“I have it all thought out,” Minerva said. “I will bring this and have a tasteful sign made to put by our door. A small brass one. Then I’ll order cards for all of us. I’m going to call on Mrs. Drable and ask her to recommend us to others who might have need of our services. However, we already have our first client.”
“Who might that be?” Beth asked.
“Me.”
* * *
“The door to the past has been opened, as you said, Beth. There is some risk to me now, I know. I spent the night after Radnor was here in panic, remembering how it felt to live with a noose hanging over one’s life.” Even now, as she spoke of it, the chill of dread wanted to conquer her once more. “However, I have decided I am not going to hide my whole life. I will meet the risk with action, not running away. Not fear.”
They had moved to the library. Beth and Jeremy sat on the divan. She stood near the fireplace.
“Brave words, for whatever they mean,” Beth said.
“They mean that the best way to get rid of the risk is to prove I had nothing to do with the duke’s death. And the best way to do that is to prove that someone else did it. However, I would make this inquiry even if the legacy held no danger to me. This duke was a great benefactor to me. If someone pushed him off that roof, I want to know who. I also want to know why he chose to give me this money.” She paced while she explained her thinking and decision. “Don’t you want to know all of that too?”
“Of course,” Beth said.
“Then, as of today, Hepplewhite’s Office of Discreet Inquiries is a real enterprise, and finding those answers is our first endeavor. As to establishing ourselves—we will need to find others to help us. On occasion as we get started, but hopefully on regular wages soon. We will require a young woman, for example. Younger than me. More a girl. They can be very useful to inquiries.”
“A fellow who can look like a gentleman would be helpful too,” Jeremy said. “When we were setting things up to catch Mr. Finley the way we did, the lack of such a man caused some delays.”
Minerva nodded her agreement. “You will have to wait on the carriage and a pair until I have money in hand, Jeremy. Until then we will use hired coaches. And new garments need to be ordered soon.” She eyed Jeremy’s long hair. “A visit to a hairdresser for you, as well. Soon. Although not for your first assignment.”
“Do you plan to stay in this house, or let a better one?” Beth asked. “Not that I’m complaining, but my chamber is drafty.”
“For now we will stay here.” Minerva glanced around the library’s shabby furnishings. “The study is presentable at least, and that will do for now. Eventually, however . . .” She pictured a fine townhome on a better street, one with space for a servant or two.
“Before you spend every shilling of that ten thousand, maybe we should decide how we are going to learn about the duke’s death,” Beth said.
“I have considered that too. Such deaths normally are caused by family members. That is why the authorities looked to me when Algernon was shot.”
“Hard to get near the family of a duke. Not as if you can call with one of those new cards and announce you want to conduct an inquiry.”
“No, but one can glean much from a short distance.” She paced again, while her mind traversed the path she had laid already. “Jeremy, you have your first assignment. Learn where this duke lived, and try to loiter around the stables among the grooms. Learn what you can.”
“I’ll offer my services for spots of work if they have it. Most stables need extra at times, and the ones near here will give me references if I need them.”
And with that, Hepplewhite’s Office of Discreet Inquiries launched its first investigation.
* * *
Three days after meeting with Peel, Chase dismounted outside Whiteford House while a groom took the horse’s reins.
“You are new here,” he said, watching how the young man handled the animal.
“I started two days ago, sir.” Tall and blond, the fellow flushed from the attention. “I’ll brush him down if you like.”
“I won’t be here long enough.” It impressed him that the offer had been made. His cousin Nicholas had hired well, it seemed. There must be a host of new servants, now that the old retainers had taken their legacies as pensions.
Chase approached the door of Whiteford House. One of the oldest houses on Park Lane, it nestled amidst trees at the northern end of the street. Built as a country villa when this area was still mostly rural, and the nearby western section of Oxford Street was still called Tyburn, it sported extensive gardens. The last duke had bought the property on a whim, mostly to keep a rival from tearing it down and developing the land.
He looked up the old façade, said to have been designed by Inigo Jones. It bore the stamp of classicism that the architect had imported to England, and showed similarities to the Banqueting House in its exterior decoration. The interior had not fared as well. The last duke had a strong eccentric streak, and it manifested itself as soon as Chase walked in the reception hall.
No classical restraint here, at least not in the furnishings. The accumulation of a lifetime cluttered the walls and corners. Exotic skins and weapons mixed with gilded metal. Jewel-toned upholstery contrasted with pastel walls. He wondered what Nicholas planned to do with all of this now that he had inherited the property.
Since Nicholas was now a duke, Chase had to suffer the formalities of having his card taken away, then being escorted up to the duke’s apartment. A mere month ago, in Nicholas’s last home, there would have been no footman to do the duties, or even many chambers to traverse. The eldest son of the last duke’s eldest brother, Nicholas’s fortunes had existed only in expectations until recently. As it happened, those expectations had not been realized quite like Nicholas had anticipated.
Chase found his cousin in the dressing room, lounging on a fine chair set near a window that overlooked the park. A ledger laid open on his lap and he frowned down at the page he perused. Whatever he read occupied him enough that he did not hear Chase enter.
