“We hoped you could tell us that,” Constance said.
“I’m afraid I can’t. I never saw it in the house, and I never saw him use it.”
*
With Constance’s approval,Janey left Hat in charge of the office and returned to Mayfair. Hat was bright and orderly, once you got to know her, and providing she didn’t try to speak in that refined accent that made Janey giggle, she was presentable too. Janey felt good about training her for the position she herself had held for several months now.
She was even more glad of the trust Constance and Mr. Grey had placed in her, and of her own step up to the investigative side of the business. It was as if she had found her own purpose in a world that had once daunted, baffled, and cowed her into a creature that was half animal. Now she was striding out, spreading her wings, doing good work. Sometimes she even got to work with Lenny…
But she knew better than to think too much about him. He was unattainable because of her past and his own tragedy, and most of the time it was enough that they were friends, even just on a superficial level, and that he liked her company. Oh yes, life was good.
The pleasure of seeing Constance happy added immeasurably to her sense of wellbeing. Not that she had beenunhappy before Solomon Grey, but Janey had watched the change in her and was curiously proud. Perhaps it also gave her hope. Constance, the best of them, had found love and a home. Maybe it wasn’t impossible for Janey and the others either.
It infuriated her that someone was trying to hurt Constance, hurt all of them, with the nasty prank of the horse manure. And if the bodies had been a prank too, well, that was unspeakable.
For all of those reasons, she threw herself into the investigation, beginning in the mews with casual chat among the stable boys and coachmen. Since Janey had spent the last few months working at Silver and Grey, she recognized very few of the local servants, nor they her. Those nearest the establishment had already spoken to the police about the bodies on the doorstep, so she let them bring the subject up if they wished. The questions she asked were about their employers, and what they thought of the house of ill repute.
To most of the outdoor staff, it was a mere rumor. They had never seen anything untoward outside the house in question. Once or twice, a house servant stole a few minutes to join in the gossip, but no one invited her to the kitchen for a cup of tea until she was at the fourth garden along the crescent, where they were interrupted by no less a person than the housekeeper, who had come in person to pass a message to the coachman. Despite her vast seniority, she seemed prepared to listen from on high to lower-servant gossip.
“Hadn’t you better run along back to your own work?” she said to Janey after they had discussed the vast number of carriages blocking the square last week during Lady Hardcastle’s ball.
“Oh, it’s my half day,” Janey lied happily. “I got no family to visit, and no money to spend.”
“So you thought to loiter in the mews distracting our servants instead?”
Janey grinned. “Well, most people can talk and work at the same time. I do meself. But I get lonely sometimes.”
That was rather blatant manipulation that she had learned in her previous trade. Sometimes a fellow feeling was enough to make a man notice and take the bait. Some women too, apparently, for the housekeeper said, “Come and have a quick cup of tea with us, then. Just one, mind. I’m Mrs. Robertson, housekeeper for Mrs. Willow and her sister.”
Janey did not have to feign her delight. All the servants seemed to have gathered for a short break under Mrs. Robertson’s eye. There was no butler in this establishment, only one footman in livery, and another manservant who did everything from boot polishing to gardening. The other indoor staff were female, three maids and a cook.
“It’s lovely to meet a friendly household like this,” Janey enthused. “You must be lucky in your positions with a kind mistress.”
Interestingly, a few glances were exchanged. One of the maids sniggered into her cup.
“They’re good Christian ladies,” Mrs. Robertson said repressively. “They lead us in prayer every evening and make sure we have all we need.”
“Can’t fault that,” Janey said. She set down her cup, widening her eyes. “Here, though, they can’t think much ofthathousehold!” She jerked her head vaguely in the direction of the establishment. “There was even amurderthere.”
“I heard there were two,” one of the maids said. “And the police even came asking questions, two doors down—my friend Millie, the parlor maid there, told me. It were awful.”
“Yes, but inthishouse we don’t talk about low subjects like murders,” Mrs. Robertson said firmly.
“Don’t talk about it much in ours either,” Janey said, not entirely truthfully. “Bit gruesome and not at all polite. But when the police ask you questions, you got to answer.”
“The police asked you questions?” Mrs. Robertson sounded shocked. Around the table, they all looked both appalled and eager. “Are they going to shut down that house?”
“Why would they do that? They’re not even sure them bodies died there. They might have been brought, you know, to hide the truth. They asked me what I saw, which was nothing. Don’t suppose you saw anything, neither?” She made it only a very slight question, as though she had already assumed the answer.
One of the maids giggled. “Saw her next door coming home at four in the morning. Ten minutes before her husband did!”
Mrs. Robertson scowled. “Decorum, Mavis!”
“Sorry, Mrs. Robertson.”
“Drink up,” the housekeeper commanded. “Time to get back to work.”
“Idle hands,” remarked a very different voice, and everyone jumped to their feet, including Janey.
