“Yer know somethin’?” Tilda asked anxiously. “Gracie wouldn’t say nothin’ to me in the street.”
“We don’t know where he is,” Charlotte answered straightaway. She could not hold out false hope; it was crueler in the end. “But we have learned more. A friend of mine spoke to Mr. Ferdinand Garrick, and he told her that Stephen had gone to the south of France, for his health, and taken his valet with him, in order to care for him while he is away.” She saw Tilda’s face clear and felt an ache of guilt. “Mr. Tellman has tried to see if that is true. He found someone who saw what was almost certainly Stephen Garrick and Martin leaving the house in Torrington Square. But there is no record of their having taken any boat to France, either from London or Dover. In fact, he cannot find a train they have taken. So it seems Martin has not been dismissed, but we don’t know where he is, or why he has not written to you to tell you of his circumstances.”
Tilda stared at her, trying to understand what it meant. “Then where’d they go? If it in’t France, why’d they go at all?”
“We don’t know, but we intend to find out,” Charlotte answered. “What more can you tell us about Martin, or about Mr. Stephen?” She saw the total bewilderment in Tilda’s face, and wished she could be plainer. She did not know herself what she was asking. “Try to think of everything Martin ever told you about the Garrick family, and Stephen in particular. He must have spoken about his life there sometimes.”
Tilda looked on the edge of tears. She was struggling hard to make her brain override her fear and the loneliness that crowded in on her. Martin was all the family she had, all the life she could remember. Her parents were beyond infant recall.
Gracie leaned forward, ignoring the cup of tea Tellman had poured for her.
“It in’t the time for bein’ discreet!” she said urgently. “We all tells our fam’ly. He trusted yer, din’t ’e? ’E must ’a told yer summink about life in the ’ouse. Was the food good? Did the cook ’ave a bad temper? Were the butler all spit and vinegar? ’Oo were the boss-the ’ousekeeper?”
Tilda relaxed a little as a faint smile touched her mouth. “Not the ’ousekeeper,” she replied. “An’ the butler wouldn’t say boo ter the master, but right tarter ’e were wi’ everyone else… at least that’s wot Martin said. Order everyone else around summink wicked, but not Martin, ’cos o’ Mr. Stephen. Martin were the only one as could look after ’im, an’ no one else wanted to any’ow, fer all their bein’ so upright an’ all.”
“Why not?” Charlotte asked. “Was he difficult?”
“Summink terrible, when ’e ’ad the stuff in ’im,” Tilda said very quietly. “But Martin’d never forgive me if ’e knew I’d told yer that. Yer don’t never tell no one about wot goes on in a lady or gentleman’s rooms, or yer’ll never work again. Out in the gutter an’ no place ter go-’cos no one else’ll ever take yer in. An’ worse ’n that, it’s betrayin’, an’ there in’t nothin’ worse than a betrayer.” Her voice was low and husky, as if even saying the words would contaminate her.
“What stuff?” Charlotte asked, keeping her tone so casual she could have been speaking of porridge.
“I dunno,” Tilda answered with such openness that Charlotte had to believe her.
Tellman put his cup down. “Did Martin ever go for a holiday with Mr. Stephen before? Anywhere?”
Tilda shook her head. “Not as I know. I’d ’a told yer.”
“Friends?” Tellman insisted. “What did Stephen do for pleasure? Where did he go-music, women, sports, anything?”
“I dunno!” she said desperately. “ ’E were miserable. Martin said as there weren’t nothing ’e really liked. ’E used ter sleep bad, ’ave terrible dreams. I think as ’e were ill summink awful.” Her voice dropped so they could barely hear it. “Martin told me as ’e were going ter look for a priest fer ’im… one as cared special fer soldiers.”
“A priest?” Tellman said with surprise. He glanced at Gracie, and at Charlotte, then back to Tilda. “Do you know if Mr. Garrick was religious?”
Tilda thought for a moment. “I… I s’pose ’e were,” she said slowly. “ ’Is pa is-Martin said that. Runs the ’ouse like ’e were a clergyman. Staff all say prayers every mornin’ an’ every night. An’ grace at table afore every meal. Mind most do that, o’ course.
“But there was other things as well, like exercise an’ cold water an’ bein’ extra clean an’ early fer everythin’. Martin said as they all lined up in the mornin’ afore breakfast an’ the butler led ’em in prayers for the Queen and the empire an’ their duty ter God, an’ again afore anyone were allowed ter go ter bed at night. So I ’spec’ Mr. Stephen were religious as well. Couldn’t ’ardly ’elp it.”
“Then why didn’t he speak with their regular minister?” Charlotte asked, not to Tilda in particular but to all of them. “They’d go to church on Sunday, wouldn’t they?”
“Oh, yeah,” Tilda said with certainty. “Every Sunday, sure as clockwork. The ’ole ’ouse. Cook’d leave cold cuts for luncheon, an’ ’eat up vegetables quick when she come back. Mr. Garrick’s very strict about it.”
“So why would Martin go to find a special priest for Stephen?” Charlotte said thoughtfully.
Tilda shook her head. “Dunno, but ’e told me about it. Someone as Mr. Stephen’d known a long time ago. ’E works wi’ soldiers as ’ave fallen on ’ard times, drink an’ opium an’ the like.” She gave a little shiver. “Down Seven Dials way, where it’s real rough. Sleepin’ in doorways, cold an’ ’ungry, an’ near enough wishin’ they was dead, poor souls. That in’t no way for a soldier o’ the Queen ter end up.”
No one answered her immediately. Gracie looked at Charlotte’s face and saw it filled with pity and confusion, then she turned to Tellman, and was startled to see the quickening of an idea in his eyes. “Wot is it?” she demanded.
Tellman swiveled to face Tilda. “Did Martin find this man?” he asked.
“Yeah. ’E told me. Why? D’yer think ’e’d know wot ’appened ter Martin?” The hope in her voice was needle sharp.
“He might know something.” Tellman tried to be careful, without crushing her. “Did he say his name, do you remember?”
“Yeah…” Tilda screwed up her face in effort. “Sand-summink. Sandy…”
Tellman leaned forward. “Sandeman?”
Tilda’s eyes opened wide. “Yeah! That’s it. Yer know ’im?”
“I’ve heard of him.” Tellman looked across at Charlotte.
“Yes,” she agreed before he asked the question. “Yes, we should try to find him. Whatever Martin said to him, it might be important.” She bit her lip. “Apart from that, we don’t have anything better.”
“It may not be so easy,” Tellman warned. “It could take a while. We still haven’t got proof of any crime, so-”
“I’ll look,” Charlotte interrupted him.
“In Seven Dials?” Tellman shook his head. “You have no idea what it’s like. It’s one of the worst places…”
“I’ll go in daylight,” she said quickly. “And I’ll dress in my oldest clothes-believe me, they’ll pass as local. There’ll be plenty of women around between eight o’clock and six in the evening. And I’m looking for the priest. Other women with relatives who were soldiers must do that too.”
Tellman looked at her, then at Gracie. His conflicting emotions were startlingly clear in his face.
Charlotte smiled. “I’m going,” she said decisively. “If I find him I have more chance of learning something about Martin than you have, if he really went on Stephen Garrick’s behalf. I’ll start straightaway.” She turned to Tilda. “Now you go back to your duties. You cannot afford to have your mistress dismiss you, however justified your absence.” She looked at Tellman. “Thank you for all you have done. I know it took a lot of your time…”