Seven Dials (8 page)

Gracie felt the sinking feeling inside her grow worse. She was hollow, and yet the thought of eating was repellent. She sipped her tea, and its hot sweetness slid down her throat and made no difference.

“What else?” Charlotte asked gently.

Gracie still hesitated. There was a kind of comfort in being so well understood, but she was still embarrassed to have been so incompetent in dealing with Tellman. It was made worse by the fact that she had always done it so well before. Charlotte would expect better of her than this. She would be disappointed in her. Women were supposed to be cleverer than she had been. She sipped her tea again. It was really too hot. She should have waited.

“Did you learn something else?” Charlotte pressed.

That was easy to answer. “Not really. Even when she told the butler as she was ’is sister, ’e din’t tell ’er wot ’appened, nor where ’e’d gone.”

Charlotte looked down at the table. “Mr. Pitt isn’t in the police anymore. Perhaps we should ask Mr. Tellman and see if he can help.”

The heat burned up Gracie’s cheeks. There was no escape. “I already asked ’im,” she said miserably, looking down at the table-top. “ ’E says as there in’t nothin’ ’e can do, ’cos Martin’s got a right ter come an’ go without tellin’ ’is sister. It in’t no crime.”

“Oh.” Charlotte sat silently for several moments. Carefully she tried her tea and found it just cool enough to drink. “Then we’ll have to do something ourselves,” she said at last. “Tell me everything you know about Tilda and Martin, and about the Garrick house in Torrington Square.”

Gracie felt like a lost sailor who finally sees land on the horizon. There was something they could do. Obediently she told Charlotte the facts of her acquaintance with Tilda, picking out what mattered: her honesty, her stubbornness, the memories of childhood she had spoken about, her dreams of her own family one day, and the things she had shared with her brother over the lonely years of growing up.

Charlotte listened without interrupting, and in the end nodded. “I think you are right to worry,” she agreed. “We need to know where he is and if he is all right. And if he is without a position and is too embarrassed by that to have told his sister, then we must make sure she understands, and then if possible, help him to obtain something else. I suppose you have no idea if he is likely to have done something foolish?”

“I dunno,” Gracie admitted. “Tilda wouldn’t do nothin’ daft, but that don’t mean ’e’s the same. She thinks ’e is-but then she would.”

“It is very hard to think ill of our own,” Charlotte agreed.

Gracie looked up at her, eyes wide. “What are we gonna do?”

“You are going to tell Tilda that we’ll help,” Charlotte answered. “I shall begin to make enquiries about the Garrick household. Stephen Garrick at least will know what happened, even if he does not know where Martin Garvie is right now.”

“Thank yer,” Gracie said very seriously. “Thank yer very much.”

ON THE FOURTH DAY after the murder of Edwin Lovat was discovered, the newspapers openly demanded the arrest, at least for questioning, of Saville Ryerson. He was known to have been on the premises at the time, and the writer of the article did not need to do more than ask what business he would have had there to suggest the answer.

Pitt sat at the breakfast table, tight-lipped, his face pale. Charlotte did not make any comment or otherwise interrupt what was obviously a painful train of thought. The defense of Ryerson which Mr. Gladstone had commanded was becoming more and more difficult. She watched him discreetly, and wished there were some way to offer comfort. But if she were honest, she believed Ryerson was guilty, if not of the crime, then at least of attempting to conceal it. Had someone not called the police, he would have removed the body from where the murder took place and done all he could to obscure the evidence. That was a crime. No ability to solve the cotton industry problems in Manchester could justify that-in fact, there was no stretch of the imagination which could connect it at all with his keeping of a mistress in Eden Lodge. It was a private weakness, an indulgence for which he would now have to pay very heavily indeed.

She looked at the anxiety in Pitt’s face and a wave of anger swept over her that he should be expected to carry the responsibility for rescuing a man from his own folly, and then blamed because he could not do what any fool could see was impossible. He was being coerced into trying to evade a truth which it was both his duty and his own moral need to expose. For years they had used him to do that; now they had forced him into the position of denying the very values which had made him honorable before.

He looked up quickly and caught her glance.

“What?” he asked.

She smiled. “Nothing. I’m going to see Emily this morning. I know Grandmama will be there, and I haven’t really managed to speak to her without embarrassment ever since Mama learned about… what happened to her.” She still found it uncomfortable to speak of… even to Pitt. “It is more than time I did so,” she went on hastily. She had arranged the visit over the telephone the previous evening, after speaking with Gracie. Pitt had a telephone because of his professional need for it, and Emily had one because she could afford pretty well anything she cared for.

The shadow of a smile crossed Pitt’s face for an instant. He was long acquainted with Charlotte’s grandmother and knew her temper of old.

Charlotte said no more about it, and when Pitt left, without letting her know what he hoped to seek or to find that day, she went upstairs and changed into her best morning gown. She did not follow fashion-it was far beyond her financial means, the more so since Pitt had been demoted from being in charge of Bow Street to working for Special Branch-but a well-cut gown in a color that was flattering had a dignity no one could rob from her. She chose a warm, autumn shade to complement her auburn-toned hair and honey-fair complexion. The gown had not the current high-shouldered sleeves, but the almost nonexistent bustle was just right.

It was not an occasion for the omnibus, so she took the price of a hansom out of the housekeeping money, and arrived at Emily’s opulent town house at quarter past ten.

She was shown in by a parlor maid who knew her well and conducted her immediately to Emily’s boudoir-that private sitting room wealthy ladies kept for the entertaining of close friends.

Emily was waiting for her, dressed as always with the utmost elegance, in her favorite pale green which so suited her fair coloring. She stood up as soon as Charlotte was in the room, excitement in her face, her eyes bright. She came forward and gave Charlotte a quick kiss, then stood back. “So what has happened?” she demanded. “You said it was important. It sounds terribly heartless of me to put it into words, I know, when it was a real blow to Thomas, and so unjust, but I really mind his leaving Bow Street. I’ve no idea what cases he has now, but they all seem to be secret.” She stepped back and waved to Charlotte to be seated in one of the soft, floral-fabric-covered chairs. “I’m bored to tears with society, and even politics seems terribly tedious at the moment,” she went on, sweeping her skirts tidily and sitting down herself. “There isn’t even a decent scandal, except the one about the Egyptian woman.” She leaned forward, her face vivid. “Did you know that the newspapers are demanding that Saville Ryerson be arrested as well? Isn’t that absurd?” Her eyes searched Charlotte’s face questioningly. “I suppose Thomas would have been working on that if he were still at Bow Street. Perhaps it’s just as well he isn’t. I wouldn’t like the untangling of that affair!”

“I’m afraid my case is very pedestrian,” Charlotte said, trying to keep her face comparatively expressionless. She could not afford to be sidetracked now, even by the most colorful of scandals. She sat back in the chair. The room was gold and green and there were late yellow roses and earthy-smelling chrysanthemums in a dark green vase on the table. For an instant she was taken back to the house she had grown up in, the comfort and the ignorance of the shadows and poverty in the larger world beyond.

Then the moment passed.

“So what is it?” Emily asked, folding her hands in her lap and paying complete attention. “Give me something to occupy my mind with other than trivia. I am bored to tears with talk about things that don’t matter.” She smiled with faint self-mockery. “I am afraid my social shallowness is passing. Isn’t that alarming? The pursuit of pleasure isn’t fun anymore. It is like too much chocolate soufflé, which a few years ago I wouldn’t have believed possible.”

“Then let me offer you something much more ordinary,” Charlotte replied.

She was about to explain the situation when there was a sharp rap on the door, as with the head of a walking stick, and a moment later the door flew open and a short, fierce old woman stood on the threshold. She was dressed in plum and black, and her expression was one of undisguised outrage, although she did not seem to know whether to direct it at Emily or at Charlotte.

Perhaps it had been inevitable. Charlotte rose to her feet and with a mighty effort forced herself to smile. “Good morning, Grandmama,” she said, going over to the old lady. “You look very well.”

“Don’t assume how I am, young woman!” the old lady snapped. “You haven’t called on me in months! How could you know? You have no feelings, no sense of duty at all. Ever since you married that police person you have lost all sense of decency.”

Charlotte’s resolution to be polite died an instant death. “You have changed your mind, then!” she retorted.

The old lady was nonplussed. It annoyed her still more. “I don’t know what you mean. Why can’t you speak clearly? You used to be able to. It must be the company you keep.” She glared at her other granddaughter. “Are you going to invite me to sit down, Emily? Or have you lost all your manners as well?”

“You are always welcome to sit down, Grandmama,” Emily said with veiled patience. “Surely you know that?”

The old lady sat down heavily in the third chair, balancing her cane in front of her. She turned to Charlotte. “What do you mean, changed my mind? I don’t change my mind!”

“You said I have lost my sense of decency,” Charlotte replied.

“So you have!” the old lady said tartly. “No change in that!”

Charlotte smiled at her. “You used to say I never had any.”

“Are you going to allow me to be insulted?” the old lady demanded of Emily.

“I think it is Charlotte who was insulted, Grandmama,” Emily pointed out, but now there was a smile hovering around her lips and she was having trouble concealing it.

The old lady grunted. “Well, if she was insulted, no doubt she looked for it. Who insulted her? She mixes with a very low class of person. I daresay it is all she can aspire to. Comes of marrying beneath her. I always said it would lead to trouble. I told you-but would you listen to me? Of course not. Well, now you see what happens? Although what you expect Emily to do about it, I’m sure I don’t know.”

Charlotte started to laugh, and after a moment’s hesitation Emily joined in.

The old lady had no idea what was funny, but she certainly was not going to admit it. She considered what to do for several seconds, then decided she had least to lose by joining in, which she did. It was a curious, rusty sound, one that even Emily, in whose house the old woman lived, had not heard in years.

She remained for another ten minutes or so, then in spite of the fact that she was desperately inquisitive as to why Charlotte had called, she dragged herself to her feet and stumped out. It was apparent that no one was going to tell her, and she would not sacrifice her dignity to ask.

As soon as the door was closed behind her, Emily leaned forward. “So?” she asked. “What is this more ordinary problem that has engaged you?”

“Gracie has a friend, Tilda Garvie,” Charlotte began. “Her brother, Martin, is valet to Stephen Garrick, living in Torrington Square. Tilda and Martin are very close, being orphans since the ages of six and eight, respectively.”

“Yes?” Emily’s eyes were wide.

“Martin has not been seen for four days now, and according to Garrick’s butler, is no longer in the house, but he would not tell Tilda where Martin has gone, nor why.”

“A missing valet?” There was no inflection in Emily’s voice to betray her emotions.

“A missing brother,” Charlotte corrected. “More significant than his mere absence is the fact that it was over the time of Tilda’s birthday, which he has never previously forgotten. If he had lost his position, and thus his lodging, even if the circumstances were embarrassing or disgraceful, surely he would have found a way to convey to her his whereabouts?”

“What do you suspect?” Emily frowned. “Have the Garricks reported him missing?”

“I don’t know,” Charlotte said impatiently. “I can hardly go to the nearest police station and ask them. But if they had, then why did they not tell Tilda so, just in case she knew where he was?”

“It would seem the intelligent thing to do,” Emily agreed. “But people are not always as clever as you would suppose. The most surprising people lack ordinary sense. What other possibilities are there?” She held up her fingers. “He was dismissed for dishonesty? He ran off with a woman, one of the maids from another household? He ran off with someone’s daughter, or worse, someone’s wife? Or a prostitute?” She started on the other hand. “He is in debt and has to hide from his debtors? Or worst of all, he met with an accident, or was attacked on purpose, and is dead somewhere but has not been identified?”

Charlotte had already thought of most of those answers, especially the last. “Yes, I know,” she said quietly. “I would like to find out which of them is the truth, for Tilda’s sake… and Gracie’s. I think she quarreled with Inspector Tellman over it because he said it wasn’t a case, so he couldn’t look into it.”

“Inspector? Oh… yes.” Emily’s expression quickened with interest. “How is that romance going? Will she relent and marry him, do you think? What will you do without her? Look for a good maid already trained, or start again with another child? You can’t! Can you?”

“I don’t know whether she will or not,” Charlotte said ruefully. “I rather think so… I hope so, because he is so much in love with her, and he is beginning to realize it slowly, and with great reluctance. And I have no idea what I shall do without her. I don’t even want to think of it. I have had more changes than I wish to already.”