Betrayal at Lisson Grove (Treason at Lisson Grove)

“I have to,” he replied. “I must see Talulla Lawless. I can only see her in a public place, or she will accuse me of assaulting her. She has already tried it once, and warned me she will do it again if I attempt to see her alone. I know she is going to be there this afternoon. It’s a recital. Most people will be watching the musicians.”

“It will only need one person to recognize you and they will tell the others,” she pointed out. “Then what will I be able to do of any value? They’ll know the reason behind everything I say.”

“I will not go with you. The charade of your being my sister is for Mrs. Hogan.” He smiled bleakly. “You will go to the recital with Fiachra McDaid. He’s coming to meet you here—” He glanced at the clock on the mantel shelf. “—in ten minutes or so. I’ll go alone. I have to, Charlotte. I think Talulla is crucial to this. Too many of my investigations come back to her. She is the one thread that connects everyone involved.”

“Can’t I do it?” she persisted.

He smiled briefly. “Not this time, my dear.”

She did not argue any further, even though she was sure he was not telling her the entire truth. But it was foolish to come here at all if they were unprepared to take any risks. She smiled back at him, just in a very tiny gesture, and gave a little nod. “Then be careful.”

His eyes softened. He seemed to be about to say something half mocking, but there was a sharp tap on the door. Mrs. Hogan came in, her hair as usual falling out of its pins, her white apron crisply starched.

“Mr. McDaid is here for you, Mrs. Pitt.” It was impossible to tell from her expression what her thoughts were, except that she was having an effort keeping them under control.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hogan,” Charlotte said politely. “I shall be there immediately.” She met Narraway’s eyes. “Please be careful,” she said again. Then, before he could respond, she picked up her skirt perhaps half an inch and swept out the door Mrs. Hogan was holding open for her.

Fiachra McDaid was standing in the hall next to the longcase clock, which read five minutes ahead of the one in the dining room. He was smartly dressed, but he could not manage the same casual elegance as Narraway.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Pitt,” he said pleasantly. “I hope you’ll enjoy the music. It’ll be another side of Dublin for you to see, and a fine day for it. And talking of the weather, have you been outside the city yet? While it’s so agreeable, how about a trip to Droghada, and the ruins of Mellifont, the oldest abbey in Ireland—1142, it was, on the orders of Saint Malachy. Or if that is too recent for you, how about the Hill of Tara? It was the center of Ireland under the High Kings, until the eleventh century when Christianity came and brought an end to their power.”

“It sounds marvelous,” she said with as much enthusiasm as she could manage, taking his arm and walking toward the front door. She did not look back to see if Narraway was watching her. “Are they far from the city?”

“A little distance, but it’s well worth it,” McDaid replied. “There’s far more to Ireland than Dublin, you know.”

“Of course. I appreciate your generosity in sharing it. Do tell me more about these places.”

He accepted, and on the short journey to the hall where the recital was to take place, she listened with an air of complete attention. Indeed, at any other time she would have been as interested as she now pretended to be. The pride in his voice was unmistakable, and the love for his people and their history. He had a remarkable compassion for the poor and the dispossessed, which she could not help but admire.

When they arrived, the crowds were already beginning to gather, and they were obliged to find their seats if they wished to be well placed toward the front. Charlotte was pleased to do so, in order to be as far from Narraway as possible, so no one might think they were with each other—except McDaid, of course, and she had to trust in his discretion.

The other ladies were dressed very fashionably, and in the bronze-and-black-striped blouse she felt the equal of any of them. It still gave her a twinge of guilt that Narraway had paid for it, and she had no idea what words she would use to explain it to Pitt. But for the moment she indulged the pleasure of seeing both men and women glance at her, then look a second time with appreciation, or envy. She smiled a little, not too much, in case it looked like self-satisfaction, just enough to lift the corners of her mouth into a pleasant expression and return the nods of greeting from those she had met before.

She chose a chair, then sat as straight-backed as she could and affected an interest in the arrangements of the seats where the musicians were to play.