“Now that I think of it, there was something,” she said slowly.
Brisbane and I leaned forward as one man, so to speak.
“Yes?”
She looked carefully from one of us to the other, weighing her response. “I will tell Her Ladyship. You will have to go, sir,” she said firmly.
Brisbane rose, placing his mug carefully upon the table.
“Of course. I will await Her Ladyship on the front step. Mrs. Birch, thank you for your hospitality. I will see myself out.” Over her head he shot me a look that was unmistakable. He expected me to wring every bit of information out of her, and the look had been a warning. I had better not fail this time.
I stared at the fine tailoring of his retreating back while Mrs. Birch ogled something else.
“That your man?” she asked after the door closed behind him. Her expression was friendly, and I did not take offense.
“No.”
She clucked her tongue. “Pity. He’s got lovely legs. My Jimmy had lovely legs. Long and—”
“Mrs. Birch,” I said sharply. She laughed, and this time she did pat me on the arm. She poured herself another cup of tea and I allowed her to fill mine for the sake of companionship.
“It’s all right, my lady. It’s just us hens. You can tell me. Do you fancy him?”
I could feel my rings beginning to cut into my hands. I forced myself to relax.
“Mrs. Birch, you said you would tell me what you noticed about my husband’s corpse.”
She regarded me a moment, judging my humour, I think. Something of my edgy mood must have shown itself, for she settled down at once. She told me what she had seen, to the last detail. I questioned her closely, but she did not vary her story, and in the end, I realized I believed her entirely.
“Thank you. I appreciate your assistance,” I said, rising. “But I must warn you. You cannot repeat this to anyone—not what you have just told me, or even that I called. If my husband was murdered, anyone who possesses knowledge of the crime must be in danger.”
She waved me off. “I am an oyster, I am. I’ve too much to think about, keeping the little ones fed and clothed to waste my time with idle gossip. Besides, it would be a poor thanks for your kindnesses to tell your business on the street.”
I gave her a surprised look and she laughed. “I know it is you, my lady. No butler would think to put books in the baskets for the kiddies. And there’s always a packet of hair ribbons for my girls, pretty new ones. And good leather shoes for the boys. Most ladies leave the baskets to their servants and they never know if we get the scrag end of beef and the burnt-down ends of candles. You always send us good meat, and a bottle of wine at Christmas. I do not forget it, my lady.”
I could not think of a reply. I had always instructed Aquinas to prepare the baskets, only occasionally troubling to add something myself. She was praising Aquinas’ generosity, not mine. I must remember to commend him.
Mrs. Birch saw me to the door. “If that Mr. Brisbane should die soon…” she began hopefully.
“I will send for you at once,” I promised, smoothing my skirts.
“Oh, that is kind of you, my lady.”
“Not at all. And to answer your question, I suppose some would find him fanciable.”
She sighed and pulled open the door. “Just as I suspected, my lady. We are not so very different after all, if you will pardon the observation.”
I thought of the society ladies I knew and how outraged they would be by such a statement coming from a woman of Mrs. Birch’s ilk.
I smiled at her, knowing that if I had been born poor and disadvantaged, I would have ended my days rotting in a ditch, rather than mistress of a tiny, cozy home and proud mother of seven.
“On the contrary, Mrs. Birch. I take it as a compliment. A very fine one.”
THE TWENTY-EIGHTH CHAPTER
If you fear the wolf,
Do not go into the forest.
