Everyone in the room burst out laughing.
Then Lottie vouched for his character and he was initiated.
I suspect he shows up more as an excuse to see Olive than because of any ambitions as a true radical, but he’s relentlessly pleasant and genuinely helpful when it comes to spying on Bram’s whereabouts.
I don’t think Olive has even noticed how he moons after her.
He’s stirring something purple on the stove when I find him.
“Want to try?” He offers the spoon to me.
“What is it?”
He smiles. “Grape jam.”
He spreads some on two thick slices of toast when I explain I haven’t eaten all day. We sit at the rickety staff dining table and I tell him about Ethel. He cries for me, which makes my tender heart swell, and then I explain the strange things Rhion has said about Olive. I’m desperate to think of anything but Ethel’s body in that tree, and Ben watches everything Olive does. Really, I just want him to assure me I have nothing to worry about.
But he frowns. “She comes through the kitchens most afternoons. That’s usually when I bake and she’ll come sample things for me.”
“That seems harmless enough.”
“I agree, but there is one curious thing: her hair is always soaking wet.”
“Soaking wet?”
Ben nods. “Like she’s been swimming.”
“That’s very odd.”
“I thought so as well, so I asked her where she’d been, and do you know what she said? She said she’d been taking the waters.”
“The waters?” Since the Romans, it’s been believed that the hot springs of Bath contain the power to heal an array of ailments, but Olive’s never mentioned anything to me.
Ben nods. “That’s what she said.”
I’m at Marion and Faith’s door at first light. Their beleaguered housekeeper leads me to the morning room, where a bleary-eyed Faith and Marion enter a few minutes later.
“Why are you here?” Faith asks. She’s plaiting her long dark hair, still wearing her lilac dressing gown.
“Send for Emmy.” I spring up from the love seat. “We’re taking the waters.”
Chapter Five
The Roman baths are in the center of town, down the hill from Queen Street. We approach the public entrance and are waved through by a startled attendant who recognizes me. I’m treated with such little respect by Bram’s court, I often forget I’m still a national figurehead. My fame hasn’t gotten less strange.
Steam pours from the pool outside into the gray October skies. The bubbling waters are surrounded by white columns and mosaics that are meant to look vaguely Roman. Above the pool, a marble statue of the goddess Sulis Minerva watches us reproachfully.
Together, we search the entire facility: the changing rooms, the tepidarium with its lukewarm greenish pools, the treatment room dotted with marble tables, the blue-tiled indoor swimming pool, and then finally the caldarium, the hottest room, where the white steam pools so thick, we can hardly see.
Marion pats her dark curls, trying to smooth the frizz from the humidity. “Olive’s not here.” She groans. “And she’s going to be so put out we went on an errand without her if she finds out.”
I want to keep searching, but I know in my bones Marion isright. I’m upset with myself for letting Rhion plant even the smallest seed of doubt in my mind.
If Olive is taking the waters, then maybe she does have a health issue. If she hasn’t confided in me, then it’s none of my business.
But one thing nags. If she takes the waters every day at eleven like Ben says, then why isn’t she here?
We emerge back out onto the chilly streets of Bath.
