awful feeling, ridiculous and undignified. She knew exactly why men hit each other sometimes. However, she had never heard of a decent woman slapping her maid. She would probably be arrested and charged with assault. This was a nightmare. With a great effort she forced herself to become calm.
‘Mrs Waterman, Mr Narraway came to tell me further news concerning my husband’s work, none of which is your concern, and I can’t imagine why you believe that I owe you some kind of explanation for it. Some work for Her Majesty is extremely discreet, and he does not discuss it with me, which is as it should be. I do not intend to tell you any more about it than that. If you choose to think ill of it, or of me, then you will do so whatever the truth is, because that is who you are. .’
Now it was Mrs Waterman’s face that flamed. ‘Don’t you try to cover it with nice words and high-and-mighty airs,’ she said bitterly. ‘I know a man with a fancy for a woman when I see one.’
It was on the edge of Charlotte’s tongue to ask sarcastically when Mrs Waterman had ever seen one, but it was perhaps an unnecessarily cruel thought. Mrs Waterman was exactly what Charlotte’s grandmama used to call a ‘vinegar virgin’, in spite of the courtesy ‘Mrs’ in front of her name.
‘You have an overheated and somewhat vulgar imagination, Mrs Waterman,’ she said coldly. ‘But I cannot afford to have such a person in my household, so it might be best for both of us if you were to pack your belongings and leave first thing in the morning. I shall make breakfast myself, and then see if my sister can lend me one of her staff until I find someone satisfactory of my own. Her husband is a Member of Parliament, and she keeps a large establishment. I shall see you to say goodbye in the morning.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Mrs Waterman turned for the door.
‘Mrs Waterman!’
‘Yes, ma’am?’
‘I shall say nothing of you to others, good or ill. I suggest that you return that courtesy and say nothing of me. You would not come out of it well, I assure you.’
Mrs Waterman’s eyebrows rose slightly.
Charlotte smiled with ice in her eyes. ‘A servant who will speak ill of one mistress will do so of another. Those of us who employ servants are well aware of that. Good night.’
Mrs Waterman closed the door without replying.
Charlotte went to the telephone to speak to Emily and ask for her help, immediately, if possible. She was a little surprised to see her hand shaking as she reached for the receiver of the instrument, and took it off its hook on the wall.
When the voice answered she gave Emily’s number.
It rang at the other end several times before the butler picked it up.
‘Mr Radley’s residence. May I help you?’ he said politely.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you so late,’ Charlotte apologised. ‘It is Mrs Pitt calling. Something of an emergency has arisen. May I speak with Mrs Radley, please?’
‘I’m very sorry, Mrs Pitt,’ he replied with sympathy. ‘Mr and Mrs Radley have gone to Paris and I do not expect them back for two or three weeks. Is there something I may do to assist you?’
Charlotte felt a sort of panic. Who else could she turn to for help? Her mother was also out of the country, in Edinburgh, where she had gone with her second husband, Joshua. He was an actor, and had a play running in the theatre there.
‘No, no thank you,’ she said a little breathlessly. ‘I’m sure I shall find another solution. Thank you for your trouble. Good night.’ She hung up quickly, before she heard him reply.
She stood in the quiet parlour, the embers dying in the fire because she had not restoked it. She had until tomorrow evening to find someone to care for Daniel and Jemima, or she could not go with Narraway. And if she did not, then she could not help him. He would be alone in Dublin, hampered by the fact that he was known there, by friend and enemy alike. His face and his bearing were sufficiently unusual that he would not be forgotten, even in twenty years. Anyway, twenty years or fifty, hate did not ever forget. Sometimes it carried on down generations, an evil heritage like the propensity for some disease.
Pitt had said little to her about the affair at Buckingham Palace, but she knew, as much from the things he left out as from what he’d told her, that his solution of the crime had embarrassed the Prince of Wales by making very obvious his personal weaknesses. Worse than that, it had exposed his error in front of the assembled courtiers — and, of course, unforgivably, before his mother, Queen Victoria.
It would be no use whatever to Pitt having the Queen appreciate him for a few minutes if the Prince of Wales were his enemy for years.
That Pitt had been Narraway’s man from the beginning, his protege, had bred envy, and in some cases fear. With Narraway gone it would be only a matter of time before Pitt too was dismissed or — worse than that — met with an accident.
Then another thought occurred to her, ugly and even more imperative. If Narraway were innocent, as he claimed, then someone had deliberately reorganised evidence to make him look guilty. They could do the same to Pitt. In fact it was quite possible that if Pitt had had anything whatever to do with the case, then he might already be implicated. As soon as he was home from France he would walk straight into the trap. Only a fool would allow him time to mount a defence, still less to find proof of his innocence, and at the same time, presumably their guilt.
But why? Was it really an old vengeance against Narraway? Or did Narraway know something that his enemy could not afford to have him pursue? Whatever it was, whatever Narraway had done, or not done, she must protect Pitt. Narraway could not be guilty, that was the only thing of which she had no doubt.
Now she must find someone to look after Jemima and Daniel while she was away. Oh, damn Mrs Waterman! The stupid creature!
Charlotte was tired enough to sleep quite well, but when she woke in the morning, the previous evening all flooded back to her. She remembered that not only had she to make breakfast herself — not an unfamiliar task, since in the early days of her marriage she had done it always — but then she had to see Mrs Waterman on her way, and explain to Daniel and Jemima at least something of what had happened. It might be easier to Jemima, but how would Daniel, at ten, grasp enough of the idea at least to believe her? She must make sure he did not imagine i
t was in any way his fault.
Then she must tackle the real task of the day: finding someone trustworthy with whom to leave her children, and do it instantly. Put in such simple words, the thought overwhelmed her. She stood in her nightgown in the centre of the bedroom floor, cold with failure.
And yet she must go. She must fight for a future better than Pitt going from place to place trying to find a job for which he was suited, and for which someone would hire him. It would humiliate him. He had commanded men in Bow Street, required all manner of people to answer his questions, gone into great houses through the front door, not at the back like a beggar.
Standing here shivering would achieve nothing. She might as well get dressed while she weighed it up. A white blouse and a plain brown skirt would be fine. She was going to do chores, after all.
When Charlotte went downstairs, Mrs Waterman was waiting in the hall, her one suitcase by the door. Charlotte was tempted to be sorry for her, but the moment passed. There was too much to do for her to relent, even if Mrs Waterman wanted her to. This was an inconvenience. There were disasters on the horizon.
‘Good morning, Mrs Waterman,’ she said politely. ‘I am sorry you feel it necessary to go, but perhaps in the circumstances it is better. You will forgive me if I do not draw this out. I have to find someone to replace you by this evening. I hope you find yourself suited very soon. Good day to you.’
‘I’m sure I will, ma’am,’ Mrs Waterman replied, and with such conviction that it flashed across Charlotte’s mind to wonder if perhaps she already had. Sometimes domestic staff, especially cooks, found a cause to give notice in order to avail themselves of a position they preferred, or thought more advantageous for themselves.
‘Yes, I imagine you will land on your feet,’ Charlotte said a trifle brusquely.
Mrs Waterman gave her a cold look, drew breath to respond, then changed her mind and opened the front door. With some difficulty she dragged her case outside, then went to the kerb to hail a cab.
Charlotte closed the door as Jemima came down the stairs. She would be Charlotte’s height by the time she was a woman, and — from the softer lines of her body and the air of confidence as she walked — that was not far away.
‘Where’s Mrs Waterman going?’ she asked. ‘It’s breakfast time.’
There was no point in evasion. ‘She is leaving us,’ Charlotte replied quietly.
‘At this time in the morning?’ Jemima’s eyebrows rose. They were elegant, slightly winged, exactly like Charlotte’s own.
‘It was that, or last night,’ Charlotte answered.
‘Did she steal something?’ Jemima reached the bottom stair. ‘Are you sure? She’s so terribly good I can’t believe she’d do that. She’d never be able to face herself in the glass. Come to think of it, perhaps she doesn’t anyway. She might crack it.’
‘Jemima! That is rude, and most unkind,’ Charlotte said sharply. ‘But true,’ she added. ‘I did not ask her to leave. It is actually very inconvenient indeed. .’
Daniel appeared at the top of the stairs, considered sliding down the banister, saw his mother at the bottom, and changed his mind. He came down the steps in a self-consciously dignified manner, as if that had always been his intention.
‘Is Mrs Waterman going?’ he asked hopefully.
‘She’s already gone,’ Charlotte answered.
‘Oh, good. Is Gracie coming back?’
‘No, of course she isn’t,’ Jemima put in. ‘She’s married. She’s got to stay at home and look after her husband. We’ll get someone else, won’t we, Mama?’
‘Yes. As soon as we’ve had breakfast and you’ve gone to school, I shall begin looking.’
‘Where do you look?’ Daniel asked curiously as he followed her down the passage to the kitchen. It was shining clean after last night’s dinner. Mrs Waterman had left it immaculate, but not a thing was started for breakfast. Not even the stove was lit. It was still full of yesterday’s ashes and barely warm to the touch. It would take some time to rake it out and lay it, light it and wait for it to heat — too long for a hot breakfast of any sort before school. Even tea and toast required the use of the stove.
Charlotte controlled her temper with difficulty. If she could have been granted one wish, other than Pitt being home, it would have been to have Gracie back. Just her cheerful spirit, her frankness, her refusal ever to give in, would have made it easier.
But she wasn’t, and Charlotte could never be anything but happy for her that at last she had achieved the dreams that had once seemed impossible to her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said to Daniel and Jemima, ‘but we’ll have to wait until tonight for something hot. It’ll be bread and jam for us all this morning, and a glass of milk.’ She went to the pantry to fetch the milk, butter and jam without waiting for their response. She was already trying to find words to tell them that she had to leave and go to Ireland. Except that she couldn’t, if she didn’t find someone totally trustworthy, and how could she do that in half a day? It would have to be a matter of thinking of someone they could stay with. As an absolutely final resort she could take them to Emily’s home for the servants to look after, until Charlotte could get back from Ireland, or Pitt from France — or even Emily herself from Paris.
She came back with the milk, butter and jam, and put them on the table. Jemima was setting out the knives, and spoons for the jam; Daniel was putting the glasses out one at a time. Charlotte felt a sudden tightening in her chest. How could she have contemplated leaving them with the disapproving Mrs Waterman? Blast Emily for being away now, when she was so badly needed!
She turned and opened the bread bin, took out the loaf and set it on the board with the knife.
‘Thank you,’ she accepted the last glass. ‘I know it’s a little early, but we had better begin. I knew Mrs Waterman was going. I should have been up sooner and lit the stove. I didn’t even think of it. I’m sorry.’ She cut three slices of bread and offered them. They each took one, buttered it and chose the jam they liked best: gooseberry for Jemima, blackcurrant for Daniel — like his father — and apricot for Charlotte. She poured the milk.
‘Why did she go, Mama?’ Daniel asked.
For once Charlotte did not bother to tell him not to speak with his mouth full. His question deserved an honest answer, but how much would he understand? He was looking at her now with solemn grey eyes exactly like his father’s. Jemima waited with the bread halfway to her mouth. Perhaps the whole truth, briefly and without fear, was the only way to avoid having to lie later, as more and more emerged. If they ever found her lying to them, even if they understood the reason, their trust would be broken.
‘Mr Narraway, your father’s superior, called a few evenings ago to tell me that your father had to go to France, without being able to let us know. He didn’t want us to worry when he didn’t come home-’
‘You told us,’ Jemima interrupted. ‘Why did Mrs Waterman go?’
‘Mr Narraway came again yesterday evening, quite late. He stayed for a little while, because something very bad had happened to him. He has been blamed for something he didn’t do, and he is no longer your father’s superior. That matters rather a lot, so he had to let me know.’
Jemima frowned. ‘I don’t understand. Why did Mrs Waterman go? Can’t we pay her any more?’
‘Yes, certainly we can,’ Charlotte said quickly, although that might not always be true. ‘She went because she didn’t approve of Mr Narraway coming here and telling me in the evening.’
‘Why not?’ Daniel put his bread down and stared at her. ‘Shouldn’t he have told you? And how does she know? Is she in the police as well?’
Pitt had not explained to his children the differences between the police, detecting any type of crime, and Special Branch, a force created originally to deal with violence, sometimes treason, or any other threat to the safety of the country. But this was not the time to address that.
‘No,’ Charlotte said. ‘It is not her concern at all
. She thought I should not have received any man after dark when your father was not here. She said it wasn’t decent, and she couldn’t remain in a house where the mistress did not behave with proper decorum. I tried to explain to her that it was an emergency, but she did not believe me.’ If she did not have more urgent problems, that would still have rankled.
Daniel still looked puzzled, but it was clear that Jemima understood.
‘If she hadn’t left anyway, then you should have thrown her out,’ she said angrily. ‘That’s impertinent.’ She was immediately defensive of her mother, and ‘impertinent’ was her new favourite word of condemnation.
‘Yes it was,’ Charlotte agreed. She had been going to tell them about her need to go to Ireland, but changed her mind. Perhaps this was sufficient to deal with at one time. And there was no need to alarm them before she had worked out some way of keeping them safe and cared for. ‘But since she did leave of her own will, it doesn’t matter. May I have the butter, please, Daniel?’
He passed it to her. ‘What’s going to happen to Mr Narraway? Is Papa going to help him?’
‘He can’t,’ Jemima pointed out. ‘He’s in France.’ She looked questioningly at Charlotte to support her, if she was right.
‘Well, who is, then?’ Daniel persisted.
There was no escape, except lies. Charlotte took a deep breath. ‘I am, if I can think of a way. Now please finish your breakfast so I can get you on your way to school, and begin looking for someone to replace Mrs Waterman.’
But when she put on an apron and knelt to clear the ashes out of the grate in the stove, then laid a new fire ready to light when she returned, finding a new maid did not seem nearly as simple a thing to accomplish as she had implied to Daniel and Jemima. It was not merely a woman to cook and clean that she required. It was someone who would be completely reliable, kind, and — if any emergency arose — who would know what to do, who to contact, and would do so.