But anger was a short comfort. It died quickly when she was out in the icy street, brushed by indifferent people, splashed by a passing carriage when she stood too close to the curb. Gradually, as she walked along the Strand towards the omnibus stop, the meaning of it all sank in: Ballarat was not going to do anything. She had expected him to be only a little less outraged man she was—after all, Pitt was one of his own men, and probably the best. He should have been up in arms, doing everything to get this appalling mistake put right. Instead he was backing out, equivocating, finding excuses for doing nothing. Perhaps he was even relieved that Pitt had been silenced. And how more effectively could Pitt be stopped from asking embarrassing questions or unearthing anything that implicated the Yorks, or the Danvers, or Ballarat’s superiors at the Home Office and the diplomatic departments that had been penetrated by treason?
She stopped short and a man with a tray of pies bumped into her, swearing in his surprise.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. She stood rooted to the gray footpath as people jostled and grumbled past her. Could that be it? Was it conceivable Ballarat himself—No, surely not. He was only weak, and ambitious. But who had murdered Cerise? What had she known that was still so dangerous, even now, that someone had sought her out in a back room in Seven Dials and broken her neck?
Someone she could still betray—that was obvious. And whoever had done it was afraid Pitt was too close. If it were mere coincidence that she had been murdered just as he reached her, then Ballarat would be doing everything he could to uncover the truth.
She started to walk again, quickly now. She had hold of a definite fact: Ballarat was part of the conspiracy, either because he was implicated or because he was merely weak.
She thought the latter. She and Emily must do something about it, there must be ways—
Then the chill made her gasp. How could she reach Emily? She was a lady’s maid at the Yorks’; she might as well be in France! Charlotte could not even be sure a letter would be given to her promptly.
“Extra! Extra!” The newsboy’s voice cut into her thoughts as he shouted sharp and high. “Extra! Policeman murders woman in pink! Extra!” He stopped next to her. “ ’Ere, lady, yer wan’ a paper? Thomas Pitt, a famous rozzer, killed a—” He glanced at her face and amended what he had been going to say. “Killed a woman o’ the streets.”
Her voice barely came through her lips. “No thank you.”
The boy turned away and drew in his breath to shout again. Then she realized it was foolish to run away from it. If she were to be of any use she needed to know. “Yes please! Yes, I will buy one,” she called after him, fishing in her reticule for a coin and offering it to him.
“There y’are, lady. Ta.” He gave her a penny change and went on his way. “Extra! Rozzer commits ’orrible murder in Seven Dials!”
She pushed it under her arm, out of the way. She would rather look at it alone. The omnibus had nearly arrived, and when it came she climbed on, giving her fare to the “cad,” and sat down, this time oblivious of the other passengers.
When she got off it was raining heavily and she was thoroughly soaked by the time she reached her own front door and got inside. She was greeted almost immediately by Gracie, her eyes red-rimmed and her apron filthy. Charlotte took off her sodden coat and hung it up without caring where it dripped.
“What is it, Gracie?” she said impatiently.
“Oh, ma’am—I’m terrible sorry.” Gracie was on the edge of tears again, her voice thick with crying.
“What?”
“Mrs. Biggs ’as gorn, ma’am. Never so much as did the floors. Said she wouldn’t work for nobody what murdered women. I’m terrible sorry, ma’am—I wouldn’t ’a’ told yer, but I ’ad to say as why she went, an’—” She gulped deeply, tears running down her cheeks. “An’ the butcher wouldn’t give no credit. As good as said as ’ow ’e’d sooner we got our meat somewheres else!”
Charlotte was stunned. She had not even thought of that, and here it was, so soon. She felt breathless and a little sick.
“Ma’am?” Gracie sniffed fiercely but it did not stop her crying.
Suddenly Charlotte put her arms round her and they clung to each other, letting the tears come in a storm of misery.
It was several moments before Charlotte was able to pull herself together, blow her nose, and go into the kitchen. She splashed her face with cold water and rubbed it dry so fiercely her red eyes hardly showed. Ordering Gracie about was a kind of relief, chopping vegetables savagely helped to calm her while she tried to think.
She told Daniel and Jemima nothing, doing what she could to behave normally. Daniel was too hungry to be observant, but Jemima noticed and asked what was wrong.
“I have a cold,” Charlotte said, forcing herself to smile. “Don’t worry about it.” She might as well get the initial news over now. She was dreading the lies, but the sooner she started the less horrible it would be. “Papa won’t be home for a few days. He’s away on a very special job.”
“Is that why you’re unhappy?” Jemima said slowly, watching her.
The closer she could stay to some kind of truth the better.
“Yes. But don’t worry—we’ll keep each other company.” She tried to smile and knew it was a disaster.
Jemima smiled back, and immediately her lip began to tremble. She had always been quick to grasp Charlotte’s mood, whether she understood it or not: she was like a little mirror reflecting gestures, expressions, tones of voice. Now she knew there was something wrong.
“Yes, I will miss him,” Charlotte repeated. “And I miss Aunt Emily, too, since she went on holiday. Never mind; I shall have to be busy and then the time will pass. Now eat your supper or it will get cold.”
She bent to her own plate, forcing herself to spoon down the stew and mashed potatoes although she was barely aware of their taste. Her throat ached and her stomach felt like stone.
She was barely finished when the doorbell rang. Both she and Gracie stopped, fear returning. Who could it be? For one wild moment Charlotte thought perhaps Pitt had been released and somehow lost his key; then she realized
