you see it as something else, then the “goings-on”, as you put it, are entirely in your own imagination.’
‘If you say so, ma’am,’ Mrs Waterman answered, her eyes unwavering. ‘And what did he come for the second time? Did Mr Pitt give a message to him, and not to you, his lawful wedded wife — I assume?’
Charlotte wanted to slap her. It was an awful feeling, ridiculous and undignified. She knew exactly why men hit each other sometimes. However, she had never heard of a decent woman slapping her maid. She would probably be arrested and charged with assault. This was a nightmare. With a great effort she forced herself to become calm.
‘Mrs Waterman, Mr Narraway came to tell me further news concerning my husband’s work, none of which is your concern, and I can’t imagine why you believe that I owe you some kind of explanation for it. Some work for Her Majesty is extremely discreet, and he does not discuss it with me, which is as it should be. I do not intend to tell you any more about it than that. If you choose to think ill of it, or of me, then you will do so whatever the truth is, because that is who you are. .’
Now it was Mrs Waterman’s face that flamed. ‘Don’t you try to cover it with nice words and high-and-mighty airs,’ she said bitterly. ‘I know a man with a fancy for a woman when I see one.’
It was on the edge of Charlotte’s tongue to ask sarcastically when Mrs Waterman had ever seen one, but it was perhaps an unnecessarily cruel thought. Mrs Waterman was exactly what Charlotte’s grandmama used to call a ‘vinegar virgin’, in spite of the courtesy ‘Mrs’ in front of her name.
‘You have an overheated and somewhat vulgar imagination, Mrs Waterman,’ she said coldly. ‘But I cannot afford to have such a person in my household, so it might be best for both of us if you were to pack your belongings and leave first thing in the morning. I shall make breakfast myself, and then see if my sister can lend me one of her staff until I find someone satisfactory of my own. Her husband is a Member of Parliament, and she keeps a large establishment. I shall see you to say goodbye in the morning.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Mrs Waterman turned for the door.
‘Mrs Waterman!’
‘Yes, ma’am?’
‘I shall say nothing of you to others, good or ill. I suggest that you return that courtesy and say nothing of me. You would not come out of it well, I assure you.’
Mrs Waterman’s eyebrows rose slightly.
Charlotte smiled with ice in her eyes. ‘A servant who will speak ill of one mistress will do so of another. Those of us who employ servants are well aware of that. Good night.’
Mrs Waterman closed the door without replying.
Charlotte went to the telephone to speak to Emily and ask for her help, immediately, if possible. She was a little surprised to see her hand shaking as she reached for the receiver of the instrument, and took it off its hook on the wall.
When the voice answered she gave Emily’s number.
It rang at the other end several times before the butler picked it up.
‘Mr Radley’s residence. May I help you?’ he said politely.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you so late,’ Charlotte apologised. ‘It is Mrs Pitt calling. Something of an emergency has arisen. May I speak with Mrs Radley, please?’
‘I’m very sorry, Mrs Pitt,’ he replied with sympathy. ‘Mr and Mrs Radley have gone to Paris and I do not expect them back for two or three weeks. Is there something I may do to assist you?’
Charlotte felt a sort of panic. Who else could she turn to for help? Her mother was also out of the country, in Edinburgh, where she had gone with her second husband, Joshua. He was an actor, and had a play running in the theatre there.
‘No, no thank you,’ she said a little breathlessly. ‘I’m sure I shall find another solution. Thank you for your trouble. Good night.’ She hung up quickly, before she heard him reply.
She stood in the quiet parlour, the embers dying in the fire because she had not restoked it. She had until tomorrow evening to find someone to care for Daniel and Jemima, or she could not go with Narraway. And if she did not, then she could not help him. He would be alone in Dublin, hampered by the fact that he was known there, by friend and enemy alike. His face and his bearing were sufficiently unusual that he would not be forgotten, even in twenty years. Anyway, twenty years or fifty, hate did not ever forget. Sometimes it carried on down generations, an evil heritage like the propensity for some disease.
Pitt had said little to her about the affair at Buckingham Palace, but she knew, as much from the things he left out as from what he’d told her, that his solution of the crime had embarrassed the Prince of Wales by making very obvious his personal weaknesses. Worse than that, it had exposed his error in front of the assembled courtiers — and, of course, unforgivably, before his mother, Queen Victoria.
It would be no use whatever to Pitt having the Queen appreciate him for a few minutes if the Prince of Wales were his enemy for years.
That Pitt had been Narraway’s man from the beginning, his protege, had bred envy, and in some cases fear. With Narraway gone it would be only a matter of time before Pitt too was dismissed or — worse than that — met with an accident.
Then another thought occurred to her, ugly and even more imperative. If Narraway were innocent, as he claimed, then someone had deliberately reorganised evidence to make him look guilty. They could do the same to Pitt. In fact it was quite possible that if Pitt had had anything whatever to do with the case, then he might already be implicated. As soon as he was home from France he would walk straight into the trap. Only a fool would allow him time to mount a defence, still less to find proof of his innocence, and at the same time, presumably their guilt.
But why? Was it really an old vengeance against Narraway? Or did Narraway know something that his enemy could not afford to have him pursue? Whatever it was, whatever Narraway had done, or not done, she must protect Pitt. Narraway could not be guilty, that was the only thing of which she had no doubt.
Now she must find someone to look after Jemima and Daniel while she was away. Oh, damn Mrs Waterman! The stupid creature!
Charlotte was tired enough to sleep quite well, but when she woke in the morning, the previous evening all flooded back to her. She remembered that not only had she to make breakfast herself — not an unfamiliar task, since in the early days of her marriage she had done it always — but then she had to see Mrs Waterman on her way, and explain to Daniel and Jemima at least something of what had happened. It might be easier to Jemima, but how would Daniel, at ten, grasp enough of the idea at least to believe her? She must make sure he did not imagine it was in any way his fault.
Then she must tackle the real task of the day: finding someone trustworthy with whom to leave her children, and do it instantly. Put in such simple words, the thought overwhelmed her. She stood in her nightgown in the centre of the bedroom floor, cold with failure.
And yet she must go. She must fight for a future better than Pitt going from place to place trying to find a job for which he was suited, and for which someone would hire him. It would humiliate him. He had commanded men in Bow Street, required all manner of people to answer his questions, gone into great houses through the front door, not at the back like a beggar.
Standing here shivering would achieve nothing. She might as well get dressed while she weighed it up. A white blouse and a plain brown skirt would be fine. She was going to do chores, after all.
When Charlotte went downstairs, Mrs Waterman was waiting in the hall, her one suitcase by the door. Charlotte was tempted to be sorry for her, but the moment passed. There was too much to do for her to relent, even if Mrs Waterman wanted her to. This was an inconvenience. There were disasters on the horizon.
‘Good morning, Mrs Waterman,’ she said politely. ‘I am sorry you feel it necessary to go, but perhaps in the circumstances it is better. You will forgive me if I do not draw this out. I have to find someone to replace you by this evening. I hope you find yourself suited very soon. Good day to you.’
‘I’m sure I will, ma’am,’ Mrs Waterman replied, and with such conviction that it flashed across Charlotte’s mind to wonder if perhaps she already had. Sometimes domestic staff, especially cooks, found a cause to give notice in order to avail themselves of a position they preferred, or thought more advantageous for themselves.
‘Yes, I imagine you will land on your feet,’ Charlotte said a trifle brusquely.
Mrs Waterman gave her a cold look, drew breath to respond, then changed her mind and opened the front
