husbands, or sons rotted away in the Steel. Some were violent, some greedy, brutal by nature of circumstance, many merely inadequate to cope with life in the struggling, overcrowded streets where only the strongest endure.
Charlotte had time for pity, time to wonder and think about these other women—it was easier to ache for another’s pain than work through the realities of her own. That made it easier to face Pitt and lie, smiling as if she had confidence and smothering her fear if she occupied the storm of emotion inside herself with something else.
When at last she was permitted in she was not allowed to touch him, only to sit across the table and stare into his face, seeing the dirt and the bruises, the hollows round his eyes where shock could not be hidden by his forced smile. Never in her life had she had to live so difficult or so complete a lie. He knew her so well, she had never succeeded in deceiving him before. Now she met his eyes and lied as easily as if he had been a child instead of a man, someone to be protected and comforted with stories while she bore the truth.
“Yes, we are all perfectly well,” she said quickly. “Although of course we miss you terribly! But we have enough of everything, so I haven’t had to ask Mama or Emily for any help, although I’m sure they’ll give it if it should be necessary. No, I haven’t been back to the Yorks’. I’m leaving it to Mr. Ballarat, as you said. . . . Well, if he hasn’t sent anyone to see you yet it must be because he doesn’t need to.” She kept mastery of the conversation, permitting no time for interruptions, questions she could not answer.
“Where’s Emily? At home. They wouldn’t let her in here, she isn’t family—at least, not close enough. Sisters-in- law don’t count. Yes, Jack Radley is being very helpful. . . .”
Emily was in the laundry room doing the job she disliked most intensely: ironing the starched frills of cotton aprons, half a dozen of them. Somehow Edith had taken advantage of some absence of mind to maneuver Emily into doing her share as well. She looked up in surprise when Mary came to the door, glanced all round her, then slipped in and closed it, fingers to her lips.
“What is it?” Emily whispered.
“A man!” Mary said urgently, her voice so low her words were almost swallowed. “You got a follower!”
“I haven’t!” Emily denied fiercely. She certainly did not need that kind of trouble. And it was totally unjust; she had encouraged no one. In fact, she had given the butcher’s boy a flea in his ear when he had smiled at her, impudent creature.
“Yes you ’ave!” Mary insisted. “Scruffy, ’e is, an’ looks like ’e just bin up a chimney! But spoke awful nice an’ polite, an’ if’n ’e were washed ’e could be real nice, I reckon.”
“Well, I don’t know him!” Emily said fiercely. “Tell him to go away!”
“Won’t you even come and see—”
“No! Do you want me to lose my character?”
“ ’E’s awful keen.”
“I’ll be thrown out!” Emily exploded.
“But ’e says ’e knows you!” Mary tried once more. “C’mon, Amelia; ’e could be—Well, d’you want to stay a lady’s maid all your life?”
“It’s a lot better than being out on the street without a character!” Emily hissed back.
“Well, if you’re really sure. ’Is name is Jack suffink.”
Emily froze. “What?”
“ ’Is name is Jack suffink,” Mary repeated.
Emily dropped the iron. “I’ll come! Where is he? Has anyone else seen him?”
“You changed yer mind pretty quick!” Mary said with profound satisfaction. “But yer’d better be sharp! If Cook catches yer, yer’ll be in dead trouble. ’E’s at the scullery door. On wiv yer! ’Urry!”
Emily ran from the laundry room along the corridor, through the kitchen and scullery to the back door, with Mary close behind her, keeping watch for cook’s return.
Emily could hardly believe what she saw. The man standing in the rain on the back steps beside the coke scuttles and rubbish cans was dressed in a dark, ragged coat that came past his knees, and his face was all but hidden by a broad-brimmed hat and a lock of sooty hair that fell over his brow. His skin seemed grimy, as if he had indeed come down a chimney.
“Jack?” Emily said incredulously.
He grinned, showing startlingly white teeth in his filthy face. She was so glad to see him she wanted to laugh, but realized immediately her laughter would turn to tears. It all rushed through her in a torrent so fierce she said nothing at all.
“Are you all right?” he demanded. “You look dreadful!”
Then she did start to laugh, a little hysterically, but stopped herself when she realized Mary could hear her. She controlled her voice with an effort. “Yes, I’m fine. I put a chair under my door at night. But I need to talk to you. How is Charlotte?”
“It’s very hard on her, and we’re not getting anywhere.”
There was a shout inside the scullery and Emily knew someone was back who would betray her, if not Cook then Nora.
“Go!” she said quickly. “I’ll go to the cobbler’s in half an hour or so—wait for the round the corner. Please!”
He nodded, and by the time Nora’s curious face came round the outer door he had slipped up the area steps and disappeared.
“What are you doing out ’ere?” Nora said sharply. “I thought I ’eard you talking to someone!”
