Whitechapel, not to mention whatever they did to Annie Crook and her child.”
“An’ poor Prince Eddy,” she said quietly. “D’yer reckon ’e died natural?”
His eyes widened a fraction. His face went even paler.
“Don’t say that, Gracie! Don’t even think it to yourself. Do you hear me?”
“Yeah, I hear. But yer scared too, an’ don’t tell me yer in’t.” It was not a charge against him. She would think him a fool were he not. She needed the closeness of sharing the fear for herself, and she wanted it for him. “Yer scared fer Remus?” she went on.
“They’d think nothing of killing him,” he answered.
“That’s if ’e’s right,” she argued “What if ’e’s wrong? Wot if it weren’t nothin’ ter do wi’ Prince Eddy, an’ the Inner Circle is makin’ it all up?”
“I’m still scared for him,” he replied. “They’d use him and throw him away, too.”
“Wot are we gonna do?” she said simply.
“You’re going to do nothing,” he answered sharply. “You’re going to stay here at home and keep the door locked.” He swiveled around in his seat. “You should’ve had that back door locked.”
“At ’alf past four in the afternoon?” she said incredulously. “There in’t nob’dy arter me. If I kept the scullery locked they’d think I really ’ad got summink goin’ on.”
He blushed faintly and looked away.
She found herself smiling, trying to hide it, and failing. He was frightened for her and it was making him overprotective. Now he was embarrassed because he had given himself away.
He looked at her and saw the smile. For once he interpreted it correctly, and his color deepened. At first she thought it was anger; then she looked at his eyes and knew it was pleasure. She had equally given herself away too. Oh, well … she couldn’t play games forever.
“So wot are we gonner do, then?” she repeated. “We gotta warn ’im. If ’e won’t be told, then we can’t ’elp it. But we gotta try, in’t we?”
“He won’t listen to me,” he said wearily. “He thinks he’s onto the newspaper story of the century. He won’t give that up, no matter where it leads him. He’s a fanatic. I’ve seen it in his face.”
She remembered the wild look in Remus’s eyes and the horror and terrible excitement she’d sensed in him as he had stood in Mitre Square, and she knew Tellman was right.
“We still gotta try.” She leaned forward across the table. “ ’E’s scared as well. Let me come wiv yer. We’ll both ’ave a go at ’im.”
He looked doubtful. The lines of strain were deep in his face. No one was looking after him. He had no one else to share his fears with, or the sense of guilt he would feel if something happened to Remus and he had not tried to warn him.
She stood up, accidentally scraping her chair legs on the floor. “I’ll get yer some tea. ’Ow about bubble an’ squeak? We got lots o’ cabbage an’ taters left over, an’ fresh onion. ’Ow’ll that be?”
He relaxed. “Are you sure?”
“No!” she said crisply. “I am standin’ ’ere ’cos I can’t make me mind up. Wot yer think?”
“You’ll cut yourself with that tongue,” he replied.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized. She meant it. She did not know why she had been so quick with him. Perhaps because she wanted to do far more to comfort him, look after him, than he would like or accept.
That realization made her blush suddenly, and she swung around and strode into the larder to get the cold vegetables and start cooking. She brought them back and kept her back to him while she chopped and fried the onions, then added the rest and moved it gently till it was steaming hot on the inside and crisp brown on the outside. She put it all onto a warm plate and set it in front of him. Then she boiled the kettle again and made fresh tea.
At last she sat down on the chair opposite him again.
“So are we goin’ ter find Remus and tell ’im just ’ow big this is? In case ’e’s so ’ell-bent on getting ’is story ’e in’t realized ’oo ’e’s up agin?”
“Yes,” he replied with his mouth full, trying to smile at the same time. “I am. You aren’t.”
She drew in her breath.
“You aren’t!” he said quickly. “Don’t argue with me. That’s the end of it.”
She sighed heavily and said nothing.
He bent his attention to eating the bubble and squeak. It was hot, crisp and fragrant with onions. It did not seem to occur to him that she had given in rather easily.
When he had finished, he thanked her with a touch of real admiration. He remained another ten minutes or so, then left out of the scullery door.
Gracie had followed Remus successfully all the way to Whitechapel and back again. She thought she was really rather good at it. She now took her coat and hat from the peg at the back door and went after Tellman. She did not especially like Lyndon Remus, but she had learned something about him, his likes and dislikes, seen the excitement and the terror in him. She did not want to think of him hurt, not seriously. A little chastening would not harm, but there was nothing moderate about any part of this.
Of course, following Tellman would be much harder because he knew her. On the other hand, he was not expecting her to follow, and she knew where he was going: to Remus’s rooms to await his return from whatever story he was working on apart from the Whitechapel murders.
