Treason at Lisson Grove: A Charlotte and Thomas Pitt Novel Read online

  He was watching her now, but not openly.

  “You have enemies,” she said.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “I have. No doubt many. I thought I had guarded against the possibility of them injuring me. It seems I overlooked something of importance.”

  “Or someone is an enemy whom you did not suspect,” she amended.

  “That is possible,” he agreed. “I think it is more likely that an old enemy has gained a power that I did not foresee.”

  “You have someone in mind?” She leaned forward a little. The question was intrusive, but she had to know. Pitt was in France, relying on Narraway to back him up. He would have no idea Narraway no longer held any office.

  “Yes.” The answer seemed to be difficult for him.

  Again she waited.

  He leaned forward and put a fresh log on the fire. “It’s an old case. It all happened more than twenty years ago.” He had to clear his throat before he went on. “They’re all dead now, except one.”

  She had no idea what he was referring to, and yet the past seemed to be in the room with them.

  “But one is alive?” she probed. “Do you know, or are you guessing?”

  “I know Kate and Sean are dead,” he said so quietly she had to strain to hear him. “I imagine Cormac is still alive. He would be barely sixty.”

  “Why would he wait this long?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  “But you believe he hates you enough to lie, to plan and connive to ruin you?” she insisted.

  “Yes. I have no doubt of that. He has cause.”

  She realized with surprise, and pity, that he was ashamed of his part in whatever had happened.

  “So what will you do?” she asked again. “You have to fight. Nurse your wound for a few hours, then gather yourself together and think what you wish to do.”

  Now he smiled, showing a natural humor 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, Charlotte. I have fallen from grace, and I know of nothing to get me back up again.”

  The color was hot in her cheeks. “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.

  “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 color 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 recognized 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 realized 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 aware of many things that others knew nothing about. 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 naïve 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.”

  “Every time I think I know something about you, you surprise me,” he 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 candor. 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 traveling 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 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 theater. Dublin is famous for its theaters. 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 parlor. 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 colorless 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 daresay 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 daresay 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 ac
cept each other. She was certainly hardworking, 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 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. Even with all the effort he would put into it, it would still take time. It was barely beginning to sink in. 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.

  “You can’t leave,” Charlotte said, 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.”

  “No, I do not understand you,” 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 ‘goings-on.’ ”

  Charlotte was astounded. “ ‘Goings-on’! 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 business. Mr. Narraway is his superior in the government, and he came to tell me, so I would not be concerned. If 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 tonight? Did Mr. Pitt give a message to him, and not to you, his lawful wedded wife—I assume?”

  Charlotte wanted to slap her. 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. 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 her grandmama used to call a vinegar virgin, despite the courteous Mrs. in front of her name.

  “You have an overheated and somewhat vulgar imagination, Mrs. Waterman,” she said coldly. “I cannot afford to have such a person in my household, so it might be best for both of us if you 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 good-bye 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. She was a little surprised to see her hand shaking as she reached for the receiver.

  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 apologized. “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 until next weekend. 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 theater 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.

  She stood in the quiet parlor, 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.

  Pitt had been Narraway’s man from the beginning, his protégé and then his second in command—perhaps not officially, that was Austwick, but in practice. It had bred envy, and in some cases fear. With Narraway gone it would be only a matter of time before Pitt too was dismissed, demoted to an intolerable position, or—worse than that—met with an accident.

  Then another thought occurred to her, ugly and even more imperative. If Narraway was innocent, as he claimed, then someone had deliberately reorganized 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, 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 defense, 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 about them that they could not afford to have him pursue? Whatever it was, whatever Narraway had done or not done, she must protect her husband. 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 it all flooded back to her. Not only did she have to make breakfast herself—not an unfamiliar task—but she also 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 for Jemima, since she was thirteen, 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. Put in such simple words, the thought overwhelmed her. She stood in her nightgown in the center of the bedroom floor, overcome with anxiety.

  Still, standing here stalling 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 she went down the stairs 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. Waterm
an 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 door. With some difficulty she dragged her case outside, then went to the curb to hail a cab.

  Charlotte closed the door as Jemima came down the stairs. She was getting tall. From the looks of it, she would grow to her mother’s height, with Charlotte’s soft lines and confident air. The day was not far off.

  “Where’s Mrs. Waterman going?” she asked. “It’s breakfast time.”

  There was no point in evading it. “She is leaving us,” Charlotte replied quietly.

  “At this time in the morning?” Jemima’s eyebrows rose. They were elegant, slightly winged, exactly like Charlotte’s own.

  “It was that, or last night,” Charlotte answered.

  “Did she steal something?” Jemima reached the bottom stair. “Are you sure? She’s so terribly good I can’t believe she’d do that. She’d never be able to face herself in the glass. Come to think of it, perhaps she doesn’t anyway. She might crack it.”

  “Jemima! That is rude, and most unkind,” Charlotte said sharply. “But true,” she added. “I did not ask her to leave. It is actually very inconvenient indeed …”

  Daniel appeared at the top of the stairs, considered sliding down the banister, saw his mother at the bottom, and changed his mind. He came down the steps in a self-consciously dignified manner, as if that had always been his intention.