'Yes, my love.'
Matters in hand. He'd put matters in hand all right. If he closed his eyes he could see the body tumbling down the steps. Had there been a hiss of shocked breath, down in the darkness of the hall? He'd been certain they were alone. Matters in hand! He'd tried to wash the blood off his hand. If he could wash the blood off, he told himself, it wouldn't have happened. He'd scrubbed and scrubbed. Scrubbed till he screamed.
Granny wasn't at home in public houses. She sat stiffly to attention behind her port-and-lemon, as if it were a shield against the lures of the world.
Nanny Ogg, on the other hand, was enthusiastically downing her third drink and, Granny thought sourly, was well along that path which would probably end up with her usual dancing on the table, showing her petticoats and singing 'The Hedgehog Can Never be Buggered at All'.
The table was covered with copper coins. Vitoller and his wife sat at either end, counting. It was something of a race.
Granny considered Mrs Vitoller as she snatched farthings from under her husband's fingers. She was an intelligent-looking woman, who appeared to treat her husband much as a sheepdog treats a favourite lamb. The complexities of the marital relationship were known to Granny only from a distance, in the same way that an astronomer can view the surface of a remote and alien world, but it had already occurred to her that a wife to Vitoller would have to be a very special woman with bottomless reserves of patience and organisational ability and nimble fingers.
'Mrs Vitoller,' she said eventually, 'may I make so bold as to ask if your union has been blessed with fruit?'
The couple looked blank.
'She means—' Nanny Ogg began.
'No, I see,' said Mrs Vitoller, quietly. 'No. We had a little girl once.'
A small cloud hung over the table. For a second or two Vitoller looked merely human-sized, and much older. He stared at the small pile of cash in front of him.
'Only, you see, there is this child,' said Granny, indicating the baby in Nanny Ogg's arms. 'And he needs a home.'
The Vitollers stared. Then the man sighed.
'It is no life for a child,' he said. 'Always moving. Always a new town. And no room for schooling. They say that's very important these days.' But his eyes didn't look away.
Mrs Vitoller said, 'Why does he need a home?'
'He hasn't got one,' said Granny. 'At least, not one where he would be welcome.'
The silence continued. Then Mrs Vitoller said, 'And you, who ask this, you are by way of being his—?'
'Godmothers,' said Nanny Ogg promptly. Granny was slightly taken aback. It never would have occurred to her.
Vitoller played abstractly with the coins in front of him. His wife reached out across the table and touched his hand, and there was a moment of unspoken communion. Granny looked away. She had grown expert at reading faces, but there were times when she preferred not to.
'Money is, alas, tight—' Vitoller began.
'But it will stretch,' said his wife firmly.
'Yes. I think it will. We should be happy to take care of him.'
Granny nodded, and fished in the deepest recesses of her cloak. At last she produced a small leather bag, which she tipped out on to the table. There was a lot of silver, and even a few tiny gold coins.
'This should take care of—' she groped – 'nappies and suchlike. Clothes and things. Whatever.'
'A hundred times over, I should think,' said Vitoller weakly. 'Why didn't you mention this before?'
'If I'd had to buy you, you wouldn't be worth the price.'
'But you doh't know anything about us!' said Mrs Vitoller.
'We don't, do we?' said Granny, calmly. 'Naturally we'd like to hear how he gets along. You could send us letters and suchlike. But it would not be a good idea to talk about all this after you've left, do you see? For the sake of the child.'
Mrs Vitoller looked at the two old women.
'There's something else here, isn't there?' she said. 'Something big behind all this?'