Her laughter burst out indelicately. “Oh, my.” She caught her breath. “I think it is safe to say that I will never marry. You see, a friend I would trust with my life once confided that marriage was worse than prison.” The details of what such a prison could entail cleared her humor in a snap, and dried her eyes just in time to see the duke ride off his property.
She squinted, trying to observe details.
Radnor looked over his shoulder. “Ah. It is not the house that interests you, but the family.”
She tried an innocent expression. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“That is my cousin.” He stepped aside. “Look to your heart’s content.”
Although annoyed, she did look. The horse came onto the street and headed in their direction. She managed not to stare, but still take him in. A handsome man, he resembled Chase Radnor but had more regular features. The strong bone structure made him appear dashing, not harsh.
The duke passed within ten feet of them, then all she could see was his back. She gave up her examination to find Radnor watching her intently.
“He appears a sober sort,” she said.
“He is concerned about our uncle’s death,” he said. “He thinks it may have been a murder.” He bowed. “I must take my leave. The groom who is holding my horse no doubt has other duties.”
“Doyouthink it was?” she asked when he had taken a few steps away. “Murder, I mean.”
He looked back at her. “I am almost certain of it.”
Chapter Three
Minerva waited while Mrs. Drable considered the request presented to her.
Mrs. Drable fingered the white fichu at her dress’s neckline, her slender fingers straying on occasion to the cameo pendant that dangled below her throat. Although at least fifty years in age, Mrs. Drable appeared younger, due in part to her soft complexion and her vivid red hair. A neighbor for whom Minerva had done a good turn, they had met today for a professional reason.
“There is one young woman,” Mrs. Drable finally said. “I think she would do. She currently is without a situation, and I despair of finding her a new one. She is educated enough to write and read, and she has a decent hand. She has, however, no experience in what you describe.”
“Where is she now? I will visit her if you arrange it.” This young woman’s experience or education were secondary to her spirit. Minerva required someone with a bit of adventure in her blood. Hepplewhite’s Office of Discreet Inquiries would be no ordinary situation.
“She just started on a short hire. A week at most. The new Duke of Hollinburgh is hosting a family gathering and the housekeeper asked their usual service to supply extra servants just for that. They are woefully short of staff due to servants leaving with their pensions.”
That explained why Jeremy had found work there so easily. He had only hoped to be taken on for occasional service, but had been offered daily work once they saw he knew the labor.
Mrs. Drable sighed. “Well, it is not the sort of thing we do, is it? Nor are there many decent servants available for such a brief duty. So the word went out to all of us. Elise was available and I sent her over. That is her name. Elise Turner.”
By “us” Mrs. Drable meant those in the business of supplying servants to the better homes in London. Mrs. Drable owned one of the smaller, more discreet such offices. Minerva had come to know her as a neighbor and friend, but had stepped in when Mrs. Drable confided she needed help discerning who had pilfered money from her. The suspicion immediately fell on a housemaid recently hired, but Minerva had proven the culprit was instead Mrs. Drable’s own nephew.
It had not been information well received, but Mrs. Drable was grateful to learn the truth. She had come close to accusing the wrong person, and claimed a debt to Minerva for sparing her that.
“She has no reference from her last employer. I need to tell you that. Hollinburgh’s housekeeper only accepted her on my personal recommendation and because they are all but desperate.”
“Why has she no reference?”
Mrs. Drable’s expression turned sour. “Her last employer. . . the husband behaved badly. The poor girl was fending off the man almost every day. I had placed a cook in the household, and she came by to inform me. Tell her to leave, I said. Send her to me. She has lived here ever since while I try to find another situation. However . . .” She turned her hands up in a gesture of futility.
“Does she come here every evening after her duties at the house?”
“They are not demanding that this little itinerant army of help stay there, although they will allow it if necessary. She prefers to return here. If you visit at nine o’clock, she should be back.”
Minerva stood. “I will return then. It was very good of you to take her in.”
“It is a story too often told. A young woman leaves home and comes up to town and finds a situation in a good house, only to discover one of the men is no gentleman. I cannot tell you how often I have had to extricate some girl from the clutches of a lothario.”
Minerva opened her reticule. “I am sure you have much to do, and I have another appointment. I will leave now. Before I do I want to give you some of my cards.” She plucked out five of her newly printed calling cards. “I am going to offer my services to others as I did to you, only in a formal and professional way. If you learn of someone in need of me, I hope you will give them one of these.”
Mrs. Drable eyed the card. “Normally men do this. A woman, however, will have appeal to other women. Some inquiries are rather delicate. I will give these out if I hear of anyone looking for your aid. You may use my name as a reference if you like.”
