Crowther nodded. “You are quite right, Miss Trench. That is perhaps the best course of action.”
Rachel helped herself to a little more of the fish, and grinned a little pertly at Harriet.
“He will probably not wish to see you. So I would suggest a long walk in the heat to the village and a sudden attack of faintness just outside his shop, Harriet.”
Crowther saw Harriet smile, and commented, “This country lost a great general when you were born a woman, Miss Trench.”
“Every woman must think like a general from time to time, I think,” she answered with a slight bow. “And you’ll be glad to know the country also lost a great actress when my sister was brought up to be a respectable married woman.”
Harriet mirrored her sister’s bow back to her with a slightly twisted smile.
“I’m not sure I am behaving like a respectable married woman at the moment, Rachel.”
Her sister widened her eyes a little. “Oh Harry, I did not say you were a respectable woman, just that you were brought up to be one!”
Crowther wondered if Mrs. Westerman were about to throw her napkin, and suspected Miss Trench was saved only by the door opening and Mrs. Heathcote’s arrival to clear the dishes.
Miss Trench had not exaggerated her sister’s skills. Crowther saw Mrs. Westerman prepare herself as they approached the shutters of Cartwright’s shop, taking her breaths in a shallow rush, but as her weight fell against him, just where Crowther could still reach the door-knocker, he could not have distinguished between a genuine spell of weakness and those symptoms that Harriet displayed. He only hoped his performance would be equal. He struck an urgent double clap at the door, and as soon as it was opened by a sweetheart-faced maid, the girl who became nervous when left alone, he supposed, he half-led, half-carried, Mrs. Westerman in before the girl could do any more than open and close her mouth. Crowther pushed at the first door he could see, which led into a modest parlor, and supported Harriet into a chair.
The maid looked at them rather nervously, then said firmly, “Mr. Cartwright sends his apologies but he is much engaged with business today, and unable to receive callers.”
Crowther composed his face into a severe frown and turned round sharply on his heel.
“Dear girl, do you suppose Mrs. Westerman or myself are in the habit of making social calls in this manner?” The child lifted her chin. “Mrs. Westerman has been taken ill in the heat, and requires a place to rest. Your master may go to the devil, for all I care.”
Harriet looked up, her face flushed, her breathing still short, her eyes moist with appeal.
“I just need a glass of water, and a chance to recover myself, Hannah. We found Nurse Bray yesterday, you know… I began to think of her poor face, and …”
Crowther was fascinated to see a large tear run down her cheek. Without thinking, he took her wrist in one hand and his watch in the other and started to take her pulse. Hannah stepped forward with a little sigh, and her shoulders relaxed.
“Of course I’ll get you some water. You stay right there, ma’am.” She shot a bitter look at Crowther and turned quickly enough for her skirts to swish. The door rattled on its latch behind her.
Mrs. Westerman’s pulse was steady and even as any man could wish. Crowther looked up from his watch and caught her eye. She winked at him. They could hear a muttered conversation in the hallway outside, and the door opened to allow the master himself in, bearing the water and leaning his upper body forward as he walked, as if he felt it dangerous to have his own head higher than either of his guests.”
“Dear Mrs. Westerman! So sorry you are unwell.”
He offered the glass. Harriet took it with a trembling hand.
“Mr. Cartwright, so sorry to disturb you!” Her eyelashes fluttered, and he tutted away her apologies. “You know Mr. Crowther, I presume. Mr. Crowther, this is Mr. Cartwright.”
Crowther drew himself up very straight and looked down his nose. “Ah, yes! The glove man.”
Cartwright gave a slightly sick smile. “That’s right, sir. As I have had occasion to remark to you before, the name is above the door. But do take a seat.” He took a step back and opened the door into the hallway again. “Hannah! Fetch in some of that lemonade, if you will.”
Harriet raised a hand. “We trouble you too much, sir.”
“Not at all, not at all, Mrs. Westerman!”
Crowther settled himself with a convincingly bored sigh and there was a moment of silence as the two men watched Mrs. Westerman take a sip of her water, and then, as if the effort of holding it were almost too much, place the glass on the table beside her. She then said rather more brightly: “So it was you who found the unfortunate Brook for Mr. Thornleigh, Mr. Cartwright. And how did that come about?”
The little man stiffened and looked confused. Hannah reentered with lemonade and three empty glasses. Harriet seemed to fall back into her chair a little, and took hers with a weak, “Thank you,” but as soon as Hannah was out of the room again her condition seemed to improve, and she looked at Mr. Cartwright with steady, friendly attention. He glanced from one to the other and his skin acquired a slight sheen. He reminded Crowther of a cornered amphibian.
“There is a coffee shop I visit during my buying trips to London. I knew Brook very slightly from there. I may, in my dealings with Captain Thornleigh, have mentioned some of the types I had met in London.” He seemed to feel the importance of at least appearing to become a little more comfortable and leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. Crowther noticed for the first time that his pantaloons were a most remarkable shade of yellow.
“Sometimes, for the amusement of my friends, I am in the habit of composing little character sketches of some of those I come across in the great city. I always hope to have something new for Captain Thornleigh when I see him.”
Harriet smiled broadly at him. “It is such a thing to have the talent to amuse!” Cartwright raised his hand as if to brush away this praise, coloring faintly. “So he knew that you might be able to find help for him?”
“I suppose so, though I stressed I could not answer for Brook’s character, and advised Captain Thornleigh most strongly that he should make no advances of money without some tokens of proof.”
Crowther put his fingers together and let his gaze travel slowly over Cartwright, until he was sure the man was aware of the scrutiny, and uneasy under it.
“Why do you always refer to Mr. Thornleigh by his military title, Mr. Cartwright?”
The little man bristled again. “I had a wife and a son once, Mr. Crowther. A daughter too, though she is off and married now, thank the Lord. Both my wife and son were lost to me in the first years of the American Rebellion. My son was killed in Boston, and my wife took ill and died within a month of the news arriving. Captain Thornleigh knew my boy all his life. Carried him to the camp on his own shoulders, and held his hand while he died.”
Crowther thought again of the masks people wore, blended into their skins like cosmetics for the show of the day-to-day. How much more interesting people were when grief or consideration cleaned their grease-paint away.
“First thing Captain Thornleigh did when he got back was come and see me here, before he even went to his own home to change his coat. He came here to tell me Tom died like a man-something that would make any father proud.”
“That was very good of him, Joshua,” Harriet said quietly.
The man sniffed a little and nodded.
“He keeps me in mind too, even after all these years. He brought me a bottle of something from the Hall this morning with his apologies for involving me in this business. He can have a sharp tongue and rough manner at times, but he is a good soul still. And if he asked me any favor in the world, I’d do it. Not much one can do to thank a man for being there when your boy dies, and seeing he doesn’t die alone. Our Tom wouldn’t have been so scared, not with Captain Thornleigh there. So if he asks me to find him someone who’ll be thorough and cunning in his enquiries, I’ll walk to the end of the earth to do it.”