Everyone who was awake was in the kitchen while Bibby and Jeremy retold their story.
“Well,” Constance interrupted, “this was not quite the homecoming I had planned. What on earth have you been up to?”
At the kitchen table, heads snapped up. There was a surge of movement toward her, a clatter of chairs, cries of delight. She was seized and dragged to the table, enthroned in the most comfortable chair and asked so many questions all at once that she laughed and forgot for a moment that there were two dead men on her doorstep.
“When did you get back?”
“How is it being married?”
“What is Italy like? Are the women beautiful? Are the men?”
“Is that gorgeous gown from Italy?”
“Where is the husband?”
“Did you ever leave the bedroom?”
“Fall over any mysteries?”
The last came from Janey, of course, who had been minding the Silver and Grey Inquiries office, and it was this question Constance chose to answer.
“Funnily enough, we did. A story for another time. Did you?”
“Fall over mysteries? They’re falling over me! There’s a mountain of inquiries in the office. I made a start on a few and solved two myself—with Lenny Knox’s help.”
“Good for you,” Constance said warmly. “You can tell me all about them as soon as we are allowed to leave the house. Now, what has been happening?”
While they told her all the establishment news, the footmen took it in turns to watch out of the back window and report any happenings. Several constables and a sergeant turned up, then most of them left again.
“Now we have men without uniforms. Two of ’em,” Max said.
“They’ll be the detectives,” Constance said calmly. “They’re going to want to speak to all of us.”
Janey swore long and fluently, as though she had been saving up the words for just such a situation. Constance raised an eyebrow at her, and she actually blushed. “Bad situation, ain’t it?” she said aggressively. “Bloody coppers swarming all over the house, trying to arrest us all and shut us down. I been there before.”
“Oh, no, they can’t!” Bibby exclaimed, staring at Constance in distress. “Can they, ma’am?”
Constance glanced around at the suddenly frightened faces of the women who had become her friends and the men who helped protect them all. For some, this was the first safety they had known, the first certainty of food and shelter. For all of them, it was home, whether temporarily or not.
Plus, the police in general were the longstanding enemies of most of them.
“No, they can’t,” Constance said. “The house is mine. Everyone lives here as my friends, guests, and servants.”
“They don’t pay any attention to stuff like that,” Max said in disbelief.
“They will here,” Constance said. “We are well protected.” And they were, although she rather wished there was a way of getting a message to Solomon… “Besides, they are investigating the bodies. All you need to do is tell the truth, without hostility, about where you were during the night. You need not say whom you were with unless you’re pressed—it is not a crime to have a lover, and the importance of our guests will almost certainly stave off further investigations. I won’t leave you to be questioned without me, unless you wish it. Now, I suggest we all get on with our work of the day.” She rose from the table. “I shall be in the reception room—bring the police to me there.”
Her calmness seemed to reassure most of them, as they scattered about on their usual business. She lingered only to see the still-distraught Bibby set to work on breakfast with Mrs. Cate, the experienced cook, before, satisfied, she turned toward the stairs. She was only halfway up before the bell at the area door rang.
Constance paused to lean over the banister. She nodded at the frozen Jeremy and Max, to remind them of her instructions, then whisked herself the rest of the way upstairs to the entrance hall.
Tony the footman was skulking just on the other side of the baize door, scowling. Constance jerked her head toward the stairs. “Fetch me if there is any trouble,” she murmured. “Otherwise, treat them as any other guest.”
The hall and the reception room were just as gleamingly clean as they should be. Glad standards had not dropped during her absence, she picked up a fashion magazine from the table and sat down in one of her favorite armchairs to flick through it. She barely saw the images before her. Most of her mind seemed to be clinging to the dead faces on the back doorstep. The rest was worrying about her staff and hoping that the detective assigned would be Inspector Harris, whom she andSolomon had helped before. That would be the best situation for everyone.
She did not have long to wait.
Tony entered the open door. “The police, madam,” he said woodenly.
