Seven Dials

“Indeed? That is very gracious of you, Mr. Narraway, but quite u

Narraway smiled very slightly, merely a softening of the lips. “I had not imagined otherwise,” he assured her. “But then perhaps you did not tell him of your intention to investigate the apparent disappearance of one of Ferdinand Garrick’s servants.”

She was caught completely off guard. She scrambled for an answer that would keep him at a distance and close him out of intruding into her thoughts.

“Apparent?” she asked, her eyes very wide. “That sounds as if you know more of it than I. So you have been investigating it also? I am very pleased. Indeed, I am delighted. The case requires more resources than I can bring to it.”

Now it was his turn to look startled, but he masked it so quickly she almost failed to see it.

“I don’t think you understand the danger you may be in if you proceed any further,” he said carefully, his dark eyes fixed on hers, as if to make certain she grasped his seriousness.

Without taking a second to think, she smiled at him dazzlingly. “Then you had better enlighten me, Mr. Narraway. What danger is it? Who is likely to hurt me, and how? Obviously you know, or you would not have taken time from your own case to come to tell me… at this hour.”

He was disconcerted. Again it was there only for an instant, but she saw it with sharp satisfaction. He had expected her to be cowed, humbled by censure, and instead she had turned his words back on him.

He sidestepped her challenge. “You are afraid something unpleasant has happened to Martin Garvie?” he asked.

She refused to be defensive. “Yes,” she said frankly. “Mr. Ferdinand Garrick says that his son and Martin have gone to the south of France, but if that is true, then why in three weeks did Martin not write to his sister and tell her so?” She was not going to let Narraway know that Tellman had also tried and failed to find any record of their having sailed, or even a witness to their taking a train. Tellman could not afford to attract the notice of his new superior, still less his criticism, and she did not trust Narraway not to use information in any way that suited his own immediate purpose.

“Do you fear an accident?” he asked.

He was playing with her, and she knew it.

“Of what sort?” She raised her eyebrows. “I ca

He relaxed and smiled. “Touché,” he said softly. “But I am perfectly serious, Mrs. Pitt. I am aware that you have concerned yourself with this young man’s apparent disappearance, and that he is, or was, manservant to Stephen Garrick. The Garrick family is of some power in society-and in government circles. Ferdinand Garrick had a fine military career, ended with a good command-lieutenant general, before he retired. Rigid, loyal to the empire to the last inch, God, Queen, and country.”

Charlotte was perplexed. She stood in the middle of the room looking at Narraway while he relaxed a fraction more with every second. If Garrick were as upright and honorable as Narraway said, the “muscular Christian” Vespasia knew, then simply he would not be party to any abuse of a servant, let alone the kind of danger she and Gracie had come to fear.

Narraway saw her hesitation. “But he is a man of little mercy if he feels he is being criticized,” he went on. “He would not like his affairs questioned, by anyone. Like many proud men, he is also intensely private.”

She lifted her chin a little. “And what could he do, Mr. Narraway? Ruin my reputation in society? I do not have one. My husband is an officer in Special Branch, a man the authorities use but pretend does not exist. When he was superintendent of Bow Street, I might have entertained social aspirations, but hardly now.”

He colored very faintly. “I know that, Mrs. Pitt. Many people do great things and are publicly unappreciated, possibly even unthanked. The only comfort is that if you are not praised for your successes, at least you may not be blamed for your failures.” His face shadowed, fierce emotion suppressed under a tight control. “And we all have them.”

There was such a heaviness in his voice, carefully as he disguised it, that she knew he was speaking of himself, and something painfully learned, not observed from others. It was not belief that moved him but knowledge.

“I am concerned for you, Mrs. Pitt,” he went on. “Of course he will not change your value in the eyes of your friends, but he can wield a cruel influence on all your family, if he wishes to, or feels himself vulnerable.” He was watching her closely. She found his look gripping-almost as if he physically held her.

“Do you think some harm has come to Martin Garvie?” she asked him. “Please speak honestly, whether I can do anything to help or not. Lies, however comfortable, will not improve my behavior, I promise you.”

There was a quickening in his eyes, a spark of humor in spite of the other emotions crowding close. “I have no idea. I ca

“Very little. But his sister, Matilda, has known him all her life, and she is the one who is afraid,” she answered.

“Or hurt?” he said with very slightly raised eyebrows. “Could it be that they are growing further apart, and she finds that difficult? She is lonely, and the ties are closer for her than for him; she will believe anything, even danger from which she must rescue him, easier to accommodate than the knowledge that in fact he does not need her?”

Again she was caught by a sadness in his voice, some shadow of the gaslight that caught an old pain not usually visible… and by the fact that apparently he also knew at least something about Tilda as well.

“Of course it is possible,” she said very gently. “But the possibility does not excuse the need to be certain that he is safe. It couldn’t.” She nearly added that he must know that, as she did, but she saw his understanding as the words touched her lips, and she left them unsaid.

They stood for seconds. Then he straightened. “Nevertheless, Mrs. Pitt, for your safety’s sake, please do not press any further with enquiries regarding Mr. Garrick. There can be no conceivable reason for his having harmed a servant, other than possibly in reputation, and that is something you ca

“I would like to oblige you, Mr. Narraway,” she replied very levelly. “But if I find myself in a position to help Tilda Garvie, then I ca

Exasperation filled Narraway’s face. “But not to you, Mrs. Pitt! Haven’t you-” He stopped.

She smiled at him with great charm. “No,” she said. “I haven’t. May I offer you a cup of tea? It will be in the kitchen, but you are very welcome.”

He stood motionless, as if the decision were a major one on which something of great importance depended, as if even from the parlor he could sense the warmth and the comfortable familiarity of scrubbed wood, clean linen, gleaming china on the dresser, and the lingering, sweet odor of food.

“No, thank you,” he said at last. “I must go home.” His voice held the regret he could not put into words. “Good night.”

“Good night, Mr. Narraway.” She accompanied him to the front door, and watched his slender, straight-backed figure walk with almost military elegance along the rain-wet footpath towards the thoroughfare.