She seemed to find that peculiar. “So that is where you list all the hard proof and evidence that you need in order to know anything. Do you have a bad memory?”
“I have an excellent memory. This encourages me to progress through an inquiry efficiently.”
“Hmmm. I would think that one thing would lead to another in a natural way. That is how it has worked for me. I can’t imagine drawing up lists about it.”
“That is because it is not your profession.”
“Ah, yes.” She stood. “I will take my leave. Good day to you.” She turned on her heel.
“Since you can simplyknowthe truth, in ways I am denied, what does your inner sense say about me?” he asked.
She looked back over her shoulder. “It says that you did not harm your uncle, but that you think learning who did will bring you pain.”
Brigsby arrived to escort her out. Chase heard her last words echo in his head. She was good. Very good.
* * *
“It was kind of you to offer to call on me, but it is better that I see you here.” Mrs. Oliver possessed a deep, quiet voice. She sat in Minerva’s little study, on a chair placed right where Chase Radnor had stood before the warming pan crashed down on his head. Deep into her middle years, Mrs. Oliver was a buxom, blond, proud woman with exacting posture. She imposed herself on the small chamber, her body tilted forward just enough to impose on Minerva as well.
Mrs. Oliver had been referred to Hepplewhite’s Office of Discreet Inquiries by Mrs. Drable. She was their firstpayingclient.
“Tell me how we can assist you.”
Mrs. Oliver licked her lips. “It is complicated.”
Minerva had hoped it would be a simple matter that could be solved quickly, like proving a husband had a mistress. She needed to devote time to her own inquiry. This afternoon she had intended to do just that before Mrs. Oliver’s letter came in the morning mail. She hoped that staying busy on this matter would at least distract her from continually dwelling on what had happened in the library with Chase.
“It involves my husband’s business affairs. He imports mercery from France, then sells to shops and warehouses in London and other towns in the south. He has been very successful. He took on a new agent five months ago, however, who I believe is stealing from him.”
“Would that not become obvious to your husband? The accounts—”
“Not stealing in the normal way. I think he has been taking the information regarding where James—my husband—buys his stock and to whom he sells it. I think he has been using my husband’s contacts to trade for himself. I suspect he sought his current position specifically to learn what he needed to know in order to do this.”
“What does your husband think?”
Mrs. Oliver lowered her gaze. “I have not mentioned it to him. It is really not my concern. It is not my company. He would not like me meddling.”
This was what was wrong with marriage, Minerva thought. One of the many things wrong with it. Here this perceptive woman had suspicions of activity that would harm her husband, but their union was such that the man would not want to hear her out.
“Tell me why you suspect this?”
“I visit my sister in Brighton frequently. I went down there two weeks ago. We visited the shops and, as I always do, I made it a point to pass by the one that buys from James. That is one of the towns that this new agent sells to, you see. I’m not checking on my husband’s trade, mind you. Just being curious.”
Keeping an eye on matters, was more like it. Mr. Oliver would do well to make his wife a partner.
“I don’t meddle,” Mrs. Oliver emphasized. “I just pay attention because if something ever happened to James, I’d have to do it all myself, wouldn’t I? There’s some money put away but not enough and I’d have to live on something.”
“You were telling me about Brighton?”
“So I was down there and passed by his patron shop and all appeared normal. I kept going, chatting with my sister, when ten doors down there was a shop that does not buy from James. In that shop there were the exact same lace collars and cuffs that he sells. Identical. Only one family in the Loire Valley makes them quite like that, and he never reveals their name. Well, in I go, pretending to want to buy some, and I learned this other shop had a price far below the one up the lane that James sells to. I knew then that something was wrong.”
“Shops can sell at any price they choose. Are you very sure that your husband did not sell this other shop the collars?”
“Asked, didn’t I? Not directly. When I returned home I mentioned how nicely the lace was shown in that shop he sells to, then asked if he has other shops down there. What a stupid question, he says. Such merchandise is cheapened if sold in too many places. That Loire lace is exclusive to one shop per town, he says, so that shop can sell at a good price and in turn pay him a good price. I knew that, but pretended I didn’t. I want you to find out if I am right about that agent. I want clear evidence if it is him. Proof that can’t be questioned. Then I will bring it to James.”
Clear evidence. Proof. She reminded Minerva of her conversation with Radnor yesterday morning. Mrs. Oliver alreadyknewthe truth, but she needed evidence before she confronted her husband.
That conversation had stayed in her mind since she all but ran from his apartment. He had wanted to talk about those kisses, and probably about the ones that never happened. What a conversation that would have been! Not that she would ever explain any of that. It would be too humiliating. What could she say?It isn’t only that I can’t trust you. As it happens, these feelings are so new to me, so unexpected, that I can’t trust myself, either.
