Betrayal at Lisson Grove (Treason at Lisson Grove)

“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 color 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 recognized 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 realized 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 aware of many things that others knew nothing about. 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.”

“Every time I think I know something about you, you surprise me,” he 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 candor. 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 traveling 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 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 theater. Dublin is famous for its theaters. 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 parlor. 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 colorless 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 daresay 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 daresay it’ll be difficult for you, which I regret. But I’ve got my name to think of.”