“If you say so, lady.”
“What do you say?” she said swiftly.
“He always had it. Before he went to the country and after. Used it to cut food up to share. Never hurt no one with it. Only time I saw him angry was when Jimmie Gantry tried to take it off him. Knocked him out cold.”
“Where would I find Jimmie Gantry?” Constance asked.
Harry pointed upward. “God rest the old sinner.”
“Did Nevvy often go to Mayfair?”
Harry cast her a scornful glance. “No point. Get moved on there.” It was clearly a wisdom he had lived by and accepted as gospel. He scratched his head through his tattered, filthy hat. “Nevvy got a cup of tea there once or twice, though. Didn’t go often.”
“Tea on the doorstep,” Constance murmured. “Is that where he went the last night you saw him?”
Harry shook his head. “Peelers said so. He couldn’t walk that far. Could barely shuffle. I’d brought him food and drink the last two days and he scarce moved. Gave him my blanket that night, but then I found it over me when I woke, and Nevvy’d gone. I was happy. Thought he’d perked.”
Constance gazed at him. “Did someone help, then? Take him away from here?”
“Dunno. Had a nice bottle some nob set down and forgot. Gave Nevvy a slug—must have done him some good—gave him half for tomorrow, and had the rest meself. Slept till it was light.” He scowled. “Then the peelers came, said a lot of lies, like he stuck some nob with his knife. Nevvy’d never do that. Goodman, was Nevvy.” He stared at Constance, his red-rimmed eyes suddenly angry. “Tell you what’s more! He’d never have left that knife anywhere, let alone in someone’s back!”
*
After speaking toa few more vagrants and beggars, Constance lingered in the area on more usual business, talking to some old acquaintances and looking for girls she might be able to save. There would be at least two places at the establishment if she took Bibby to the house, and someone else—maybe Hat—to work at Silver and Grey. And then Juliet had talked of taking on an assistant.
A couple of them knew Nevvy as well. All in all, she had a lot to think about as she made her way to the establishment. She went straight to the kitchen, where Mrs. Cate and Bibby were busy preparing delicacies for the evening’s festivities. A young violinist was contracted to entertain them, and Constance intended to make this her first public appearance at the establishment since her marriage. So the girls had two reasons to regard it as special.
“I need a word,” Constance said. Since everyone else was hard at work elsewhere on their own account, the three of them were alone in the kitchen.
They both paused in their tasks and gazed at her expectantly.
“Which of you,” Constance asked, sitting down at the table, “gives beggars and vagrants tea on the back doorstep?”
Bibby dropped her vegetable knife with a clatter.
Mrs. Cate scowled. “I do. Not that we get many round here, but where’s the harm?”
“I suppose you bring them in when it’s raining, too?” Constance said mildly.
Mrs. Cate’s eyes slid away. “Only once, ’cause he looked so ill, and there was no harm to him. He went after ten minutes and I never saw him again.”
Constance switched her gaze to Bibby. “Did you?”
“Me?” Bibby squeaked. “What, ma’am?”
“Did you see this man again? I presume you did see him in the kitchen.”
Bibby nodded miserably. “I did. And I did see him again, though I didn’t realize it at the time. It was the dead man on the doorstep. They look different, don’t they, with no life?”
Constance sighed. “Yes, they do.”
“The dead man was my tramp?” Mrs. Cate said, catching up slowly. “Oh dear.”
“When did you realize?” Constance asked Bibby.
“Later that day, after I told the policemen I didn’t know either of them. So when I realized I did and I’d lied, I couldn’t go back and tell them, could I?”
“Perhaps not,” Constance said steadily. “But you could have told me.”
