needed.
Chapter Three
Charlotte sat by the fire in the parlour alone, her armchair opposite Pitt’s. It was early evening. The children were in bed. There was no sound except now and then the settling of ashes as the wood burned through. Occasionally she picked up a piece of the mending that was waiting to be done — a couple of pillowcases, a pinafore of Jemima’s. More often she simply stared at the fire. She missed Pitt, but she understood the necessity of his having pursued whoever it was to France. She also missed Gracie, the maid who had lived with them since she was thirteen and, now in her twenties, had finally married the police sergeant who had courted her so diligently for years.
Charlotte took up the pinafore and began stitching the hem where it had fallen, doing it almost as much by feel as by sight. The needle clicked with a light, quick sound against her thimble. Jemima was thirteen and growing tall very quickly. One could see the young woman in her that she would shortly become. Daniel was nearly three years younger, and desperate to catch up.
Charlotte smiled as she thought of Gracie, so proud in her white wedding gown, walking down the aisle on Pitt’s arm as he gave her away. Tellman had been desperately nervous waiting at the altar, then so happy he couldn’t control the smile on his face. He must have thought that day would never come.
But Charlotte missed Gracie’s cheerfulness, her optimism, her total candour, and her courage. Gracie never admitted to being beaten in anything. Her replacement, Mrs Waterman, was middle-aged and dour as a walk in the sleet. She was a decent woman, honest as the day, kept everything immaculately clean, but she seemed to be content only if she was miserable. Perhaps in time she would gain confidence and feel better. It was sincerely to be hoped.
Charlotte did not hear the doorbell ring and was startled when Mrs Waterman knocked on the parlour door. The older woman immediately came in, her face pinched with displeasure.
‘There’s a gentleman called, ma’am. Shall I tell him that Mr Pitt is not at home?’
Charlotte was startled, and her first thought was to agree to the polite fiction. Then her curiosity intruded. Surely at this hour it must be someone she knew?
‘Who is it, Mrs Waterman?’
‘A very dark gentleman, ma’am. Says his name is Narraway,’ Mrs Waterman replied, lowering her voice, although Charlotte could not tell if it were in disgust, or confidentiality. She thought the former.
‘Show him in,’ she said quickly, putting the mending out of sight on a chair behind the couch. Without thinking, she straightened her skirt and made sure she had no badly straying hair poking out of her rather loose coiffure. Her hair, which was a rich dark mahogany colour, slithered very easily out of control. As the pins dug into her head during the day, she was apt to remove them, with predictable results.
Mrs Waterman hesitated.
‘Show him in, please,’ Charlotte repeated, a trifle more briskly.
‘I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me,’ Mrs Waterman said with a slight twist of her mouth that was definitely not a smile. She withdrew, and a moment later Narraway came in. When Charlotte had seen him two days ago he had looked tired and a little concerned, but that was not unusual. This evening he was haggard, his lean face hollow-eyed, his skin almost without colour.
Charlotte felt a terrible fear paralyse her, robbing her of breath. He had come to tell her terrible news of Pitt; even in her own mind she could not think the words.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you so late,’ he said. His voice was almost normal, but she heard in its slight tremor the effort that it cost him. He stood in front of her. His eyes were so dark they were black in the lamplight, but curiously she could read the expression in them perfectly. He was hurt, and there was an emptiness inside him that had not been there two days ago.
He must have read her fear. How could he not? It filled the room.
He smiled thinly. ‘I have not heard from Thomas again, but there is no reason to believe he is other than in excellent health, and probably having better weather than we have,’ he said gently. ‘Although I dare say he finds it tedious hanging about the streets watching people, while trying to look as if he is on holiday.’
She swallowed, her mouth dry, relief making her dizzy. ‘Then what is it?’
A ghost of amusement lit his eyes for an instant, then vanished. ‘Oh dear, am I so obvious?’
It was more candid than he had ever been with her before, almost as if they knew each other well. She was surprised, and yet it did not feel unnatural.
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I’m afraid you look dreadful. Can I get you something? Tea, or whisky? That is, if we have any. Now that I’ve offered it, I’m not sure that we do. The best of it might have gone at Gracie’s wedding.’
‘Oh, yes, Gracie.’ This time he did smile, and there was real warmth in it, changing his face. ‘I shall miss seeing her here. She was magnificent, all five foot of her.’
‘Four foot eleven, if we are honest,’ Charlotte corrected him with answering warmth. ‘Believe me, you could not possibly miss her as much as I do.’
‘I hear intense feeling in your voice,’ he remarked, moving to stand a little closer to the fire, although the evening was not cold. ‘You do not care for Mrs. . Lemon?’
‘Waterman,’ she corrected him. ‘But Lemon would suit her. I don’t think she approves of me. Perhaps we shall become accustomed to one another one day. She does cook well, and you could eat off the floors when she has scrubbed them.’
‘Thank you, but the table will do well enough,’ Narraway observed.
She sat down on the sofa. Standing so close to him in front of the fire was becoming uncomfortable. ‘You did not come to enquire after my domestic arrangements. And even if you had known Mrs Waterman, she is not sufficient to cause the gravity I see in your face. What has happened?’ She was holding her hands in her lap, and realised that she was gripping them together hard enough to hurt. She forced herself to let go.
There was a moment or two with no sound in the room but the flickering of the fire, as if he had not framed in his mind what he meant to say.
She waited, the anxiety growing inside her again, her fingers finding each other and locking.
He drew in his breath, then changed his mind. He looked away from her, into the heart of the fire.
‘I have been relieved of my position in Special Branch. They say that it is temporary, but they will make it permanent if they can.’ He swallowed as if his throat hurt, and turned his head to look at her. ‘The thing concerning you is that I have no more access to my office at Lisson Grove, or any of the papers that are there. I will no longer know what is happening in France, or anywhere else. My place has been taken by Charles Austwick, who neither likes nor trusts Pitt. The former is a matter of jealousy because Pitt was recruited after him, and has received preferment in fact, if not in rank, which has more than equalled his. The latter is because they have little in common. Austwick comes from the army, Pitt from the police. Pitt has instincts Austwick will never understand, and Pitt’s untidiness irritates his orderly, military soul.’ He sighed. ‘And, of course, Pitt is my protege. . was.’
How can one believe and disbelieve something at the same moment? Charlotte was stunned so her brain did not absorb what Narraway had said, and yet looking at his face she could not doubt it. She felt an uprush of pity for him, and turned away so he would not see it in her eyes. Then she realised what he had said about Pitt and Austwick, and she understood why he had come specifically to tell her.
She knew he was watching her.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly.
She understood what he was apologising for. He had made Pitt unpopular by singling him out, preferring him, confiding in him. Now, without Narraway, he would be vulnerable. He had never had any other profession but the police, and then Special Branch. He had been forced out of the police after his long struggle against the Inner Circle. He could not go back there. It was Narraway who had given him a job when he had so desperately needed it. If Special Branch dismissed him, where was there for him to go? There was nowhere where he could exercise his very particular skills, and certainly nowhere where he could earn a comparable salary.
They would lose this house in Keppel Street and all the comforts that went with it. Mrs Waterman would
