leads.”
“Well, the Inner Circle road leads to giving up your right to act for yourself,” she answered.
“Power in government is not about acting for yourself.” He kissed her softly and she stiffened for a moment, then pulled away and stared at him. “It’s about achieving some real good in making things better for the people who trust you, who elected you,” he went on. “That is what honor is-keeping your promises, acting for those who have not the power to do so themselves. . not for posturing, feeling comfortable or indulging your own conscience.”
She looked down, uncertain what to say. She did not know how to put her feelings into words, even to herself, an argument that would make clear the path between helplessness on one hand, and compromise on the other. No one gained anything without a price. How high a price was acceptable? How high was necessary?
“Emily?” he said, a lift of alarm in his voice. It was very slight, but the laughter was false now, a mask. “I refused!”
“I know,” she answered, shivering, uncertain he would refuse next time, when the persuasion was stronger, the arguments more passionate, more tilted, the prize greater. And she was ashamed that she was afraid. Had it been Pitt she would not have been. But then Pitt had tasted their power himself, and felt the wounds.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Charlotte and Gracie worked together in the cottage kitchen. Gracie was cleaning the cooking range after having scrubbed the stone floor, Charlotte was kneading bread, and the butter churn stood on the marble-topped table in the cool of the scullery. Sunlight streamed through the open door; the slight breeze from the moors rising in the distance was sweet and sharp with the aroma of tussock and herbs and the lush grasses of the bogs. The children were playing on the apple tree and every so often they shouted with laughter.
“If that boy rips ’is trousers one more time sliding out o’ that tree, I don’ know wot you’re goin’ ter tell ’is mother!” Gracie said exasperatedly, referring to Edward, who was having the time of his life and had torn every piece of clothing he had brought with him. Charlotte had spent time each evening doing her best to repair them. One pair of Daniel’s trousers had been sacrificed to make patches for both boys. Even Jemima had rebelled against the restrictions of skirts and tucked them up as she had scrambled over stone walls and loudly declared that there was no natural or moral law that girls should not have just as much fun as boys.
They ate bread and cheese and fruit, raspberries, wild strawberries, and plums, till they were fortunate not to be sick, and fresh sausages from the butcher in the village. It would have been perfect, if only Pitt could have been with them.
Charlotte understood that it was impossible, even if not the details of why. And although Voisey could not know where they were, she was aware all the time of listening to make sure she could hear the children’s voices, and every ten minutes or so she went to the door and looked out to see them.
Gracie said nothing about it. Not once did she remark on the fact that they were alone here, but Charlotte heard her going around the windows and doors at night, checking after her that they were locked. Neither did Gracie mention Tellman’s name, but Charlotte knew she must be thinking of him, after their closeness during the Whitechapel affair. Her silence was in some ways more telling than words. Perhaps at last her feelings for him were greater than friendship?
Charlotte finished the bread and set it in its tins to rise, then went out to the garden to wash her hands under the pump. She looked up at the apple tree and saw Daniel on the highest branch strong enough to take his weight, and Jemima clinging to the one immediately below. She waited a moment for the stirring of leaves that would tell her where Edward was, and it did not come.
“Edward!” she called. It could only have been minutes. “Edward!”
Silence, then Daniel looked over to her.
“Edward!” she shouted, running towards the tree.
Daniel slid down hand over hand, scrambling into the fork of the branches, and then dropped to the ground. Jemima started to come down a great deal more carefully, hampered by inexperience and the fabric of skirts.
“We can see over the garden wall from up there,” Daniel said reasonably. “And there’s a patch of wild strawberries that way.” He pointed, smiling.
“Is he there?” she demanded, her voice high and sharp beyond her control. Even as she heard it she knew she was being ridiculous, and yet she could not help it. He had only gone to pick fruit, as any child would. There was no need even to be worried, let alone panic. She was allowing imagination to take over her reason. “Is he?” she repeated only a fraction more calmly.
“I don’t know.” Daniel was looking at her anxiously now. “Do you want me to go up again and look?”
“Yes! Yes, please.”
Jemima landed on the grass and straightened up, regarding a small tear in her dress with irritation. She saw Charlotte looking at her and shrugged. “Skirts are stupid sometimes!” she said in disgust.
Daniel went back up the tree, nimbly, hand over hand. He knew exactly the way to go now. “No!” he called from the top. “He must have found another one, maybe better. I can’t see him!”
Charlotte felt her heart lurch and the beating of the blood in her ears was deafening. Her vision blurred. What if Voisey had taken revenge on Pitt by hurting Emily’s child? Or maybe he didn’t even know who was who! What should she do?
“Gracie!” she yelled. “Gracie!”
“Wot?” Gracie flung open the back door and came running out, fear wide in her eyes. “Wot’s ’appened?”
Charlotte swallowed, trying to steady herself. She should not panic and frighten Gracie. It was stupid and unfair. She knew she was doing it and still could not help herself. “Edward has gone. . gone to pick strawberries,” she gulped. “But he’s not there anymore.” Her mind raced to find a reasonable excuse for the terror which Gracie must see and hear in her. “I’m afraid of the bogs out there. Even the wild animals get caught in them sometimes. I. .”
Gracie did not wait. “You stay ’ere wi’ them!” She waved at Daniel and Jemima. “I’ll go look for ’im.” And without waiting to see if Charlotte agreed or not, she picked up her skirts and ran with amazing speed across the grass and out of the gate, leaving it swinging behind her.
Daniel turned to Charlotte, his face pale. “He wouldn’t go into a bog, Mama. You showed us what they look like, all green and bright. He knows that!”
“No, of course not,” she agreed, staring at the gate. Should she take Daniel and Jemima with her and go, too, or were they safer here? She should not leave Gracie alone to look for Edward. What was she thinking of! Don’t separate! “Come on!” She darted and grasped Daniel’s hand, almost pulling him off balance as she started towards the gate. “Jemima! Come with me. We’ll all go and look for Edward. But stay together! We must stay together!”
They were only a hundred yards along the lane, the small, straight-backed figure of Gracie another hundred yards ahead of them, when the dogcart came over the rise and with a flood of relief that brought tears to her eyes, Charlotte saw Edward sitting beside the driver, balancing precariously and grinning with satisfaction.
Now she was so furious with him for the fear she had felt that she would happily have spanked him until he had to eat supper off the mantelpiece-and breakfast, too! But it would be totally unfair; he had not meant harm. Looking at his pleasure, she forced back her emotions, called out to Gracie, then picked her way over the ruts in the track to speak to the driver, who had pulled up in seeing them.
Gracie came back and for a moment her eyes met Charlotte’s, and she blinked hard to mask the depth of her own relief. In that instant Charlotte realized just how much they had been hiding from each other, trying to protect, pretend it was not there, and she was filled with gratitude and a startling depth of love for the girl with whom she had so little in common on the surface, and so much in reality.
Pitt’s house in Keppel Street was exactly as always, not an ornament or a book out of place. There were even flowers in the vase on the mantel shelf in the parlor, and early sunlight poured through the windows onto the kitchen bench and splashed warm across the floor. Archie and Angus lay curled up together in the clothes basket, purring gently. And yet everything was so different in its emptiness that it seemed more like a painting than a
