She went downstairs and passed Doll looking busy but with a faraway smile on her face, and Gracie found it in herself for a moment to be glad for her.
In the servants’ hall she met Gwen, taking a quick cup of tea before going up with hot water for Emily to wash.
“I’m sorry,” Gwen said with a little shake of her head. “He seemed like a nice fellow. But far best you’re out of it now, and not later. One day you’ll maybe find someone decent, and you’ll forget all about this. At least you’ve still got your character, and no one thinks the worse of you.”
Gracie knew she meant well by it, but it was no comfort. The broken ache of loneliness inside her was just as deep—in fact, in ways deeper, because other people knew about it. Better they were sympathetic than not, probably. But it was surprising how kindness could hurt, make you want to sit down and cry.
“Yeah, I s’pose,” she said, not because she agreed, but she did not want to prolong the conversation. She poured herself a cup of tea. The hot liquid might warm her up inside, and it would give her something to do other than stand and talk. Maybe Gwen would go and carry the water up soon. Then she could draw her own and take it up to Charlotte.
“You’ll be all right,” Gwen went on. “You’re a sensible girl and you’ve got a good place.”
Sensible girls could hurt just as much as silly ones, Gracie thought, but she did not say so.
“Yeah,” she agreed absently, sipping at the tea. It was too hot. “Thank you,” she added, in case Gwen thought she was sulking.
Gwen put down her cup and went out, patting Gracie quickly on the arm as she passed.
Gracie sipped her tea again, without really tasting it. It was time she ran the water for Charlotte. She would probably have to take up enough for Pitt too. Don’t suppose Tellman would think of that.
Her tea was too hot to hurry. She was still only halfway through when the door opened and Tellman came in. He looked terrible, as if he had been up half the night, and had nightmares the little he had been in his bed. At another time she might have been sorry for him, now she was too consumed with her own hurt.
“D’yer want some tea?” she offered, indicating the pot. “It’s fresh. And yer look like summink the cat brought in.”
“I feel like it,” Tellman replied, going to the teapot. “I was up until heaven knows when.” He looked as if he had been about to add something more, than changed his mind abruptly.
“Wot for?” she asked, passing him the milk. “Yer ill?”
“No,” he replied, looking away from her.
In spite of her own absorption in misery, she was aware that something must have happened. Perhaps it was to do with Finn. She had to ask.
“Why were yer up, then? Did summink ’appen?”
He looked at her closely, searching her face, then made his decision. “Mr. Pitt was up too. We were just trying to solve the case, that’s all.”
“And did yer?”
“No, not yet.”
“Oh.” She did not want to know any more about Finn. She was afraid of what it would be, so afraid her stomach knotted up in misery, but she also desperately wanted Pitt to win, he must! That was her first loyalty. That was the deciding thing which had driven her to tell him about the dynamite. She would rather not talk about it at all. She would rather not even have been there. But she had no choice; really, no one ever did have, unless they were going to run away altogether.
“I gotter get the water,” she said, finishing the last of her tea. It was cool enough now. “Mrs. Pitt’ll be gettin’ up.”
“I doubt it,” he replied. “She was probably woken when Mr. Pitt went to bed. I expect she’ll want to sleep in.”
“P’r’aps, but I’d better see.” She did not want to stay there with Tellman, of all people. She started towards the door.
“Gracie …”
She could not just ignore him. “Yeah?” she said without turning.
“Whoever killed Mr. Greville was the kind of person who’s used to killing people. It wasn’t done out of passion, or self-defense, or revenge or anything like that. I mean … I mean, if it had been Doll Evans, or Mrs. Greville, or someone like that, you could understand it. It’d still be wrong, of course, but you could understand it.”
She turned around slowly. “It weren’t Doll, I know that, ’cos I saw ’oo done it. She weren’t as tall as Doll. It were Mrs. Greville or Mrs. McGinley, I reckon.”
“No, it wasn’t,” he said, his face tight with emotion, his eyes steady on her. “The woman you saw tried to kill him, but he was already dead. She didn’t know that, but his neck was broken. That’s what we found out last night.”
“Broken? How d’yer know that?”
“You don’t want to hear that And don’t you go saying anything to anyone, do you understand? That’s confidential police business. It’s a secret. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you.”
“Why did yer?”
“I …” he hesitated, looking unhappy. “Gracie … I … I hate to see you hurt like this.” He was acutely uncomfortable, there was a flush on his hollow cheeks, but he would not stop now he had begun. “But I thought it might help to know that whoever killed Mr. Greville was professional at it. You don’t just kill someone that easily, with one blow, if you’ve had no practice.” He was more wretched by the moment. “I daresay they think what they’re doing is right, but it isn’t right by any of the sort of things we believe in. You can’t get freedom for people by murdering other people just because you think they stand in your way. What kind of a person does that make you?”
What he said was true. In her heart she already knew it. It had been a glimmer, like a door opening, the minute she saw the dynamite. It had been growing wider, more certain since then. She had not lost something real, she had only lost a dream. But dreams can matter very much, and it was too soon to feel anything but pain.
“Yeah, I know,” she conceded, not looking at him. “I gotter take the water up all the same.”
“Gracie!”
“What?”
“I wish … I wish I could make you feel better ….”
She looked at him standing by the table, awkward, so tired he looked hollow-eyed. He was lantern-jawed. No one could have called him handsome, or even charming, but there weis a tenderness in him which startled her. Had it not been so obvious, she would not have believed it, but he cared for her, it was there, naked in his face.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Yeah, I reckon you would. It’s nice of you. I … I gotter take the water. She might be awake any’ow.”
“I’ll carry it,” he offered. “It’s heavy.”
“Thank you.” It was his job anyway, at least to carry the water for Pitt, but she did not feel like saying so, not this time.
He walked to the door and held it open for her while she went through, then filled the jugs and carried them upstairs for her, not speaking again. He did not know what else to say, and she knew that. It did not matter.
When she got upstairs, far from waiting for her, Charlotte was still sound asleep, as Tellman had said she might be, and looked so tired Gracie did not have the heart even to make a noise, let alone draw the curtains. She left the water and crept away again. If Pitt had to be up, that was another thing. Tellman put his water in the dressing room, and he could do everything he needed without disturbing Charlotte. She could always ring when she woke.
Gracie was downstairs again, passing the conservatory door, when she glanced sideways and saw Mr. Moynihan and Mrs. McGinley standing very close together, talking earnestly. She had no business to, but she stopped and listened.
“… but, Iona, we can’t just walk away from each other like this!” Fergal said wretchedly.