pins that remained and redo it anyway. She looked dreadful. Her eyes were red and still burning with tears, although now they were also of anger, as well as shock and loneliness.
She heard the front door close, and Gracie’s footsteps along the hall.
Quickly she wound up her hair and repinned it rather wildly, then went down and into the kitchen.
Gracie was standing in the middle of the room.
“Wotever’s ’appened?” she said in dismay. “Yer new bread’s ruined. Look at it.” Then she realized it was something far more serious. “S’it Mr. Pitt? S’e ’urt?” All the color drained from her face.
“No!” Charlotte answered quickly. “He’s all right. I mean, he isn’t hurt.”
“Wot then?” Gracie demanded. Her whole body was rigid, her shoulders hunched tight, her small hands clenched.
Charlotte deliberately sat down on one of the chairs. This was not something to tell in a few words. “They’ve dismissed him from Bow Street and sent him into Special Branch, in the East End.” She never thought of not confiding in Gracie. Gracie had been with them for eight years, since she had been a thirteen-year-old waif, undernourished and illiterate, but with a sharp tongue and a will to improve herself. To her, Pitt was the finest man in the world, and the very best at his job. She considered herself better than any other maid in Bloomsbury because she worked for him. She pitied those who worked for mere useless lords. They had no excitement, no purpose in life.
“Wot’s Special Branch?” she asked suspiciously. “W’y ’im?”
“It used to be about the Irish bombers,” Charlotte said, explaining the little she knew. “Now it’s more about anarchists in general, and nihilists, I believe.”
“Wot’s them?”
“Anarchists are people who want to get rid of all governments and create chaos—”
“Yer don’t ’ave ter get rid o’ governments ter do that,” Gracie said with scorn. “Wot’s them other ’ists?”
“Nihilists? People who want to destroy everything.”
“That’s daft! What’s the point o’ that? Then yer got nuffink yerself!”
“Yes, it is daft,” Charlotte agreed. “I don’t think they have much sense, just anger.”
“So is Mr. Pitt goin’ ter stop ’em, then?” Gracie looked a little more hopeful.
“He’s going to try, but he has to find them first. That’s why he’s going to have to live in Spitalfields.”
Gracie was aghast. “Live! They in’t never gonna make ’im live in Spitalfields? Don’ they know wot kind of a place that is? Blimey, it’s the dregs o’ the East End there. Filthy, it is, and stinkin’ o’ Gawd knows wot! Nobody’s safe from nuffink, not robbers nor murderers nor sickness nor bein’ set on in the dark.” Her voice rose higher and higher. “They got the fevers an’ the pox an’ everything else besides. Dynamite some o’ them places there an’ yer’d be doin’ the world a favor. Yer’ll ’ave ter tell ’em it in’t right. ’Oo der they think ’e is? Some kind o’ useless rozzer?”
“They know what it’s like there,” Charlotte said, misery overwhelming her again. “That’s why they’re doing it. It’s a kind of punishment for finding the evidence against John Adinett and swearing to it in court. He’s not head of Bow Street anymore.”
Gracie hunched into herself as if she had been beaten. She looked very small and thin. She had seen too much injustice to question its reality.
“That’s wicked,” she said quietly. “It’s real wrong. But I s’pose if them toffs is after ’im, ’an ’e got one of ’em wot ’e ’ad comin’ ter ’im, then ’e’s safest out o’ their way, w’ere they can’t see ’im, like. I s’pose they’ll pay ’im, won’t they, in this Branch wotever?”
“Oh, yes. I don’t know how much.” That was something Charlotte had not even thought of. Trust Gracie to be practical. She had been poor too often to forget it. She had known the kind of cold that makes you feel sick, the hunger where you eat scraps that other people throw away, when one slice of bread is wealth and nobody even imagines tomorrow, let alone next week.
“It will be enough!” she said more forcefully. “No luxuries, maybe, but food. And the summer’s coming, so we won’t need anything like as much coal. Just no new dresses for a while, and no new toys or books.”
“An’ no mutton,” Gracie added. “ ’Errings is good. An’ oysters is cheap. An’ I know w’ere yer can get good bones fer soup an’ the like. We’ll be o’right.” She drew in a deep breath. “But it still in’t fair!”
* * *
It was difficult to explain to the children too. Jemima at ten and a half was already growing tall and slim and had lost a little of her roundness of face. It was possible to see in her a shadow of the woman she would become.
Daniel, at eight, was sturdier of build and very definitely a child. His features were developing strength, but his skin was soft and the hair curled at the back of his head exactly the way Pitt’s did.
Charlotte had tried to tell them that their father would not be home again for a long time in such a way that they understood it was not of his choosing, that he would miss them terribly.
“Why?” Jemima said immediately. “If he doesn’t want to go, why does he do it?” She was fighting against accepting, her whole face full of resentment.
“We all have to do things we don’t wish to sometimes,” Charlotte answered. She tried to keep her voice level, knowing that both children would pick up her emotions as much as her words. She must do all she could to disguise from them her own distress. “It is a matter of what is right, what has to be done.”
“But why does
Charlotte touched her gently. “Neither do I. But if we make a fuss it will only be harder for him. I told him we would look after each other, and would miss him, but we’d be all right until he comes back.”
