put it back up again in haste.
“Yes, ma’am?” Gracie said with a flutter of alarm. “Is something wrong?” Her mind went instantly to Pitt, having been called out in an emergency early that morning. There had been no message from him since. “Is Mr. Pitt all right?”
“Yes, perfectly, I believe,” Charlotte said with an oddly rueful smile. “Mr. Narraway, from Special Branch, would like to see you. He has something to ask you.” Her expression softened. “Please feel perfectly at liberty to answer him as you wish to. Whatever you say will be acceptable to me, and I shall see that your decision is respected.”
“Wot. . wot’s ’e gonna say?” Gracie asked with panic rising inside her. She knew Narraway was Pitt’s superior. He was a strange man, quietly spoken and elegant in a lean, very dark sort of way. But Gracie had seen hard men in the East End of London where she had grown up, men who carried knives and knew how to use them, whom she would not have backed in a fight against Mr. Narraway. There was something in him only a fool would challenge. Except when he looked at Mrs. Pitt. Then he was just as human and easily hurt as anyone else. Gracie thought she might be the only one who could see that. It was odd what people missed sometimes. “Wot does ’e want wi’
me?” she said again.
“Come down and you’ll find out,” Charlotte told her. “I’m not carrying a message down to the head of Special Branch to say you won’t see him!”
Gracie thought about her hair, which was straight as rain, screwed up in a knot at the back of her head, and her dark blue dress, which was more than a little crumpled. She would be putting a clean one on tomorrow anyway, so she had not bothered about sitting on it.
“Just as you are.” Charlotte must have read her thoughts. “He will mind a few wrinkles far less than he will mind waiting.”
That was alarming. Gracie smoothed her skirt once, ineffectively; her hands were shaking. Then she followed Charlotte down to the landing, past the bedroom doors of Jemima and Daniel, the two Pitt children, then on down the next flight to the hall.
Narraway was waiting in the front parlor. He looked extremely tired. His face was lined and his thick, dark hair with its sprinkling of gray was definitely less neat than usual. He was apparently too restless to sit down.
Gracie stood to attention. “Yes, sir?”
Charlotte closed the door and Gracie hoped to heaven she had remained inside, but she dared not look round to find out.
“Miss Phipps,” Narraway began, “what I am about to tell you, you will keep with the same absolute discretion you do all things you learn in this house. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir! I know what discretion is,” Gracie said indignantly. “I don’t talk about things to no one wot in’t their business.”
“Good. Mr. Pitt was called this morning because there has been a murder at Buckingham Palace, where the Queen lives. Although she is not there at the moment, fortunately. However, the Prince of Wales is.”
Gracie stared at him speechlessly.
“A prostitute was knifed to death,” Narraway continued. “And her body was left in the linen cupboard in the guest wing, where there are presently eight people staying. They are on extremely important business with His Royal Highness.”
“An’ Mr. Pitt’s gonna find out ’oo killed ’er,” Gracie finished for him. “Don’t worry, sir. We can take care of things ’ere.”
“I’m sure you could, Miss Phipps.” Narraway nodded very slightly, the briefest possible flash of humor in his eyes. “However, that is not what your country requires of you.”
Charlotte let out her breath with a sigh.
Narraway colored faintly, but he did not turn to look at her.
“Wot d’yer mean, ‘my country’?” Gracie asked, completely bewildered. “In’t nothing I can do.”
“I suggest you get to the point, Mr. Narraway,” Charlotte cut in at last. “If I may say so, you are wasting time, and it is late.”
Narraway looked uncomfortable. There had been a distinct edge to Charlotte’s voice, and Gracie was sorry for him. Her awe of him vanished. She had heard it said that no man was a hero to his valet.
Perhaps he wasn’t to any servant who could read emotions in him that were so oddly vulnerable.
“Wot is it yer’d like me to do, sir?” she asked gently.
A flash of gratitude crossed Narraway’s face for an instant, then vanished. “I would like you to take temporary employment at Buckingham Palace, Miss Phipps. The position is already secured for you, as a general between-stairs maid. No one will know that you are really working for Special Branch, assisting Mr. Pitt, except Mr. Tyndale, who is in charge of the servants in that wing. It is a difficult job, and possibly dangerous. One of the guests there is a murderer. We need someone whose skill and discretion we can trust absolutely, and I have no man at all who could pass himself off as a servant. He would be found out in half an hour. You would not. Pitt says you are observant and trustworthy. It will be for only a few days at the most. We have to solve this crime before Her Majesty returns from Osborne.”
He looked at her very steadily. “If this becomes public, the scandal will be appalling. Will you do it? You will report to Mr. Pitt and do whatever he tells you, to the letter.”
“You don’t have to, Gracie,” Charlotte interrupted quickly. “It’s dangerous. This man has already killed a prostitute, by cutting her throat. You are quite free to say no, and no one will think less of you.”
Gracie’s voice trembled. “That in’t true, ma’am. We’ll all think less o’ me. Specially I will. I got ter go an’ ’elp Mr. Pitt.”
“And Her Majesty,” Narraway added.
Gracie squared her shoulders and stretched to her full height of almost five feet. “An’ that poor cow wot were killed. ’Oo’s gonna get justice for ’er if we don’t, eh?”
Narraway swallowed and cleared his throat. There was only the slightest trace of a smile on his face. “No one, Miss Phipps. We are greatly obliged to you. Will you be so good as to pack a bag with whatever you require? Uniforms will be provided for you. I shall wait and take you tonight. The sooner you begin, the better.”
Gracie turned at last to look at Charlotte fully, to try to make certain from her eyes rather than her words that she really wished her to go.
“Please look after yourself, Gracie,” Charlotte said softly. “We shall miss you, but it won’t be for long.”
“What about the laundry then?” Gracie said anxiously in a last grasp for safety.
“I’ll get Mrs. Claypole to come in an extra day,” Charlotte replied. “Don’t worry. Go and help Mr. Pitt. I think he may need you far more than I do, just at the moment.”
“Yes. O’ course I will,” Gracie agreed, her heart beating suddenly high in her throat. “Observant and trustworthy,” he had said. That burned like a flame inside her.
An hour later Gracie was in Buckingham Palace being introduced by Pitt to Mr. Tyndale. They were in the housekeeper’s room, but Mrs. Newsome herself was absent. She was not to know Gracie’s purpose here. Only Mr. Tyndale was to be aware of it, and that delicately balanced situation was going to require some skill to maintain.
At the moment Mr. Tyndale was explaining Gracie’s duties to her, and the basic rules of behavior to be followed by servants.
“This will be entirely different from any other post you may have held,” Mr. Tyndale said carefully, seeing her ramrod-straight back and figure so small that all dresses had had to be taken up to prevent her from tripping over the skirts. It obviously took him some effort to conceal most of his disbelief that she could really be here on behalf of Special Branch.
“Yes, sir.” She had no intention of telling him that she had come to the Pitts when she was thirteen and had never worked for anyone else. He was not so very big himself, and he too squared his shoulders and walked an inch or two taller than he really was.
“You will not speak to any of the guests unless they first speak to you, do you understand?” he continued gravely.
“Yes, sir.”
