Free Seven Dials by Anne Perry Page A

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