Treason at Lisson Grove

she will be good. You had better wear a cape. The evening has turned somewhat cooler.”

“Yes, yes I will,” Charlotte agreed, then she said good-bye and replaced the receiver on its hook.

Half an hour later Vespasia’s coachman knocked on the door. Minnie Maude seemed confident enough for Charlotte to leave her, and Daniel and Jemima were not in the least concerned. Indeed, they seemed to be enjoying showing her the cupboards and drawers, and telling her exactly what was kept in each.

Charlotte answered the door, told the coachman that she would be ready in a moment, then went to the kitchen. She stopped for a moment to stare at Jemima’s earnest face explaining to Minnie Maude which jugs were used to keep the day’s milk and where the milkman was to be found in the morning. Daniel was moving from foot to foot in his urgency to put in his advice as well, and Minnie Maude was smiling at first one, then the other.

“I may be late back,” Charlotte interrupted. “Please don’t wait up for me.”

“No, ma’am,” Minnie Maude said quickly. “But I’ll be happy to, if you wish?”

“Thank you, but please make yourself comfortable,” Charlotte told her. “Good night.”

She went straight out to the carriage, and for the next half hour rode through the streets to Vespasia’s house in Gladstone Park—which was really not so much a park as a small square with flowering trees. She sat and tried to compose in her mind exactly how she would tell Vespasia what she meant to do.

At last Charlotte sat in Vespasia’s quiet sitting room. The colors were warm, muted to a familiar gentleness. The curtains were drawn across the window onto the garden, and the fire burned in the hearth with a soft whickering of flames. She looked into Vespasia’s face, and it was not so easy to explain to her the wild decision to which Charlotte had already committed herself.

Vespasia had been considered by many to be the most beautiful woman of her generation, as well as the most outrageous in her wit and her political opinions—or maybe passions would be a more fitting word. Time had marked her features lightly and, if anything, liberated her temperament even more. She was secure enough in her financial means and her social preeminence not to have to care what other people thought of her, as long as she was certain in her own mind that a course of action was for the best. Criticism might hurt, but it was a long time since it had deterred her.

Now she sat stiff-backed—she had never lounged in her life—her silver hair coiffed to perfection. A high lace collar covered her throat, and the lamplight gleamed on the three rows of pearls.

“You had better begin at the beginning,” she told Charlotte. “Supper will be another hour.”

At least Charlotte knew what the beginning was. “Several evenings ago Mr. Narraway came to see me at home, to tell me that Thomas had been in pursuit of a man who had committed a murder, almost in front of him. He and his junior had been obliged to follow this person and had not had the opportunity to inform anyone of what they were doing. Mr. Narraway knew that they were in France. They sent a telegram. He told me of it so that I would not worry when Thomas did not come home or call me.”

Vespasia nodded. “It was courteous of him to come himself,” she observed a trifle drily.

Charlotte caught the tone in her voice, and her eyes widened.

“He is fond of you, my dear,” Vespasia responded. Her amusement was so slight it could barely be seen, and was gone again the second after. “What has this to do with the maid?”

Charlotte looked at the drawn curtains, the pale design of flowers on the carpet. “He came again last evening,” she said quietly. “And stayed for much longer.”

Vespasia’s voice changed almost imperceptibly. “Indeed?”

Charlotte raised her eyes to meet Vespasia’s. “There appears to have been a conspiracy within Special Branch to make it look as if he embezzled a good deal of money.” She saw Vespasia’s look of disbelief. “They have dismissed him, right there on the spot.”

“Oh dear,” Vespasia said. “I see why you are distressed. This is very serious indeed. Victor may have his faults, but financial dishonesty is not one of them. Money does not interest him. He would not even be tempted to do such a thing.”

Charlotte did not find that comforting. What faults was Vespasia implying? It seemed she knew him better than Charlotte had appreciated, even though Vespasia had interested herself in many of Pitt’s cases, and therefore Narraway’s. Then the moment after, studying Vespasia’s expression, Charlotte realized that Vespasia was deeply concerned for him and believed in his innocence.

Charlotte found the tension in her body easing, and she smiled. “I did not believe it of him either, but there is something in the past that troubles him very much.”

“There will be a good deal,” Vespasia said with the ghost of a smile. “He is a man of many sides, but the most vulnerable one is his work, because that is what he cares about.”

“Then he wouldn’t jeopardize it, would he?” Charlotte pointed out.

“No. Someone finds it imperative that Victor Narraway be driven out of office, and out of credit with Her Majesty’s government. There are many possible reasons, and I have no idea which of them it is, so I have very little idea where to begin.”

“We have to help him.” Charlotte hated asking this of Vespasia, but the need was greater than the reluctance. “Not only for his sake, but for Thomas’s. In Special Branch, Thomas is regarded as Mr. Narraway’s man. I know this because, apart from my own sense, Thomas has told me so himself, and so has Mr. Narraway. Aunt Vespasia, if Mr. Narraway is gone, then whoever got rid of him may try to get rid of Thomas as well—”

“Of course,” Vespasia cut across her. “You do not need to explain it to me, my dear. And Thomas is in France, not knowing what has happened, or that Victor can no longer give him the support from London that he needs.”

“Have you friends—” Charlotte began.

“I do not know who has done this, or why,” Vespasia answered even before the question was finished. “So I do not know whom I can trust.”

“Victor … Mr. Narraway …” Charlotte felt a faint heat in her cheeks. “… said he believed it was an old case in Ireland, twenty years ago, for which someone now seeks revenge. He didn’t tell me much about it. I think it