“Veronique has my letter,” Miss Morton interrupted, tragically. “They will soon know everything anyway, if they arrest her. It will come out at any trials.”
“It need not,” Solomon said. “In such sensitive cases, discretion can be exercised.”
“You are a kind man,” Mrs. Willow said abruptly. “We did not expect to find kindness coming from that house. We saw you at poor Mr. St. John’s funeral, did we not? Please, sit down and have tea…”
While the old ladies cornered Solomon, Constance shifted her chair slightly closer to Mrs. Robertson, gazing at her until the housekeeper finally raised her head, her expression fearful.
“Why?” Constance asked.
Mrs. Robertson shook her head, then closed her eyes as if it would blot out Constance’s presence.
“We never wronged you,” Constance said mildly. “You could barely have noticed our presence, so careful and discreet as we are. And you spoke to Janey. You knew we were not monsters. And yet your…presents grew worse.”
“I’m sorry. It’s a habit—looking afterthem.”
Constance was genuinely bewildered. “How does leaving a rotting corpse at my back door look after your mistresses?”
Mrs. Robertson flapped one hand as though it was impossible to explain, even to herself. “You’re right. I didn’t even know of your existence until a few months ago, when the ladies discovered it. They were outraged, of course, because this is a very good address, not some backstreet, or even too close to the gentlemen’s clubs. They watched your household—to be fair,they watch everyone as far as they can, partly from curiosity, partly so they can keep sin at bay. Or so they imagine.”
“And you helped?”
“Well, I made sure as best I could that none of our servants came in contact with any of your people. But the ladies wanted you gone. I look after them. I care for their comfort. So after the outrage of the dead bodies on your doorstep, I thought to hurry things along, to please them. I put the horse manure on your doorstep during the night. I nailed the notice to your back gate while the mews was quiet.”
“And the corpse?”
Mrs. Robertson’s bony face grew mottled. Impossible to tell if it was anger or shame.
“I’d met your girl—Janey—by then,” she said. “I was angry because you didn’t even seem to notice my efforts, much less be driven off by them. And because she had the nerve to speak to our servants as though they were equals.” She swallowed. “I think I was angry too because they all liked her.Iliked her. Until Mrs. Willow came down to the kitchen and recognized her… She told me off in no uncertain terms, for vigilance against sin.
“So I wondered what would bereallybad for you, and remembered the bodies already found on your doorstep. I thought another was bound to get you into trouble with the police, so I took the cart, and some old blankets and shawls we were saving for charity, and went to a paupers’ grave I knew of in Holborn. The ladies give the odd donation to the workhouse there.
“You needn’t say anything,” she finished rapidly. “I heard the police inspector’s lecture to the ladies. I gottheminto trouble, not you. I know the dangers of disease. To be honest, I was shocked by own behavior. And thenhesaved me. You all did. And the ladies. Despite what we’d said and done. It’s almost as if…”
As if we are better Christians?Constance smiled wryly. “Don’t go too far.”
“No. But perhaps…let he who is without sin cast the first stone. I sinned. And I’m sorry.”
Constance nodded, and they both regarded the old ladies, now well over their fright as they bombarded Solomon with questions.
“It seems neither are they,” Mrs. Robertson said ruefully. “I wonder what on earth was in that letter…”
“Don’t,” Constance advised, and the housekeeper nodded fervently. She had had enough of secrets, her own and everyone else’s.
Mrs. Willow was saying, “Of course my sister and I have always been members of the Anti-Slavery League. So was my husband.”
Solomon looked weary. “I am pleased to hear it, though you should know I was never a slave.”
“I think we should say goodnight, Solomon,” Constance said firmly through the ladies’ surprise, “and leave these good people to rest at last. Sleep well, ladies.”
*
“A few mysteriessolved,” Constance said sleepily as the carriage finally took them home for a couple of hours’ sleep. It was already dawn. “And a few bridges built.” She was snuggled against Solomon, one arm across his chest. “After a bad start, we have had an unexpectedly successful day.”
Solomon stirred, his arm tightening. “Yet we’re no nearer solving the murder of Terrence St. John and, possibly, Gareth Neville.”
Constance felt her stomach tighten with nerves and guilt.
“Or are we?” he said quietly.
