Betrayal at Lisson Grove (10 page)

‘But you believe he hates you enough to lie, to plan and connive to ruin you?’ she insisted.

Thoughts chased each other across his face; she could not guess what they were. ‘Yes. I have no doubt of that. He has cause.’

Charlotte realised with surprise, and pity, that he was ashamed of his part in whatever had happened. She hoped she would never have to know what it was.

‘So what will you do?’ she asked again. ‘You have to fight.’

He smiled, and she knew it was because he assumed she was concerned that he protect Pitt. She was, but that was not all, nor had it been uppermost in her mind when she had spoken.

She felt a heat burn up her face. ‘Nurse your wound for a few hours, then gather yourself together and think what you wish to do.’

Now he really smiled, showing a naturalness of humour she had not seen in him before. ‘Is that how you speak to your children when they fall over and skin their knees?’ he asked. ‘Quick sympathy, a hug, and then briskly get back up again? I haven’t fallen off a horse, Mrs Pitt. I have fallen from grace, and I know of nothing to get me back up again.’

The colour was even hotter in her face now. ‘You mean you have no idea what to do?’

He stood up and straightened the shoulders of his jacket. ‘Yes, I know what to do. I shall go to Ireland and find Cormac O’Neil. If I can, I shall prove that he is behind this, and clear my name. I shall make Croxdale eat his words. At least I hope I will.’

She stood also. ‘Have you anyone to help you, whom you can trust?’

‘No.’ His loneliness was intense. Just the one, simple word. Then it vanished, as if self-pity disgusted him. ‘Not here,’ he added. ‘But I may find someone in Ireland.’

She knew he was lying, to cover the moment’s slip.

‘I’ll come with you,’ she said impulsively. ‘You can trust me because our interests are the same.’

His voice was tight with amazement, as if he did not dare believe her. ‘Are they?’

‘Of course,’ she said rashly, although she knew it was the absolute truth. ‘Thomas has no other friend in Special Branch than you. The survival of my family may depend upon your being able to prove your innocence.’

The colour was warm in his cheeks also, or perhaps it was the firelight. ‘And what could you do?’ he asked.

‘Observe, ask questions, go where you will be recognised and cannot risk being seen. I am quite a good detective – at least I was in the past, when Thomas was in the police force and his cases were not so secret. At least I am considerably better than nothing.’

He blushed and turned away. ‘I could not allow you to come.’

‘I did not ask your permission,’ she retorted. ‘But of course it would be a great deal pleasanter with it,’ she added.

He did not answer. It was the first time she had seen him so uncertain. Even when she had realised some time ago, with shock, that he found her attractive, there had always been a distance between them. He was Pitt’s superior, a seemingly invulnerable man: intelligent, ruthless, always in control, and knowing so many things that others did not. Now he was unsure, able to be hurt, no more in control of everything than she was. She would have used his Christian name if she had dared, but that would be a familiarity too far.

‘We need the same thing,’ she began. ‘We have to find the truth of who is behind this fabrication and put an end to it. It is survival for both of us. If you think that because I am a woman I cannot fight, or that I will not, then you are a great deal more naïve than I assumed, and frankly, I do not believe that. You have some other reason. Either you are afraid of something I will find out, some lie you need to protect; or else your pride is more important to you than your survival. Well, it is not more important to me.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And should I be of assistance, you will not owe me anything, morally or otherwise. I care what happens to you. I would not like to see you ruined, because you helped my husband at a time when we desperately needed it. But what is far more urgent at the moment, I will come in order to save my own family.’

‘Every time I think I know something about you, you surprise me,’ Narraway observed. ‘It is a good thing you are no longer a part of high society; they would never survive you. They are unaccustomed to such ruthless candour. They would have no idea what to do with you.’

‘You don’t need to be concerned for them. I know perfectly well how to lie with the best, if I have to,’ she retorted. ‘I am coming to Ireland with you. This needs to be done, and you cannot do it alone because too many people already know you. You said as much yourself. But I had better have some reasonable excuse to justify travelling with you, or we shall cause an even greater scandal. May I be your sister, for the occasion?’

‘We don’t look anything alike,’ he said with a slightly twisted smile.

‘Half-sister then, if anybody asks,’ she amended.

‘Of course you are right,’ he conceded. His voice was tired, the banter gone from it. He had been bruised to the heart and he knew it was ridiculous to deny the only help he had been offered. ‘But you will listen to me, and do as I tell you. I cannot afford to spend my time or energy looking after you or worrying about you. Is that understood, and agreed?’

‘Certainly. I want to succeed, not prove some kind of point.’

‘Then I shall be here at eight o’clock in the morning the day after tomorrow to take us to the train, and then the boat. Bring clothes suitable for walking, for discreet calling upon people in the city, and at least one gown for evening, should we go to the theatre. Dublin is famous for its theatres. No more than one case.’

‘I shall be waiting.’

He hesitated a moment, then let out his breath. ‘Thank you.’

After he had gone Charlotte went back to the front parlour and a moment later there was a knock on the door.

‘Come in,’ she said, expecting to thank Mrs Waterman for waiting up, tell her that nothing more was needed and she should go to bed.

Mrs Waterman came in and closed the door behind her. Her back was ramrod stiff, her face almost colourless and set in lines of rigid disapproval. One might imagine she had found a blocked drain.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Pitt,’ she said before Charlotte had had time to say anything. ‘I cannot remain here. My conscience would not allow it.’

Charlotte was stunned. ‘What are you talking about? You’ve done nothing wrong.’

Mrs Waterman sniffed. ‘Well, I dare say I have my faults. We all do. But I’ve always been respectable, Mrs Pitt. There wasn’t ever anyone who could say different.’

‘Nobody has.’ Charlotte was still mystified. ‘Nobody has even suggested such a thing.’

‘And I mean to keep it like that, if you understand me.’ Mrs Waterman stood, if possible, even straighter. ‘So I’ll be going in the morning. I’m sorry, about that. I dare say it’ll be difficult for you, which I regret. But I’ve got my name to think of.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Charlotte was growing annoyed. Mrs Waterman was not particularly agreeable, but they might learn to accept one another. She was certainly hard-working, diligent and totally reliable – at least she had been so far. With Pitt away for an indefinite period of time, and now this disastrous situation with Narraway, the last thing Charlotte needed was a domestic crisis. She had to go to Ireland. If Pitt were without a job they would lose the house and in quite a short time possibly even find themselves scraping for food. He might have to learn a new trade entirely, and that would be difficult for a man in his forties. Also, with all the effort he would put into it, it would still take time. It was barely beginning to sink into her mind just how serious it would be. The embarrassment, the shame of it had not even begun to take shape. How on earth would Daniel and Jemima take the news? No more pretty dresses, no more parties, no more hoping for a career for Daniel. He would be fortunate not to start work at anything he could find, in a year or two. Even Jemima could become somebody’s kitchen maid. The tears stung in her eyes.

‘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.