Betrayal at Lisson Grove (Treason at Lisson Grove)

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. This was not the time to address it.

“No,” she 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 favorite 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. “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, would know what to do.

If she were in Ireland, who would they ask for help? Was she even right to go? Which was the greater emergency? Should she ask any new maid, if she could find one, to call Great-Aunt Vespasia, if she needed help? Vespasia was close to seventy, although she might not look it, and certainly had not retired from any part of life. Her passion, courage, and energy would put to shame many a thirty-year-old, and she had always been a leader in the highest Society. Her great beauty had changed, but not dimmed. But was she the person to make decisions should a child be ill, or there be some other domestic crisis such as a blocked drain, a broken faucet, a shortage of coal, a chimney fire, and so on?

Gracie had risen to all such occasions, at one time or another.

Charlotte stood up, washed her hands in water that was almost cold, and took off her apron. She would ask Gracie’s advice. It was something of a desperate step to disturb her newfound happiness so soon, but it was a desperate situation.

It was an omnibus ride, but not a very long one, to the small redbrick house where Gracie and Tellman lived. They had the whole of the ground floor to themselves, including the front garden. This was quite an achievement for a couple so young, but then Tellman was twelve years older than Gracie, and had worked extremely hard to gain promotion to sergeant in the Metropolitan Police. Pitt still missed working with him.

Charlotte walked up to the front door and knocked briskly, holding her breath in anticipation. If Gracie was not in, she had no idea where she could turn next.

But the door opened and Gracie stood just inside, five feet tall with her smart boots on, and wearing a dress that for once was nobody else’s cast-off taken up and in to fit her. There was no need to ask if she was happy; it radiated from her face like heat from a stove.

“Mrs. Pitt! Yer come ter see me! Samuel in’t ’ere now, ’e’s gorn already, but come in an ’ave a cup o’ tea.” She pulled the door open even wider and stepped back.

Charlotte accepted, forcing herself to think of Gracie’s new house, her pride and happiness, before she said anything of her own need. She followed Gracie inside along the linoleum-floored passage, polished to a gleaming finish, and into the small kitchen at the back. It too was immaculately clean and smelled of lemon and soap, even this early in the morning. The stove was lit and there was well-kneaded bread sitting in pans on the sill, rising gently. It would soon be ready to bake.

Gracie pulled the kettle over onto the hob and set out a teapot and cups, then opened the pantry cupboard to get milk.

“I got cake, if yer like?” she offered. “But mebbe yer’d sooner ’ave toast an’ jam?”

“Actually, I’d rather like cake, if you can spare it,” Charlotte replied. “I haven’t had good cake for a while. Mrs. Waterman didn’t approve of it, and the disfavor came through her hands. Heavy as lead.”