accuracy from which to draw blame.
She clattered around, banging the crockery and leaving the kettle to whistle, because she was furious with the people who blamed Pitt, and frightened in case they made things even harder for him, and frustrated because she did not know what she could do to help. She did not even know whether she should mention it or not.
“Gracie, you’ll break it,” Pitt said gently.
“Sorry, sir.” She dropped the kettle with a crash. “It just makes me so mad, sir. It in’t fair! What’ve they done about it? Nuffink! They wouldn’t know Ow ter begin, they wouldn’t. Stupid little article, ’e is, ’ooever wrote them things. It in’t responsible.” She was using longer words these days. Reading had changed quite a lot of her vocabulary.
Pitt smiled in spite of the way he felt. Gracie’s loyalty was peculiarly warming. He hoped he could live up to the high image she had of him. But the more he thought of it, the more afraid he was that he had made an irreparable mistake with Costigan, that it was something he had overlooked, that he should have seen and understood, which had sent him to an unjust execution.
He ate his breakfast without even being aware of what it was, and rose to leave just as Charlotte and the children came in. Gracie had hidden the newspapers. Even so, Jemima at least was aware that something was wrong. She looked from Charlotte to Pitt, then sat down.
“I don’t want any breakfast,” she said immediately.
Daniel hitched himself onto his chair, reached for the glass of milk provided for him and drank half of it, wiped the white ring off his mouth with his hand, then announced that he did not want any either.
“Yes you do,” Charlotte said quickly.
“There’s a man out in the street,” Jemima said, looking at Pitt. “He knocked on the door and Mama told him to go away. She was very rude. You told me I should never speak to anyone like that. She didn’t say please … or thank you.”
Pitt looked up at Charlotte.
“A man from one of the newspapers.” She forced a smile. “He was impertinent I told him to go away and not to knock on the door again or I’d bring the dog.”
“And she told a fib,” Jemima added. “We haven’t got a dog.”
Daniel looked frightened. “You wouldn’t give him Archie, would you? Or Angus?” he said anxiously.
“No, of course I wouldn’t,” Charlotte assured him. Then, as his face did not clear, she went on. “I wasn’t going to give him a dog, darling, I was going to tell it to bite him!”
Daniel smiled and reached for his milk. “Oh, that’s all right. Archie could scratch him,” he said hopefully.
Charlotte took his glass from him. “Don’t drink all that now or you won’t eat your porridge.”
He forgot about not wanting breakfast, and when Gracie passed him his porridge bowl he was happy enough to take it.
Jemima was more concerned. She sensed the unhappiness in the air. She fiddled with her food, and no one chastised her.
Suddenly there was a ring on the doorbell, and the instant after, a loud knocking. Gracie slammed down the kettle and marched towards the hall.
Charlotte looked at Pitt, ready to go after her.
Pitt rose to his feet. “I’ve got to face them sometime,” he said, wishing he could put it off until he had something to say that would explain it, some answer or reason. There were no excuses.
Charlotte started to speak, then stopped.
“What is it?” Jemima asked, looking at her mother, then at her father. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?”
Charlotte put her hand on Jemima’s shoulder. “Nothing you need to worry about,” she said quickly. “Finish your breakfast.”
The front door opened and they heard a man’s voice, then Gracie’s answer, high-pitched and furious. A moment later the door banged shut, and then Gracie’s feet marched back down the corridor. For a small creature, she could make a lot of noise when she was angry.
“Cheek of them!” she said, coming into the kitchen, her face white, eyes blazing. “Who do they think they are? Write a few words and think they have all the brains in London! Nothing but a tuppenny upstart.” She turned the tap full on and the jet hit the spoon in the sink and rebounded back, soaking the top half of her dress. She drew in her breath to swear, then remembered Pitt was in the room and choked it back.
Charlotte stifled a laugh that was too close to hysteria.
“I assume that was a reporter from the newspaper, Gracie?”
“Yes,” Gracie conceded, dabbing at herself with a tea towel and not making the situation appreciably better. “Worthless little item!”
“You’d better go and put on a dry dress,” Charlotte suggested.
“Don’t matter,” Gracie responded, putting the tea towel down. “It’s warm enough in ’ere. Won’t come to no ’arm.” And she began rummaging furiously in the flour bin and then the dried fruit bin, looking for ingredients for a cake which would not be baked until mid-morning, but the physical activity was a release for the pent-up tension in her. She would probably pound the dough for bread to within an inch of flattening it altogether.
Pitt smiled a trifle weakly, kissed Charlotte good-bye, touched Jemima on the top of the head and Daniel on the shoulder as he passed and went out to begin the day’s investigation.
Jemima turned wide eyes to Charlotte. “What is it, Mama? Who’s Gracie angry with?”
“People who write things in the newspapers when they don’t know the whole story,” Charlotte replied. “People who try to make everyone upset and frightened because it sells more papers, regardless of the fact that it may make a lot of other things worse.”
“What things?”
“What things?” Daniel echoed. “Is Papa frightened and upset? Is he people?”
“No,” Charlotte lied, wondering frantically how to protect them. Which was worse: trying to pretend everything was all right when it obviously was not, and only making them feel more frightened because they were lied to; or telling them something of the truth, so at least it made sense and they were part of the family? They would be worried and frightened, but not by the formless horrors of imagination and the feeling that they were alone and not trusted.
Without having made a conscious decision, she found herself answering.
“There has been another lady died in Whitechapel, just the same as the one a little while ago. It looks as if perhaps the wrong man was punished. People are very upset about it, and sometimes when you are angry or frightened, you want to blame someone. It makes it feel less difficult.”
Jemima was puzzled. “Why does it?”
“I don’t know. But you remember when you walked into the chair and stubbed your toe?”
“Yes. It went all blue and yellow and green.”
“Do you remember how you felt?”
“It hurt.”
“You said it was my fault.” Daniel’s eyes narrowed and he looked at his sister accusingly. “It wasn’t my fault. I never put the chair there! You weren’t looking where you were going.”
“I was!” Jemima said indignantly.
“You see?” Charlotte interrupted. “It’s easier to be angry than to admit you were clumsy.”
Daniel beamed with triumph. For once his mother had actually taken sides and he had won the argument.
Jemima looked cross. A flash of temper lit her eyes and she glared at him.
“The point is,” Charlotte went on, realizing her example had not been a fortunate one, “that when people are upset, they get angry. They are upset now because another lady has died, and they are frightened that they may have punished the wrong man, so they feel guilty as well. They are looking for someone to be angry with, and Papa seems like a very good person, because he was the one who thought the man they punished was the one who did it. Now it looks as if he wasn’t.”
“He made a mistake?” Jemima asked, the furrow deep between her fine, soft brows.
“We don’t know yet. It’s too difficult to understand. But it is possible. We all make mistakes sometimes.”
