her face. “That’s just daft. Yer gotter tell ’im ter think afore ’e leaps in, yer really ’ave!”
“I must help him, Gracie. Mr. Narraway’s enemies in Special Branch are Mr. Pitt’s as well. For all our sakes, we must win.”
“Yer goin’ ter Ireland? Yer goin’ ter ’elp ’im …” She reached out her hand, almost as if to touch Charlotte’s where it lay on the table, then snatched it back self-consciously. She was no longer an employee, but it was a liberty too far, for all the years they had known each other. She took a deep breath. “Yer ’ave gotta!”
“I know. I mean to,” Charlotte assured her. “But since Mrs. Waterman has walked out—in disgust and outraged morality, because Mr. Narraway was alone in the parlor with me after dark—I have to find someone to replace her before I can leave.”
A succession of emotions passed across Gracie’s face: anger, indignation, impatience, and a degree of amusement. “Stupid ol’ ’aporth,” she said with disgust. “Got minds like cesspits, some o’ them ol’ vinegar virgins. Not that Mr. Narraway don’t ’ave a soft spot for yer, an’ all.” The smile lit her eyes for an instant, then was gone again. She might not have dared say that when she worked for Charlotte, but she was a respectable married woman now, and in her own kitchen, in her own house. She wouldn’t have changed places with the queen—and she had met the queen, which was more than most could say.
“Gracie, Emily is away and so is my mother,” Charlotte told her gravely. “I can’t go and leave Jemima and Daniel until I find someone to look after them, someone I can trust completely. Where do I look? Who can recommend someone without any doubt or hesitation at all?”
Gracie was silent for so long that Charlotte realized she had asked an impossible question.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “That was unfair.”
The kettle was boiling and began to whistle. Gracie stood up, picked up the cloth to protect her hands, and pulled it away from the heat. She swirled a little of the steaming water around the teapot to warm it, emptied it down the sink, and then made the tea. She carried the pot carefully over to the table and set it on a metal trivet to protect the wood. Then she sat down again.
“I can,” she said.
Charlotte blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“I can recommend someone,” Gracie said. “Minnie Maude Mudway. I knowed ’er since before I ever met you, or come to yer ’ouse. She lived near where I used ter, in Spitalfields, just ’round the corner, couple o’ streets along. ’er uncle were killed. I ’elped ’er find ’oo done it, ’member?”
Charlotte was confused, trying to find the memory, and failing.
“You were riding the donkey, for Christmas,” Gracie urged. “Minnie Maude were eight then, but she’s growed up now. Yer can trust ’er, ’cos she don’t never, ever give up. I’ll find ’er for yer. An’ I’ll go ter Keppel Street meself an’ check on them every day.”
Charlotte looked at Gracie’s small, earnest face, the gently steaming teapot, and the homemade cake with its rich sultanas, the whole lovingly immaculate kitchen.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “That would be excellent. If you call in every day then I shan’t worry.”
Gracie smiled widely. “Yer like a piece o’ cake?”
“Yes please,” Charlotte accepted.
————
BY THREE O’CLOCK IN the afternoon, Charlotte was already packed to leave with Narraway on the train the following morning, should it prove possible after all. She could not settle to anything. One moment she wanted to prepare the vegetables for dinner, then she forgot what she was intending to cook, or thought of something else to pack. Twice she imagined she heard someone at the door, but when she looked there was no one. Three times she went to check that Daniel and Jemima were doing their homework.
Then at last the knock on the door came, familiar in the rhythm, as if it were a person she knew. She turned and almost ran to open it.
On the step was Gracie, her smile so wide it lit her whole face with triumph. Next to her stood another young woman, several inches taller, slender, and with unruly hair she had done her best to tame, unsuccessfully. But the thing that caught Charlotte’s attention was the intelligence in her eyes, even though now she looked definitely nervous.
“This is Minnie Maude,” Gracie announced, as if she were a magician pulling a rabbit out of a top hat.
Minnie Maude dropped a tiny curtsy, obviously not quite sure enough to do it properly.
Charlotte could not hide her smile—not of amusement, but of relief. “How do you do, Minnie Maude. Please come in. If Gracie has explained my difficulty to you, then you know how delighted I am to see you.” She opened the door more widely and turned to lead the way. She took them into the kitchen because it was warmer, and it would be Minnie Maude’s domain, if she accepted the position.
“Please sit down,” Charlotte invited them. “Would you like tea?” It was a rhetorical question. One made tea automatically.
“I’ll do it,” Gracie said instantly.
“You will not!” Charlotte told her. “You don’t work here, you are my guest.” Then she saw the startled look on Gracie’s face. “Please,” she added.
Gracie sat down suddenly, looking awkward.
Charlotte set about making the tea. She had no cake to offer, but she cut lacy-thin slices of bread and butter, and there was fine-sliced cucumber and hard-boiled egg. Of course there was also jam, although it was a little early in the afternoon for anything so sweet.
“Gracie tells me that you have known each other for a very long time,” Charlotte said as she worked.
“Yes, ma’am, since I were eight,” Minnie Maude replied. “She ’elped me when me uncle Alf were killed, an’ Charlie got stole.” She drew in her breath as if to say something more and then changed her mind.
