“Wotcher, ma’am,” Janey exclaimed. “Know anything about the two old biddies four doors up from us? She’s called Willow and lives with her maiden sister. They’re the sort who give churches a bad name, making their servants pray all the time and faces as prim as a duck’s—”
“Janey,” Constance interrupted. “I understand.”
Janey grinned. “Course you do. Well, the servants are pleasant enough; the housekeeper herself asked me into the kitchen for a cup of tea. Only then she—Mrs. Willow—appears unexpectedly and throws me out like I’m…whoever it was Jesus threw out of the temple. Anyway, the point is, sherecognizedme.”
Constance saw the significance at once. “Which means she’s been paying attention to the household and knows who and what we are…”
“Can’t see her shoveling sh…”—again, Janey caught Constance’s eye and changed her mind—“shoveling dirt, though, and trotting round to our back door with it.”
“Is she frail?”
“No…”
“Then she could have. Or got a servant to do it for her.”
“True,” Janey allowed. “It’d take several servants, though, to lug two dead bodies there.”
“We’re beginning to think they died where they were and their position was altered only slightly.”
“Why?” Janey asked.
Constance sighed. “That is another question.” She inserted her key in the lock and was glad to see Hat bob immediately out of the reception office she still thought of as Janey’s.
“Tea, ma’am?” Hat said brightly. “I just made some for Mr. Grey, so the kettle won’t take long. He’s with someone, by the way.”
“Who?” Constance asked, for there were no appointments. Had Cordell come back to change his mind and dismiss them?
“A Miss Paul.” Hat lowered her voice. “Very bright, colorful lady.”
“Ah.” Constance was intrigued. “We’ll talk later, Janey. You go and see how Hat’s been faring.”
With a brief knock, she entered Solomon’s office.
“Constance.” Solomon rose immediately and turned to face her with such laughter in his eyes that she was startled. It wasn’t a joke he’d been sharing with his visitor, either. It was for her, and over in a flash. “Miss Paul, this is my wife, Mrs. Grey, the Silver part of our partnership. Constance, Miss Zenobia Paul, Mr. St. John’s friend.”
Zenobia was regarding her with blatant curiosity. She held out her hand. “How do you do? You do unusual work for a woman.”
Since she offered, Constance shook hands with her. “So do you.”
Zenobia’s lips curved upward. She had a strong-featured face that had its own beauty. But her main attraction seemed to be character, which blazed out of her eyes and her every expression. After a moment, she delved into a capacious bag and came out with a card, which she presented to Constance.
“I shall be at home tomorrow evening with a few friends. I would be honored if you would join me.”
Constance blinked. “You know who I am? You understand about my establishment?”
“I admire your work there,” Zenobia said calmly. “Yes, I too can make inquiries. And you need not fear being ostracized by less liberal-minded guests.” Her eyes danced. “My dear, I even entertainactresses.”
Chapter Ten
Bella St. Johnfelt as if she would explode. Oppressed by her own misery as well as by her mother’s and Anthony’s, she found the relentless stream of condolence visits unbearable without the sustaining presence of her betrothed.
But Han had remained frustratingly absent all day, while Bella and her mother drank endless cups of tea with people she regarded as mere acquaintances, most of them come for purposes of curiosity and gossip. She wanted to scream at them all to get out, but she had been too well brought up to allow herself to do more than grit her teeth and wait for it to stop.
When the vicar finally left after his third call of the week—at least Mama seemed pleased to seehim—she hoped the afternoon was finally over. But no, the maid who came to show the vicar out had two more visitors in tow, and it was too late to deny them.
Bella only just stifled a groan. It was the pair from the crescent that she always thought of as the sour-faced spinsters, though in fact Mrs. Willow was a widow. She and her sister, Miss Morton, haunted the square, exuding smug judgment. Or so Bella and Anthony imagined, although they had only exchanged civil words with them, and that on just two occasions.
She gritted her teeth once more and affixed a suitably sad smile to her lips. She resented that smile, which was for their sake, not hers. Shewassad, so why was it considered not necessary that shelookit?
