“Kettle’s boiled.”
“Thank you,” he said, hiding at least part of his amusement. Minnie Maude Mudway had replaced Gracie Phipps, the maid who had been with the Pitts almost since they were married. He was still not entirely used to the change. But Gracie had her own home now, and he was happy for her. Minnie Maude had been hired on Gracie’s recommendation, and it was working out very satisfactorily, even if he missed Gracie’s forthright comments about his cases, and her loyal and highly independent support.
He ate in silence, with considerable appreciation. Minnie Maude was rapidly becoming a good cook. With a more generous budget at her disposal than Gracie had ever had, she had taken to experimenting-on the whole, with great success.
He noticed that she had made enough for herself, although her portion was much smaller. However, she seemed unwilling to eat it in front of him.
“Please don’t wait,” he said, gesturing toward the saucepan on the stove. “Have it while it’s hot.”
She gave an uncertain smile and seemed about to argue, then changed her mind and served it. Almost at once she was distracted by a stack of clean dishes waiting to be put away in the Welsh dresser, and her meal went untouched. Pitt decided he should speak to Charlotte about it; perhaps she could say something to make Minnie Maude feel more comfortable. It was absurd for her to feel that she could not eat at the kitchen table just because he was there. Now that she had taken Gracie’s place, this was her home.
When he had finished his tea he thanked her and went upstairs to wash, shave, and change.
In the bedroom he found Jemima as well as Charlotte. The girl was regarding her mother with careful appreciation. Pitt was startled to see that Jemima had her long hair up in pins, as if she were grown-up. He felt proud, and at the same time, felt a pang of loss.
“It’s wonderful, Mama, but you are still a little pale,” Jemima said candidly, reaching forward to straighten the burgundy-colored silk of Charlotte’s gown. Then she flashed Pitt a smile. “Hello, Papa. You’re just in time to be fashionably late. You must do it. It’s the thing, you know.”
“Yes, I do know,” he agreed, then turned to look at Charlotte. Minnie Maude was right, of course, but it still caught him by surprise sometimes, how lovely Charlotte was. It was more than the excitement in her face, or the warmth in her eyes. Maturity became her. She had an assurance now, at almost forty, that she had not had when she was younger. It gave her a grace that was deeper than the mere charm that good coloring or straight features offered.
“Your clothes are laid out for you,” Charlotte said, in answer to his glance. “Fashionably late is one thing; looking as if you mistook the arrangements, or got lost, is another.”
He smiled, and did not bother to answer. He understood her nervousness. He was trying to counter his own anxiety over suddenly being in a social position that he had not been born into. His new situation was quite different in nature from being a senior policeman. Now he was the head of Special Branch and, except in the most major of cases, entirely his own master. There was no one with whom to share the power, knowledge, or responsibility.
Pitt was even more aware of the change in his circumstances as he alighted from the hansom and held out his arm for Charlotte, steadying her for an instant as she stepped down. The night air was bitterly cold, stinging their faces. Ice gleamed on the road, and he was careful not to slip as he guided Charlotte over to the pavement.
A coach with four horses pulled up a little ahead of them, a coat of arms painted on the door. The horses’ breath was visible, and the brass on their harnesses winked in the light as they shifted their weight. A liveried footman stepped down off the box to open the door.
Another coach passed by, the sound of iron-shod hoofs sharp on the stones.
Charlotte gripped his arm tightly, though it was not in fear that she might slip. She wanted only a bit of reassurance, a moment to gather her strength before they ventured in. He smiled in the dark and reached over with his other hand to touch hers for an instant.
The large front doors opened before them. A servant took Pitt’s card and conducted them to the main hall, where the reception had already begun.
The room was magnificent. Scattered columns and pilasters stretching up to the painted ceiling gave it an illusion of even greater height. It was lit by four massive, dazzling chandeliers hanging on chains that seemed to be solid gold, though of course they weren’t.
“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Pitt whispered to Charlotte.
She turned to him with a wide-eyed look of alarm, then saw that he was deliberately teasing her. He was nervous. But he was also proud that this time she was here because
Charlotte smiled and held her head a little higher before sailing down the small flight of steps to join the crowd. Within moments they were surrounded by a swirl of color and voices, muted laughter, and the clink of glasses.
The conversation was polite and most of it meaningless, simply a way for everyone to take stock of one another while not seeming to do so. Charlotte appeared perfectly at ease as they spoke to one group, then another. Pitt watched her with admiration as she smiled at everyone, affected interest, passed subtle compliments. There was an art to it that he was not yet ready to emulate. He was afraid he would end up looking as if he were trying too hard to copy those born into this social station, and they would never forget such a slip.
Some junior minister of the government spoke to him casually. He could not remember the man’s name, but he listened as if he were interested. Someone else joined in and the discussion became more serious. He made the odd remark, but mostly he just observed.
Pitt noticed an acute difference in the way people behaved toward him now, as compared to a few months ago, although not everyone knew who he was yet. He was pleased to be drawn into another conversation, and saw Charlotte smile to herself before turning to a rather large lady in green and listening to her with charming attention.
“… Complete ass, if you ask me,” an elderly man said heartily. He looked at Pitt, raising an eyebrow in question. “No idea why they promoted the fellow to the Home Office. Must be related to someone.” He laughed. “Or know a few secrets, what?”
Pitt smiled back. He had no idea who they were referring to.
“I say, you’re not in Parliament, are you?” the man went on. “Didn’t mean to insult you, you know.”
“No, I’m not,” Pitt answered him with a smile.
“Good job.” The man was clearly relieved. “My name’s Willoughby. Got a little land in Herefordshire. Couple of thousand acres.” He nodded.
Pitt introduced himself in turn, hesitated a moment, then decided against stating his occupation.
Another man joined them, slim and elegant with slightly protruding teeth and a white mustache. “Evening,” he said companionably. “Rotten business in Copenhagen, isn’t it? Still, I dare say it’ll blow over. Usually does.” He looked at Pitt more carefully. “Suppose you know all about it?”
“I’ve heard a thing or two,” Pitt admitted.
“Connections?” Willoughby asked.
“He’s head of Special Branch!” the other man said tartly. “Probably knows more about either of us than we know about ourselves!”
Willoughby paled. “Oh, really?” He smiled but his voice rasped as if his throat were suddenly tight. “Don’t think there’s much of any interest to know, ol’ boy.”
Pitt’s mind raced to think of the best way to reply. He could not afford to make enemies, but neither would it be wise to belittle his importance, or allow people to assume that he was not the same master of information that Narraway had been.
He made himself smile back at Willoughby. “I would not say you are uninteresting, sir, but you are not of concern to us, which is an entirely different thing.”
Willoughby’s eyes widened. “Really?” He looked mollified, almost pleased. “Really?”
The other man looked amused. “Is that what you say to everyone?” he asked with the ghost of a smile.
“I like to be courteous.” Pitt looked him directly in the eye. “But I can’t deny that some people are less
