“What can you tell me about Pearl’s—Nellie’s—prior relationships? The ones before Lord Rumford came on the scene. And the ones during.”
Her lips pinched. This wasn’t a conversation she wantedto have. “I know very little. As I told you, my sister and I weren’t close. She rarely confided in me.”
“What do you know?”
“She was with another lord before Rumford. I can’t recall his name. She didn’t like him much, and when I asked her why she would ruin her reputation over someone she didn’t like, she got angry with me. She told me she needed him if she was to get anywhere in life.” She stared down at the teacup, held in both her hands. “Nellie wasn’t satisfied with the life she had. She wanted more glamor, more amusement. She hated being bored so she’d make trouble, just to entertain herself.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“All kinds. Like seeing one man when she already had another.”
“For example…?”
She regarded me over the teacup. “You said it yourself. You wanted to know about the man or men she sawwhileshe was seeing Rumford.”
“Can you give me their names?”
She contemplated her tea. “I don’t like naming names. I’m not a gossip. But you should ask that theater manager. They were close.”
“Close enough to be jealous of her seeing other men?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
I let her mull that over for a few moments, but when she didn’t elaborate, I decided to change tack. “Did Nellie ever mention the wives of her benefactors?”
She snorted. “If Nellie cared about them, she never showed it.”
“You don’t think she considered their feelings?”
“No. It’s not all her fault, mind. The lords have to take some of the blame. Most of it, I suppose.” She sighed and put down the teacup. “Nellie just did what came naturally to her. She flirted and smiled her way through life, taking all she could while she could. I suppose one of her lovers ended her life out of jealousy.” She shook her head sadly. “So very, very selfish.”
I wasn’t sure if she was referring to Pearl or themurderer.
Silence weighed heavily on us, each of us lost in our thoughts. It was only broken by Millie’s humming.
The girl approached along the corridor, her hand running along the wall. She stopped when she reached the kitchen. “I’m hungry.”
“Not now, Millie, we have a guest.”
Millie seemed to consider this. “Will I eat at school?”
Mrs. Larsen clicked her tongue. “Enough! I’m tired of hearing about that place.” She took her daughter’s shoulders and turned her around to face the corridor. “Go back outside.” When Millie didn’t move, she gave her a little shove. “Go!”
Humming to herself, Millie headed off.
“She seems a content child,” I said.
“She’s simple.” Mrs. Larsen sat down again. “Simple children are often content.”
“Is that why she’s going to school at a young age? I hear that can be good for children who have difficulty learning, to give them the best start. How old is she?”
“Four this March.”
She didn’t answer my other question, and I wondered if she was sensitive about Millie being slower to develop compared to other children her age. But that wasn’t what intrigued me about the girl.
I put down my teacup and watched Mrs. Larsen very carefully. I wanted to see every flicker of her lashes, every flinch, when I said what was on my mind. “She looks like her mother.”
Mrs. Larsen’s gaze sharpened and a muscle in her cheek twitched. “We have the same shaped face, and I was blonde too, at her age.”
