several seconds they both stood motionless. Then she held out her hand towards him, palm down, as if to take hold of his. It was an offer, and with a surge of joy he knew it. He was smiling, his heart beating in his throat. He wanted to sing, shout, but to have made a noise at all would have spoiled it. He strode forward and took her hand, pulling her very gently closer to him. Countless times he had longed to do this, imagined it, and now she was here. He could feel the warmth of her body through the fabric of her dress, smell her hair and her skin, more urgent and exciting than all the perfumes of lavender or roses.
Gently he kissed her, then more powerfully, then at last with total passion, and she answered him with a completeness he could not have dreamed.
Gracie also had made a decision. She was going to help solve this case, and she knew how; not exactly—that would have to wait until she learned a little more—but certainly she knew how she would begin, and what she intended to accomplish. She would find this wretched boy from the streets who refused to tell Pitt about the man who had given him the message for Kingsley Blaine at the theater door. From what the mistress had said, Aaron Godman, poor soul, had looked very little indeed like Mr. Prosper Harrimore. For a start, Harrimore had been twice his age, and twice his height! The boy could not be such a fool as not to have noticed such a thing, if he put his mind to thinking about it, and remembering.
It would take a little time, a day or two at least, and it would not be easy to make an excuse that would be believed. But she had been a good liar in the past and no doubt could be again, in the right cause. She had already learned the boy’s name from Pitt, and thus how to find him.
“Please, ma’am,” she said with downcast eyes, “me mam’s in a spot o’ difficulty. May I ’ave a day orf ter go an ’elp ’er? I’ll try an’ be back as soon as I can; if I can sort everythin’ terday, can I go termorrer? I’ll get up at five an’ do all the fires and the kitchen floor afore I go. An’ I’ll be back in the evenin’ ter do the veges and the dishes after dinner, an’ the beds an’ things. Please, ma’am?”
The only thing that struck guilt into her heart was the look of concern on Charlotte’s face, and the readiness with which she gave her permission. But it was a good cause. Now please heaven she could find this miserable boy and shake some sense into him!
She hurried out before any more questions could be asked, and set to her present chores with a will.
The following morning she was as good as her promise. She rose at five, stumbling in the dark and shivering with cold. She crept down the stairs to riddle the ashes in the kitchen fire, clean it out, black the grate, lay it and light it and fetch up the coal; then the parlor fireplace, black it and lay it. Next she filled the pail with water and scrubbed the kitchen table, then the floor, and by seven she had swept the parlor and passage as well and left everything ready for breakfast.
By quarter past seven, just before daylight, she let herself out of the front door before Charlotte came down to put on the kettle. Once she was out in the street, the gray dawn still lit by the yellow of the lamps, she hurried towards the main thoroughfare and the omnibus stop where she could begin her journey to Seven Dials.
She was not completely sure what she intended to do, but she had been with Charlotte more than once when she had gone detecting. It was a matter of asking the right questions of the people who knew the answers, and most important, of asking them in the right way. Which was why she was better suited to this particular task than either Charlotte herself or even Pitt. She would meet Joe Slater as an equal, and she was convinced she would understand him better. She would know if he were lying, and possibly even why.
It was a windless day, but bitterly cold. The pavements were slippery with it, and the chill ate into the bones through thin shawls and stuff dresses. Her old boots were little protection from the icy stones.
When the omnibus stopped she alighted with several others and looked around her. It was only a hundred yards to the place Pitt had mentioned, and she walked smartly. It was a narrow street and all along the left side were barrows and stalls selling small goods, mostly of fabric and leather. She knew very few of them were new; nearly all were remade from old fabric, the good parts cut out and used again. The same was true of the shoes. The leather was unpicked, recut and restitched.
Now she must begin to look for Joe Slater. Slowly, as if searching for a bargain, she moved along the lines of rickety barrows and benches made of planks of wood, or even goods set out over the stones of the curb. She did not feel the guilt that Pitt did when seeing the pinched faces, hollow, anxious eyes, thin bodies shivering in threadbare clothes. She had tasted poverty too thoroughly herself. Its familiar smells and sounds settled over her, making her wish she could turn and go back to the omnibus and leave it all behind. There was a warm kitchen at home in Bloomsbury, and hot tea at eleven o’clock, sitting with her feet by the stove, and the odor of clean wood and flour and laundry.
The first half dozen sellers were middle-aged, or women, and she kept on going, eyes averted so she did not get drawn into haggling. When she finally found a youth she looked at him carefully before speaking.
“Yer want summink, or yer just ’ere ter stare?” he demanded irritably. “Do I know yer?”
Gracie shrugged and half smiled at him. “I dunno—do yer? Wot’s yer name?”
“Sid. Wot’s yours?”
“D’yer know Joe Slater?”
“Why?”
“Cos I wanter buy summink orf ’im, o’ course,” she snapped.
“I got plenty that’s good. Want a new pair o’ boots? I got boots abaht your size,” he said hopefully.
Gracie looked at the array of boots in front of him. She would have liked a new pair. But what would Charlotte say if she wore ones like these, remade from old leather, other people’s castoffs? Maybe she wouldn’t notice. Who looked at boots under a long skirt? And all Gracie’s skirts were on the long side because she was so small.
“Mebbe …” she said thoughtfully. “ ’Ow much?”
He held up a light brown pair. “One and fivepence ha’penny, fer you.”
“One and twopence three farthings,” she said immediately. She would not have dreamed of paying the first price asked.
“One and fourpence farthing,” he replied.
“One and tuppence three farthings, or forget about it,” she said. They were very nicely shaped boots, and a good color. There was only one piece of leather on them that looked really scuffed. She made as if to turn away.
“All right! One and threepence,” he offered. “You can go a farthing.”
