Charlotte did not find that comforting. What faults was Vespasia implying? It seemed she knew him better than Charlotte had appreciated, even though Vespasia had interested herself in many of Pitt’s cases, and therefore Narraway’s. Then the moment after, studying Vespasia’s expression, Charlotte realized that Vespasia was deeply concerned for him and believed in his innocence.
Charlotte found the tension in her body easing, and she smiled. “I did not believe it of him either, but there is something in the past that troubles him very much.”
“There will be a good deal,” Vespasia said with the ghost of a smile. “He is a man of many sides, but the most vulnerable one is his work, because that is what he cares about.”
“Then he wouldn’t jeopardize it, would he?” Charlotte pointed out.
“No. Someone finds it imperative that Victor Narraway be driven out of office, and out of credit with Her Majesty’s government. There are many possible reasons, and I have no idea which of them it is, so I have very little idea where to begin.”
“We have to help him.” Charlotte hated asking this of Vespasia, but the need was greater than the reluctance. “Not only for his sake, but for Thomas’s. In Special Branch, Thomas is regarded as Mr. Narraway’s man. I know this because, apart from my own sense, Thomas has told me so himself, and so has Mr. Narraway. Aunt Vespasia, if Mr. Narraway is gone, then whoever got rid of him may try to get rid of Thomas as well—”
“Of course,” Vespasia cut across her. “You do not need to explain it to me, my dear. And Thomas is in France, not knowing what has happened, or that Victor can no longer give him the support from London that he needs.”
“Have you friends—” Charlotte began.
“I do not know who has done this, or why,” Vespasia answered even before the question was finished. “So I do not know whom I can trust.”
“Victor … Mr. Narraway …” Charlotte felt a faint heat in her cheeks. “… said he believed it was an old case in Ireland, twenty years ago, for which someone now seeks revenge. He didn’t tell me much about it. I think it embarrassed him.”
“No doubt.” Vespasia allowed a bleak spark of humor into her eyes for an instant. “Twenty years ago? Why now? The Irish are good at holding a grudge, or a favor, but they don’t wait on payment if they don’t have to.”
“ ‘Revenge is a dish best served cold’?” Charlotte suggested wryly.
“Cold, perhaps, my dear, but this would be frozen. There is more to it than a personal vengeance, but I do not know what. By the way, what has this to do with your maid leaving? Clearly there is something you have … forgotten … to tell me.”
Charlotte found herself uncomfortable. “Oh … Mr. Narraway called after dark, and clearly since the matter was of secrecy, for obvious reasons he closed the parlor door. I’m afraid Mrs. Waterman thought I was … am … a woman of dubious morals. She doesn’t feel she can remain in a household where the mistress has ‘goings-on,’ as she put it.”
“Then she is going to find herself considerably restricted in her choice of position,” Vespasia said waspishly. “Especially if her disapproval extends to the master as well.”
“She didn’t say.” Charlotte bit her lip, but couldn’t conceal her smile. “But she would be utterly scandalized, so much so that she might have left that night, out into the street alone, with her suitcase in her hand, if she had known that I promised Mr. Narraway that I would go to Ireland with him, to do whatever I can to find the truth and help him clear his name. I have to. His enemies are Thomas’s enemies, and Thomas will have no defense against them without Mr. Narraway there. Then what shall we do?”
Vespasia was silent for several moments. “Be very careful, Charlotte,” she said gravely. “I think you are unaware of how dangerous that could become.”
Charlotte clenched her hands. “What would you have me do? Sit here in London while Mr. Narraway is unjustly ruined, and then wait for Thomas to be ruined as well? At best he will be dismissed because he was Mr. Narraway’s man, and they don’t like him. At worst he may be implicated in the same embezzlement, and end up charged with theft.” Her voice cracked a little and she realized how tired she was, and how very frightened. “What would you do?”
Vespasia reached across and touched her very gently, just fingertip-to-fingertip. “Just the same as you, my dear. That’s not the same thing as saying that it is wise. It is simply the only choice you can live with.”
There was a tap on the door, and the maid announced that supper was ready. They ate in the small breakfast room. Slender-legged Georgian mahogany furniture glowed dark amid golden-yellow walls, as if they were dining in the sunset, although the curtains were closed and the only light came from the mounted gas brackets.
They did not resume the more serious conversation until they had returned to the sitting room and were assured of being uninterrupted.
“Do not forget for a moment that you are in Ireland,” Vespasia warned. “Or imagine it is the same as England. It is not. They wear their past more closely wound around themselves than we do. Enjoy it while you are there, but don’t let your guard down for a second. They say you need a long spoon to sup with the devil. Well, you need a strong head to dine with the Irish. They’ll charm the wits out of you, if you let them.”
“I won’t forget why I’m there,” Charlotte promised.
“Or that Victor knows Ireland very well, and the Irish also know him?” Vespasia added. “Do not underestimate his intelligence, Charlotte, or his vulnerability. By the way, you have not mentioned how you intend to carry this off without causing a scandal that might not damage Narraway’s good name any further, but would certainly ruin yours. I assume your sense of fear and injustice did not blind you to that?” There was no criticism in her voice, only concern.
Charlotte felt the blood hot in her face. “Of course not. I can’t take a maid, I don’t have one, or the money to pay her fare if I did. I am going to say I am Mr. Narraway’s sister—half sister. That will make it decent enough.”
A tiny smile touched the corners of Vespasia’s lips. “Then you had better stop calling him Mr. Narraway and learn to use his given name, or you will certainly raise eyebrows.” She hesitated. “Or perhaps you already do.”
Charlotte looked into Vespasia’s steady silver-gray eyes, and chose not to respond.
NARRAWAY CAME EARLY THE following morning in a hansom cab. When she answered the door he hesitated only momentarily. He did not ask her if she were certain of the decision. Perhaps he did not want to give her the chance to waver. He called the cabdriver to put her case on the luggage rack.
“Do you wish to go and say good-bye?” he asked her. His face looked bleak, with shadows under his eyes as if he had not slept in many nights. “There is time.”
“No thank you,” she answered. “I have already done so. And I hate long good-byes. I am quite ready to go.”
He nodded and walked behind her across the footpath. Then he helped her up onto the seat, going around to the other side to sit next to her. The cabbie apparently knew the destination.
She had already decided not to tell him that she had visited Vespasia. He might prefer to think Vespasia did not know of his dismissal. She also chose not to let him know of Mrs. Waterman’s suspicions. It could prove embarrassing, even as if she herself had considered the journey as something beyond business herself.
“Perhaps you would tell me something about Dublin,” she requested. “I have never been there, and I realize that beyond the fact that it is the capital of Ireland, I know very little.”
The idea seemed to amuse him. “We have a long train journey ahead of us, even on the fast train, and then a crossing of the Irish Sea. I hear that the weather will be pleasant. I hope so, because if it is rough, then it can be very violent indeed. There will be time for me to tell you all I know, from 7500 BC until the present day.”