Jemima frowned. ‘I don’t understand. Why did Mrs Waterman go? Can’t we pay her any more?’
‘Yes, certainly we can,’ Charlotte said quickly, although that might not always be true. ‘She went because she didn’t approve of Mr Narraway coming here and telling me in the evening.’
‘Why not?’ Daniel put his bread down and stared at her. ‘Shouldn’t he have told you? And how does she know? Is she in the police as well?’
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. But this was not the time to address that.
‘No,’ Charlotte 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 favourite 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. Perhaps this was sufficient to deal with at one time. And there was no need to alarm them before she had worked out some way of keeping them safe and cared for. ‘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 — who would know what to do, who to contact, and would do so.
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 tap, or if the coal ran out, the chimney was on 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 new-found happiness so soon, but it was a desperate situation. Please heaven, Gracie was at home!
It was an omnibus ride, but not a very long one, to the small red-brick 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 were not in, she had no idea where she could turn next.
But the door opened and Gracie stood just inside, five foot tall with her smart boots on, and wearing a dress that, for once, was nobody else’s cast-off altered 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 a 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 teapot and cups ready, 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 disfavour came through her hands. Heavy as lead.’
Gracie turned round from the cupboard where she had been getting the cake. Plates were on the dresser. Charlotte noted with a smile that it was set out exactly like the one in her own kitchen, which Gracie had kept for so long: cups hanging from the rings, small plates on the top shelf, then bowls, dinner plates lowest.
‘She gorn then?’ Gracie said anxiously.
‘Mrs Waterman? Yes, I’m afraid so. She gave notice and left all at the same time, yesterday evening. Or to be exact, she gave notice late yesterday evening, and was in the hall with her case when I came down this morning.’
Gracie was astounded. She put the cake — which was rich and full of fruit — on the table, then stared at Charlotte in dismay. ‘Wot she done? Yer din’t never throw’er out fer nothin’!’
‘I didn’t throw her out at all,’ Charlotte answered. ‘She really gave notice, just like that. .’
‘Yer can’t do that!’ Gracie waved her hands to dismiss the idea. ‘Yer won’t never get another place, not a decent one.’
‘A lot has happened,’ Charlotte said quietly.
Gracie sat down sharply in the chair opposite and leaned a little across the small wooden table, her face pale. ‘It in’t Mr Pitt. .?’ Her voice was husky with sudden fear.
‘No,’ Charlotte assured her hastily. She should not have let her think it even for an instant. ‘But he is in France on business and cannot come home until it is complete, and Mr Narraway has been thrown out of his job.’ There was no use, and no honour, in concealing the truth from Gracie. After all, it was Victor Narraway who had placed her as a maid in Buckingham Palace when Pitt so desperately needed help in that case. The triumph had been almost as much Gracie’s as his. Narraway himself had praised her.
Gracie was appalled. ‘That’s wicked!’
‘He thinks it is an old enemy, perhaps hand in glove with a new one, possibly someone after his job,’ Charlotte told her. ‘Mr Pitt doesn’t know, and is trusting Mr Narraway to support him in his pursuit now, and do what he can to help from here. He doesn’t know he will be relying on someone else, who may not believe in him as Mr Narraway does.’
‘Wot are we goin’ ter do?’ Gracie said instantly.
Charlotte was so overwhelmed with gratitude, and with emotion at Gracie’s passionate and unquestioning loyalty, that she felt the warmth rise up in her and the tears prickle her eyes. This was absurd, and certainly no time for such self-indulgence.