Aquinas nodded thoughtfully. “Might I suggest that your ladyship pay particularly close attention to the public rooms? I do not think one of the staff, if he is a clever villain, would leave evidence of his guilt in his own rooms.”
“Good Lord, Aquinas! You, too? Mr. Brisbane said much the same thing. I thought it indicated he had a criminal mind.”
Aquinas said nothing, but his colour deepened, staining his neck a ferocious scarlet.
“Oh, really, not you as well!”
“I beg your pardon, my lady?” he asked innocently.
“Nothing, Aquinas. I do not wish to know,” I said firmly, and I meant it. In spite of Brisbane’s allusions, I trusted Aquinas more than anyone else in Grey House. I did not care what youthful escapades might have brought him to the wrong side of the law. All that mattered to me was that he was on the proper side of it now.
“Naturally your ladyship will wish to search my room as well,” he said smoothly. “It will be at your disposal whenever you wish.”
“Oh, no, really, I could not—”
For the first time I could remember, Aquinas interrupted me. “You must. I would not like there to be a shadow of suspicion clouding my name, my lady. I value your good opinion too highly.”
I said nothing, but I could hear Brisbane’s voice, insidious as a snake.Well, of course he would say that, wouldn’t he? Especially if he has already hidden the evidence.
Resolutely, I put Brisbane’s nasty voice from my mind, but it came creeping back when I opened the door to Aquinas’ room the next morning. The bells had already summoned the faithful to church and I was surprised at how quickly the house fell silent. Renard, usually kept on duty to look after Simon on Sundays, was given one day free per month. Usually, he took it in the middle of the month, but Aquinas had made some excuse for requesting that he take it this first Sunday, and Renard had been too eager to question it. The Ghoul had left on her customary Sunday tour of the churchyards. She left quite early each Sunday morning, swathed in mourning veils and crepe, and did not return until late in the evening, quite as rested and relaxed as if she had just taken a holiday.
Even Magda had gone, although I knew better than to expect her to have gone to worship. She would pay a visit to her own people, no doubt, catching up with the aunts and sisters who had opposed her leaving, and who continually pressed their menfolk for her return. The others would likely go to the parks, meeting up with friends and would-be lovers. From my post in the study, I had listened to them, chattering happily as they crowded down the backstairs, liberated for the better part of the day. It seemed a little insulting really, that they should be so glad to be quit of Grey House, and of me. But I tried to imagine myself in their places and I knew I would have been the first one down the stairs. Even poor Desmond, recovering from a cold, had managed to rub enough camphor on his chest to make an outing worth his while. I could still smell him, along with the cheap perfume the maids had splashed on when I crept out into the hall, feeling for all the world like an intruder in my own house.
I began with Aquinas’ room, for no other reason than guilt. I was ashamed at having to do it while he was in the house, but he had tactfully taken himself upstairs to tend to Simon. I made a quick but thorough search of his effects. I learned that he was a lapsed Roman Catholic, which I had always suspected, and that he was a widower, which I had not. I found a bit of newspaper in an envelope in his washstand drawer, its edges soft with age, detailing the acrobatic exploits of the Amazing Aquinas and his beautiful wife, Gabriella, of the Gioberti troupe of Milan. There was a sketch below it, crude but recognizable, of Aquinas balanced atop a wire with Gabriella perched on his shoulder. There was a second clipping as well, this one almost too painful to read—a gust of wind, a bit of ribbon snagged onto the wire.
I thrust it back into the envelope, sorry I had seen it. I had known that he had trained as a circus acrobat, but I had always thought it amusing. I had believed it a youthful escapade, given up for a secure job in service that would see him taken care of in his dotage. I had never imagined the circumstances that drove him to leave the vagabond life. I thought of the countless times I had plagued him to tell me stories of the circus, and how he had always put me off, saying they were dull. I should have known better.
But those were the only surprises in his room. He was neat and tidy to the point of obsession, his effects few and beautifully kept. Of course, Aquinas was far too clever to keep any scraps of his crimes hanging about if he were the villain, but I preferred to think him innocent instead.
I moved to the top of the house, and collected Aquinas to help me search the maids’ dormitory and the footmen’s room. I had told him of the notes, but not of the poison. He would help me search for anything suspicious, but I kept my own lookout for small boxes or vials that might yet hold the means of Edward’s murder. He showed me the way to the staff quarters as I had never ventured there before. The maids shared a largish room that overlooked the garden; the footmen were in a slightly smaller room that faced the street. Both were nastier than I had imagined. Between Betty’s sodden heap of used and crumpled handkerchiefs and Desmond’s collection of drippy patent medicines, I felt rather queasy. The maids’ dormitory revealed nothing of interest, though, besides a rather childish attachment to cheap mementos and fairings. They each had bags of ginger nuts and little fair dolls dressed in gaily coloured scraps. They were old enough to earn a living in service, but none of them was more than nineteen, children really, in so many ways. There was a single pot of rouge, cracked and almost empty, that I fancied they shared between them on their days out, and a large bottle of very cheap perfume that was nearly empty. The entire room smelled of it, heavy and sweet, and I was glad to move on to the austere quarters shared by Desmond and Henry. The air was little better than in the maid’s room. Here it smelled of camphor and liquorice and a few other medicinal things I could not identify.
Aquinas raised a brow at the collection of bottles arrayed on the windowsill next to Desmond’s bed.
“He is homesick, my lady. He pines for the country.”
“Then what is he doing in London?” I asked, exasperated, although I knew well the answer. “There are no jobs in the country, I know, Aquinas. You needn’t look so repressive. But really, one would think something could be done for him. I know—I shall ask Father to send him down to the Abbey. A spell in Sussex should put him right, what do you think?”
“I should think the country would be exactly what he requires, my lady. He is a capable young man, diligent and amiable in discharging his duties. I think he would prove most satisfactory to his lordship. You might suggest something with dogs, my lady.”
“Dogs?” I was moving on to the chest at the foot of Henry’s bed.
“Yes, my lady. He is very fond of them.”
I heaved back the lid and began to poke the untidy contents with my finger.
“Well, Father is always looking for someone he can trust with his mastiffs. Especially now that poor old Crab is finally about to throw a litter. Good God!”
I had found an album, bound in cheap leather and tied with a black cord. I opened it, expecting the usual postcards from seaside resorts. What I found was something entirely different.
Aquinas looked discreetly over my shoulder and coughed.
“French, I should think, my lady.”
“How can you tell?” I asked, wide-eyed.
“The caption around the edge.”
“Well done, Aquinas. I had not even noticed there was a caption.” This was because I had been too occupied with the photograph of the young woman in a provocative state of undress. She was staring at the camera with a saucy expression, apparently oblivious to the young man touching her.
