“Marie!” he called again, and they could hear the clamor of servants’ voices as they tried to calm him down and find out what he wanted. “Marie, my love, come down!”
“What on earth could it be, ma’am?” Vivian said, afraid that if she kept silent any longer she’d lose her nerve.
“I don’t—I can’t imagine—Who is Marie?” Mrs. Morris demanded. “I suppose I had better…” The shouting from downstairs grew louder. Mrs. Morris rushed to the bed to snatch up the dressing gown draped there. She clutched it to her chest for a moment like a shield, then threw it over her new dress and pelted from the room.
Vivian followed her into the sitting room but lingered as Mrs. Morris ran out the door. Vivian could hear her voice join the shouting as she hurried downstairs, the commotion only growing louder and more confusing. Leo’s voice rose above it all, demanding that they let “Marie” come to him.
Vivian felt hysterical with laughter and panic, her feet frozen in place. Surely no one would believe such a wild performance. Surely at any moment, they’d come charging back up the steps and catch her in the act…
Before she could talk herself out of it, Vivian ran across the sitting room on a dancer’s light feet and tried the door to Mr. Morris’s room. To her relief, it swung open.
If she had expected a man’s private space to be more restrained, she would have been disappointed. The room on the other side of the door was as gaudy as the rest of the house, an excess of heavy furnishings and dark upholstery. One whole wall had been turned into a liquor display, cut-crystal decanters full of amber and gold and clear liquids all sparkling in the sunlight that streamed through tall windows. Vivian shook her head. Some people really did have more money than brains.
There was no desk in the room, but there was a wardrobe and a tall chest of drawers, and she went to those first. She had just started searching the wardrobe when she heard the door open behind her.
Vivian spun around, her mouth dry with fear and her mind completely blank. There was no way to explain herself, so she said nothing, just stared at the maid who had walked in.
It was the same girl, Mary, who had shown her upstairs. Vivian wondered for a wild moment if she had come up specifically to check on the dressmaker’s girl while everything was busy downstairs. But her arms were full of folded linens, and she stared with as much blank surprise as Vivian, neither of them speaking for a handful of heartbeats that seemed to last forever. From downstairs, Vivian could hear Mrs. Morris’s voice raised in an exasperated shout. “Young man, you are mistaken, there is no Marie living in this house!”
Mary was the first to speak. “You robbin’ them?”
Vivian swallowed. “No,” she said, her voice hoarse. Her hand was still on the open wardrobe door. She dropped it as though the metal handle had burned her.
The maid laughed. “Yes, you are. And if you keep standin’ there looking dumb as a rock with your jaw hangin’ down, Mrs. Morris’ll be back here and catch you doin’ it.”
“I’m not—”
“What are you tryin’ to find? Because Mr. Morris don’t keep his money in here.”
“I’m not looking for money.”
“Then what?” When Vivian only stared at her, Mary shrugged. “Make it worth my while, and I’ll tell you where it is. I clean in here every day.”
“What?” Vivian demanded, certain she had heard wrong.
Mary shrugged again. “They’re a pain to work for.”
Vivian had to decide quickly. The shouting was dying down; she probably didn’t have much time left. But years at the Nightingale had taught her to read people and to trust her instincts. She made up her mind abruptly. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the quarter that would have bought her dinner and held it up between two fingers. “I’m looking for a letter.”
The maid plucked it from her hand and made it vanish under her apron. “It’s blackmail, then. Know which one you’re looking for?”
“Any of them come from Swan’s Point?” Vivian asked.
“Oh, that.” Mary crossed to the nightstand and slid the drawer open. “He keeps it stashed inside the Bible here. Hysterical, that is.” She held an envelope out, its flap open and its contents bulging, smirking a little as she looked Vivian up and down. “No girl like you is going to get mixed up in this sort of affair. Who’s paying you?”
Vivian gave her a small smile. “Better for you not to know,” she said, plucking the letter from Mary’s hand before the girl could object.
The maid only shrugged. “Ain’t that always the way. I’m off, then. Good luck, I guess. And if you try to say I was here, I’ll call you a liar to God himself.”
“Same,” Vivian said in cheerful relief as the maid headed out the door at a quick trot. She pulled the letter out of its envelope, unfolding it just enough to see that the stationery was engraved withSwan’s Pointat the top in graceful lettering. She would have liked to read the whole thing, but she couldn’t risk staying there any longer.
When Mrs. Morris returned a few minutes later, looking exhausted, Vivian was in the sitting room, wringing her hands together and hovering by the door as though trying to decide whether to go downstairs or not.
The letter was tucked into the bottom of her sewing bag, where Mrs. Morris would have no reason to look.
“What was all that commotion, ma’am?” Vivian asked, hoping she didn’t sound too breathless from her dash across the rooms. “Is everyone okay?”
“Oh, yes. My goodness.” Mrs. Morris dropped into a chair before the fireplace. “Yes, it was rather charming, really, once we got the mistake sorted out. Some young man looking for his sweetheart, hoping to convince her parents to let them marry. So romantic. I sent him on his way with some good advice.” She shook her head, fanning herself with one hand. “Bring me a glass of lemonade from the sideboard.”
