with Narraway.
“Thomas, Victor is out there with her. He won’t let any harm come to her if he can prevent it,” Vespasia said softly.
Pitt knew Narraway was in love with her, but he did not want to hear it. “If he cared, he wouldn’t have …,” he began.
“Allowed her to go?” she finished for him. “Thomas, she has gone in order to honor her friendship and loyalty, and above all to protect her husband’s career, and therefore the family’s means of survival. What do you imagine he could have said or done that would have stopped her?”
“Not told her he was going in the first place!” he snapped.
“Really?” She raised her silver eyebrows. “And left her wondering why you did not come home after chasing your informant through the streets? Not that night, or the entire following week? She might have gone to Lisson Grove and asked, by which time she would be frantic with fear. And she would have been met with the news that Narraway was gone and you were nowhere to be found, and there was no one in Lisson Grove to help or support you. Do you feel that would have been preferable?”
“No …” He felt foolish—panicky. What should he do? He wanted to go immediately to Ireland and make sure Charlotte was safe, but even an instant’s reflection told him that it was an irresponsible, hotheaded thing even to think of. By reacting thoughtlessly, he would likely be playing directly into the hands of his enemies.
“I’ll go home and see Daniel and Jemima,” he said more calmly. “If they have had a week of Mrs. Waterman, they may be feeling pretty desperate. She is not an easy woman. I must speak to Charlotte about that, when she gets home.”
“You don’t need to concern yourself—” Vespasia began.
“You don’t know the woman—” he started.
“She is irrelevant,” Vespasia told him. “She left.”
“What? Then …”
Vespasia raised her hand. “That is the other thing I was going to tell you. She has been replaced by a new maid, on the recommendation of Gracie. She seems a very competent girl, and Gracie looks in on them every day. Her reports of this new girl are glowing. In fact I must say that I rather like the sound of young Minnie Maude. She has character.”
Pitt was dizzy. Everything seemed to be shifting. The moment he looked at it, it changed, as if someone had struck the kaleidoscope and all the pieces had shattered and re-formed in a different pattern.
“Minnie Maude?” he said stumblingly. “For God’s sake, how old is she?” To him, Gracie herself was little more than a child, despite the fact that he had known her since she was thirteen.
“About twenty,” Vespasia replied. “Gracie has known her since she was eight. She has courage and sense. There is nothing to concern yourself about, Thomas. As I said—I have been there myself, and everything was satisfactory. Perhaps just as important, both Daniel and Jemima like her. Do you imagine I would allow the situation to remain if that were not so?”
Now he felt clumsy and deeply ungracious. He knew an apology was appropriate; his fear had made him foolish and rude. “Of course not. I’m sorry. I …” He hunted for words.
She smiled. It was a sudden, beautiful gesture that lit her face and restored everything of the beauty that had made her famous. “I would think less of you were you to take it for granted,” she said. “Now, before you leave, would you like tea? And are you hungry? If you are I shall have whatever you care for prepared. In the meantime we need to discuss what is to be done next. It is now up to you to address the real issue behind all this ploy and counterploy by whoever is the traitor at Lisson Grove.”
Her words were sobering. How like Vespasia to discuss the fate of revolution, murder, and treason in high places over tea and a plate of sandwiches in the withdrawing room. It restored a certain sanity to the world. At least something was as it should be. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, steadying himself.
“Thank you. I should very much like a good cup of tea. The prison in Shoreham had only the most moderate amenities. And a sandwich would be excellent.”
PITT ARRIVED HOME AT Keppel Street in the early afternoon. Both Daniel and Jemima were still at school. He knocked on the door, rather than use his key and startle this Minnie Maude in whom Vespasia seemed to have so much confidence.
He stood on the step shifting his weight from one foot to the other, his mind racing over what changes he might find: what small things uncared for, changed so it was no longer the home he was used to, and which he realized he loved fiercely, exactly as it was. Except, of course, Charlotte should be there. Without her nothing was more than a shell.
The door opened and a young woman stood just inside, her expression guarded.
“Yes, sir.” She said it politely, but stood squarely blocking the way in. “Can I ’elp yer?” She was not pretty but she had beautiful hair: thick and curling and of a rich, bright color. And she had the freckles on her face that so often went with such vividness. She was far taller than Gracie and slender; however, she had the same direct, almost defiant gaze.
“Are you Minnie Maude?” he asked.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but that in’t yer business,” she replied. “If yer want the master, yer gimme a card, an’ I’ll ask ’im to call on yer.”
He could not help smiling. “I’ll give you a card, by all means.” He fished for one in his pocket and passed it to her, then wondered if she could read. He had become used to Gracie reading, since Charlotte had taught her.
Minnie Maude looked at the card, then up at him, then at the card again.
He smiled at her.
The blush spread up her cheeks in a hot tide. “I’m sorry, sir.” She stumbled over the words. “I din’t know yer.”
