She felt a heat burn up her face. ‘Nurse your wound for a few hours, then gather yourself together and think what you wish to do.’
Now he really smiled, showing a naturalness of humour she had not seen in him before. ‘Is that how you speak to your children when they fall over and skin their knees?’ he asked. ‘Quick sympathy, a hug, and then briskly get back up again? I haven’t fallen off a horse, Mrs Pitt. I have fallen from grace, and I know of nothing to get me back up again.’
The colour was even hotter in her face now. ‘You mean you have no idea what to do?’
He stood up and straightened the shoulders of his jacket. ‘Yes, I know what to do. I shall go to Ireland and find Cormac O’Neil. If I can, I shall prove that he is behind this, and clear my name. I shall make Croxdale eat his words. At least I hope I will.’
She stood also. ‘Have you anyone to help you, whom you can trust?’
‘No.’ His loneliness was intense. Just the one, simple word. Then it vanished, as if self-pity disgusted him. ‘Not here,’ he added. ‘But I may find someone in Ireland.’
She knew he was lying, to cover the moment’s slip.
‘I’ll come with you,’ she said impulsively. ‘You can trust me because our interests are the same.’
His voice was tight with amazement, as if he did not dare believe her. ‘Are they?’
‘Of course,’ she said rashly, although she knew it was the absolute truth. ‘Thomas has no other friend in Special Branch than you. The survival of my family may depend upon your being able to prove your innocence.’
The colour was warm in his cheeks also, or perhaps it was the firelight. ‘And what could you do?’ he asked.
‘Observe, ask questions, go where you will be recognised and cannot risk being seen. I am quite a good detective — at least I was in the past, when Thomas was in the police force and his cases were not so secret. At least I am considerably better than nothing.’
He blushed and turned away. ‘I could not allow you to come.’
‘I did not ask your permission,’ she retorted. ‘But of course it would be a great deal pleasanter with it,’ she added.
He did not answer. It was the first time she had seen him so uncertain. Even when she had realised some time ago, with shock, that he found her attractive, there had always been a distance between them. He was Pitt’s superior, a seemingly invulnerable man: intelligent, ruthless, always in control, and knowing so many things that others did not. Now he was unsure, able to be hurt, no more in control of everything than she was. She would have used his Christian name if she had dared, but that would be a familiarity too far.
‘We need the same thing,’ she began. ‘We have to find the truth of who is behind this fabrication and put an end to it. It is survival for both of us. If you think that because I am a woman I cannot fight, or that I will not, then you are a great deal more naive than I assumed, and frankly, I do not believe that. You have some other reason. Either you are afraid of something I will find out, some lie you need to protect; or else your pride is more important to you than your survival. Well, it is not more important to me.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And should I be of assistance, you will not owe me anything, morally or otherwise. I care what happens to you. I would not like to see you ruined, because you helped my husband at a time when we desperately needed it. But what is far more urgent at the moment, I will come in order to save my own family.’
‘Every time I think I know something about you, you surprise me,’ Narraway observed. ‘It is a good thing you are no longer a part of high society; they would never survive you. They are unaccustomed to such ruthless candour. They would have no idea what to do with you.’
‘You don’t need to be concerned for them. I know perfectly well how to lie with the best, if I have to,’ she retorted. ‘I am coming to Ireland with you. This needs to be done, and you cannot do it alone because too many people already know you. You said as much yourself. But I had better have some reasonable excuse to justify travelling with you, or we shall cause an even greater scandal. May I be your sister, for the occasion?’
‘We don’t look anything alike,’ he said with a slightly twisted smile.
‘Half-sister then, if anybody asks,’ she amended.
‘Of course you are right,’ he conceded. His voice was tired, the banter gone from it. He had been bruised to the heart and he knew it was ridiculous to deny the only help he had been offered. ‘But you will listen to me, and do as I tell you. I cannot afford to spend my time or energy looking after you or worrying about you. Is that understood, and agreed?’
‘Certainly. I want to succeed, not prove some kind of point.’
‘Then I shall be here at eight o’clock in the morning the day after tomorrow to take us to the train, and then the boat. Bring clothes suitable for walking, for discreet calling upon people in the city, and at least one gown for evening, should we go to the theatre. Dublin is famous for its theatres. No more than one case.’
‘I shall be waiting.’
He hesitated a moment, then let out his breath. ‘Thank you.’
After he had gone Charlotte went back to the front parlour and a moment later there was a knock on the door.
‘Come in,’ she said, expecting to thank Mrs Waterman for waiting up, tell her that nothing more was needed and she should go to bed.
Mrs Waterman came in and closed the door behind her. Her back was ramrod stiff, her face almost colourless and set in lines of rigid disapproval. One might imagine she had found a blocked drain.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Pitt,’ she said before Charlotte had had time to say anything. ‘I cannot remain here. My conscience would not allow it.’
Charlotte was stunned. ‘What are you talking about? You’ve done nothing wrong.’
Mrs Waterman sniffed. ‘Well, I dare say I have my faults. We all do. But I’ve always been respectable, Mrs Pitt. There wasn’t ever anyone who could say different.’
‘Nobody has.’ Charlotte was still mystified. ‘Nobody has even suggested such a thing.’
‘And I mean to keep it like that, if you understand me.’ Mrs Waterman stood, if possible, even straighter. ‘So I’ll be going in the morning. I’m sorry, about that. I dare say it’ll be difficult for you, which I regret. But I’ve got my name to think of.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Charlotte was growing annoyed. Mrs Waterman was not particularly agreeable, but they might learn to accept one another. She was certainly hard-working, diligent and totally reliable — at least she had been so far. With Pitt away for an indefinite period of time, and now this disastrous situation with Narraway, the last thing Charlotte needed was a domestic crisis. She had to go to Ireland. If Pitt were without a job they would lose the house and in quite a short time possibly even find themselves scraping for food. He might have to learn a new trade entirely, and that would be difficult for a man in his forties. Also, with all the effort he would put into it, it would still take time. It was barely beginning to sink into her mind just how serious it would be. The embarrassment, the shame of it had not even begun to take shape. How on earth would Daniel and Jemima take the news? No more pretty dresses, no more parties, no more hoping for a career for Daniel. He would be fortunate not to start work at anything he could find, in a year or two. Even Jemima could become somebody’s kitchen maid. The tears stung in her eyes.
‘You can’t leave,’ she said aloud, her tone angry now. ‘If you do, then I cannot give you a letter of character.’ That was a severe threat. Without a recommendation, no servant could easily find another position. Their reason for leaving would be unexplained, and most people would put the unkindest interpretation on it.
Mrs Waterman was unmoving. ‘I’m not sure, ma’am, if your recommendation would be of any service to me, as to character, that is — if you understand me.’
Charlotte felt as if she had been slapped. ‘No, I do not understand you. I have no idea what you are talking about,’ she said tartly.
‘I don’t like having to say this,’ Mrs Waterman replied, her face wrinkling with distaste. ‘But I’ve never before worked in a household where the gentleman goes away unexpectedly, without any luggage at all, and the lady receives other gentlemen, alone and after dark. It isn’t decent, ma’am, and that’s all there is to it. I can’t stay in a house with such goings-on.’
Charlotte was astounded. ‘“Goings-on”!’ She could feel the heat rise up her face and was furious with herself. It must look like the flush of guilt, not anger. ‘Mrs Waterman, Mr Pitt was called away on urgent business, without time to come home or pack any luggage. He went to France in an emergency, the nature of which is not your concern. Mr Narraway is his superior in the government, and he came to tell me, so I would not be concerned. If
