Seven Dials Page 0,50

had expected, or fully believed. "Wot of?"

Gracie was prepared for that. "Rheumatical fever," she said without hesitation. "Terrible poorly, she is." She allowed her real fears for Martin, which were now gnawing deeply inside her, to invest her expression with pain.

Mrs. Culpepper must have seen it. "I'm sorry to 'ear that," she said with what looked to be a genuine pity. "Wot is it yer want 'ere? Don' stand there, Dottie! Fetch the girl a cup o' tea!" She looked back at Gracie. "Sit down." She pointed to a hard-backed kitchen chair on the other side of the table.

Dottie went to the stove and pushed the kettle over onto the heat. It began to whistle almost immediately.

Mrs. Culpepper did not miss a beat with her wooden spoon. "Now then, missy..." She had already forgotten Gracie's name. "Wot is it yer want 'ere? 'Oo's this message for, then?"

There was no more time for prevarication. Gracie watched Mrs. Culpepper's face intently. Expression might tell her more than words. "Martin Garvie," she replied. " 'E's 'er brother. She's got nob'dy else. Their ma an' pa died years back."

Mrs. Culpepper's face was unreadable, the slight sadness remained exactly the same, and her hand did not hesitate in the beating of the batter.

"Oh..." she said without looking up. "Well, that's a pity, 'cos 'e in't 'ere no more, an' I dunno where 'e's gorn."

Gracie knew there was a lie in that somewhere, or at least less than the truth, but she had the strong feeling that it was unhappiness rather than guilt which prompted it. Suddenly very real, sharp fear gripped her and the warm, sweet-smelling kitchen with its hot ovens and steaming pans swam around her. She closed her eyes to stop it swaying.

When she opened them Mrs. Culpepper was staring at her and Dottie was standing on the other side of the table with a cup of tea in her hand.

" 'Ead between yer knees," the cook said practically.

"I in't gonna faint!" Gracie was defensive, partly because she was not absolutely sure it was true. They were being kind. There was nothing to fight, and she did not know where to direct her emotions. "If 'e in't 'ere, where's 'e gorn?" She could not say that he had told no one, because Tilda was supposed to be too ill to know. She hoped fervently that when Tilda had called here asking for Martin herself, she had looked sufficiently distraught to appear on the edge of serious illness.

"We dunno," Dottie answered before Mrs. Culpepper had weighed her own reply. The cook shot her a sharp glance of warning, but whether it was to guard a secret or to keep from unnecessary hurt, there was no way to tell.

"An' why should yer know, girl!" Mrs. Culpepper found her tongue. "In't nuffink ter do wif yer where the master sends 'is staff, now is it?"

Dottie put the tea down in front of Gracie. "You drink that," she ordered. "O' course it in't, Mrs. Culpepper," she agreed obediently. "But yer'd think as Bella'd know, all the same." She turned to Gracie again. "Bella's our parlor maid, and she kinda liked Martin. Nice, 'e were, too. I liked 'im meself... in a friendly sort o' way," she added quickly.

"Yer got too busy a tongue in yer 'ead!" Mrs. Culpepper said critically. "If Bella knows where 'e's gorn, wot's it she should tell you, eh?"

Dottie shrugged. "I know," she said without resentment. Then her face clouded. "But I wish as I knew wot 'ad 'appened ter Martin meself."

"Don' yer go talkin' like that, you stupid girl!" Mrs. Culpepper snapped in sudden rage, her face pink. She slammed the bowl down on the table. "Anyone'd think as 'e were dead, or summink 'appened to 'im! Nothin's 'appened to 'im! 'E just in't 'ere, that's all. You button yer lip, my girl, an' go an' do summink useful. Go an' grate them ol' potatoes ready ter soak. Yer can't ne'er 'ave too much starch. Don' stand there like yer was a ruddy ornament!"

Dottie pushed her hair back with her hand, shrugged good-naturedly, and wandered off to the scullery to do as she was told.

"I'm glad nuthin' in't 'appened to 'im," Gracie said with suitable humility. "But I still gotter tell 'im about Tilda." She knew she was pressing her good fortune, but she had no choice. So far she had learned no more than Tilda had already told them. "Somebody's gotta know, in't they?"

"O' course somebody 'as," Mrs. Culpepper agreed, reaching