Anne Perry - Seven Dials

“ ’Oo did yer speak to?” Gracie repeated.

“Mr. Simms, the butler.”

“Wot did ’e say, exact?”

“That Martin ’ad gone away an’ ’e couldn’t tell me where,” Tilda replied, ignoring her tea now, her eyes fixed on Gracie. “ ’E thought as I were walkin’ out wif ’im. I said as ’e were me brother, an’ it took me ages ter make ’im believe me. But me an’ Martin looks like each other, so ’e understood in the end.” She shook her head. “But ’e still wouldn’t tell me where ’e’d gone. ’E said as no doubt Martin would let me know, but that in’t right, Gracie. Yesterday was me birthday, an’ Martin wouldn’t never forget that unless summink was terrible wrong. ’E never ’as, not since I were little.” She gulped and blinked, the tears running down her cheeks again. “Always gives me summink, even if it’s only a ribbon or an ’andkerchief or like that. Reckoned it mattered more ’n Christmas, ’e said, because it were special ter me. Christmas is everyone’s.”

Gracie felt a sharp twist of anxiety. Maybe this was more than a domestic threat, ugly as they were. Perhaps it was something Pitt should know about. Except that he was not with the police anymore. And she did not really know what Special Branch did, except that it was secret, and she got to hear a great deal less about Pitt’s work than she used to when it was the ordinary sort of crime that was written in the newspapers for anyone to read.

Whatever had happened to Martin, it was up to her to find out, at least for now. She took a sip of tea to give herself time to think.

“Did yer speak to anyone else ’ceptin’ the butler?” she said finally.

Tilda nodded. “Yeah. I asked the bootboy, ’cos bootboys often gets ter see all sorts, and they’re too cheeky, most of ’em, not ter tell yer. They don’t get listened to much, so they got ter make up fer it when they can.” The momentary humor vanished from her face. “But ’e said as Martin just disappeared sudden. One day ’e were there, just like usual, the next day ’e weren’t.”

“But ’e lives in, don’t ’e?” Gracie said, puzzled.

“Yeah, course ’e does! ’E’s Mr. Stephen Garrick’s valet. Does everythin’ for ’im, ’e does. Mr. Stephen swears by ’im.”

Gracie took a deep breath. This was too serious for allowing kindness to overrule honesty. “Could Mr. Garrick ’ave lost his temper over summink and dismissed ’im, and Martin been too ashamed ter tell yer until ’e finds another position?” She hated suggesting such a thing, and she saw from the crumpled look in Tilda’s face how much the idea hurt.

“No!” Tilda shook her head fiercely. “No! Martin wouldn’t never do nothin’ ter get ’isself dismissed. An’ Mr. Garrick leans on ’im. I mean fer real, not jus’ ter tie ’is cravats an’ keep ’is clothes nice.” Her hands were clenched, the buttered scones forgotten. “ ’E looks after ’im when ’e drinks too much or gets sick, or does summink daft. Yer can’t jus’ find someone else ter do that fer yer in a moment, like. It’s… it’s loyalty.” She stared at Gracie with bright, frightened eyes, pleading to be understood and believed that loyalty was too precious not to extend both ways. It deserved better than to be discarded simply because one had the power to do so.

Gracie had no such faith in the honor of employers. She had worked for the Pitts since she was thirteen and had no personal experience of anybody else, but she knew enough stories of others not to be so happily naÏve.

“Did yer speak ter Mr. Garrick ’isself?” she asked.

Tilda was startled. “No, o’ course I din’t! Cor, Gracie, you in’t half got a cheek! ’Ow’d I get speakin’ ter Mr. Garrick?” Her voice rose in amazement. “It took all the nerve I got ter go an’ ask Mr. Simms, an’ ’e looked at me like I’d overstepped meself. ’E’d ’alf a mind ter send me packin’, till ’e realized Martin were me brother. Yer gotter respec’ family, like. That’s only decent.”

“Well, don’t worry,” Gracie said with determination. She had made up her mind. Pitt might be too busy with Special Branch things, but Tellman was not. He used to be Pitt’s sergeant at Bow Street, and was now promoted. He had been in love with Gracie for some time, even though he was only just admitting it to himself now, and that with deep reluctance. She would tell him, and he would be able to make the proper enquiries and solve the case. And it was a case, Gracie acknowledged that. “I’ll get it done for yer,” she added, smiling across at Tilda with assurance. “I know someone as’ll look at it proper, an’ find the truth.”

Tilda relaxed at last, and very tentatively smiled back. “Can yer really? I thought if there was anyone, it’d be you. Thanks ever so… I dunno wot ter say, ’ceptin’ I really am grateful to yer.”

Gracie felt embarrassed, and afraid she had promised too much. Of course Tellman would do it, but the answer might not be one that would bring Tilda any happiness. “I in’t done nuffink yet!” she said, looking down and concentrating on finishing her tea. “But we’ll get it sorted. Now yer’d better tell me everythin’ ’bout Martin, all where ’e’s worked an’ things like that.” She had no pencil or paper with her, but she had only just recently learned to read and write, so her memory was long trained in accuracy, as it had needed to be.

Tilda began the account, remembering details from the same necessity. When she was finished they went outside into the busy street and parted, Tilda to continue her errands, her head higher, her step brisker than before, Gracie to return to Keppel Street and ask Charlotte if she might have the evening off in order to find Tellman.

It was granted without hesitation.

GRACIE WAS FORTUNATE at the second attempt. Tellman was not at the Bow Street station, but she found him two blocks away in a public house having a pint of ale with a constable with whom he had been working. She stood just inside the entrance, her feet on the trampled sawdust, the smell of beer in the air and the noise of men’s voices and clinking glasses all around her.

She had to look for several moments before she saw Tellman tucked away in the farthest corner, his head bent, staring somberly into his glass. The young man opposite him regarded him with deference. Since Pitt’s departure Tellman was a senior officer, although it still sat uneasily on him. He knew more than almost anyone else of the truth about the way Pitt had been plotted against, and who was responsible. He loathed the man who had replaced him, and more seriously than that, he also distrusted him. All his experience since Wetron’s arrival had indicated that he had motives and ambitions that were far from the simple success of solving crime. It was even possible that Wetron aimed as high as taking over leadership of the terrible secret organization of the Inner Circle.

Gracie knew that both Mr. Pitt and Tellman feared that, but she had only overheard it and did not dare to speak of it openly to either of them. She looked across at Tellman now and wondered how heavily that weighed upon him. She could see in him none of the ease he had had when working with Pitt, even if he would never have admitted to it.

She made her way through the crowd towards him, elbowing her way between men all but oblivious of her, pushing and poking to make them step aside, and she was almost at Tellman’s seat before he looked up and saw her. His face filled with alarm, as if she could only bring bad news.

“Gracie? What is it?” He rose to his feet automatically, but ignored his companion, not seeing any need to introduce them.

She had rather hoped to approach the subject obliquely, and that he would be pleased to see her, but she had to admit to herself that in the past she had only sought him out without invitation when she had needed his help. When it was purely personal she had waited for him to speak first. After all, to begin with she had been unwilling to offer him anything more than a rather impatient friendship. He was a dozen years older than she and firmly entrenched in his beliefs, which in most cases were contrary to hers. He passionately disapproved of being in service-it offended all his principles of social justice-whereas she saw it as an honorable way to earn a living and a very comfortable day-to-day existence. She felt no subservience and was impatient with his prickly and unrealistic pride.