‘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.