Vivian bristled. She wasn’t one of the woman’s servants, and theorder had been given impatiently, as though Vivian should have already thought to provide her with a drink. But she needed to get out of there with as little fuss as possible. Gritting her teeth, she poured the glass of lemonade and brought it to Mrs. Morris.
“Is there anything else I can do for you?” she asked, stretching a smile across her face.
“No, no, I think I need to lie down after all that excitement,” Mrs. Morris said, leaning back and closing her eyes. “Can you return tomorrow to finish?”
“I won’t need to, everything fits just right,” Vivian said, already heading back to the bedroom to gather her things. Her hands were shaking as she snapped her bag closed. “Thank you again for your order,” she added. Her feet itched to run out of the room, but she kept them firmly in place. “We look forward to sewing for you again.”
“Of course you do,” Mrs. Morris said, sounding half-asleep already. “So romantic,” she added in a murmur.
Vivian didn’t wait any longer. She managed to keep her steps to a walk, but only just. In barely more than a minute, she was down the stairs and heading to the kitchen.
She caught a glimpse of Mary in the hall as she went past and looked resolutely away, not wanting to catch the other girl’s eye. To her relief, Mary didn’t turn from her work. But Vivian didn’t let out the breath she was holding until she was on the street once more and heading downtown, the black bag with Mr. Morris’s letter inside clutched in both hands.
“An affair?” Leo asked, as Vivian spread the sheets of the letter out on her kitchen table. “That sounds… I mean, I don’t know anything about the fella’s home life. It could be disastrous, depending on whether their money is his or came with his wife—”
“And depending on whoEis,” Vivian added as she glanced at the last page of the letter. “That’s the only signature.”
“Sure. But that sounds so…” He shrugged. “Boring.”
Vivian cradled a cup of coffee between her hands. It was bitter—she hadn’t been able to afford sugar or milk that week—but the stress of the theft had left her exhausted. And she still had a shift at the Nightingale to get through, so she had made coffee as soon as she got home. At Leo’s comment, she snorted. “Well, an affair might not be that creative a thing to blackmail someone over. But the letter itself is anything but boring. If any of it ended up in a gossip column…”
She had felt every inch of her body blushing with embarrassment while she read it while on the streetcar to meet up with Leo, and she had quickly stuffed it back in her bag in case anyone peered over her shoulder. Now, as Leo bent over to read it, Vivian watched his eyebrows climb toward his hairline. It was some satisfaction to see that he was embarrassed, or at least surprised, by the letter’s contents.
“Well. Nope, that’s definitely not boring.” Leo glanced up, his cheeks red as he ran a hand through his hair. He took a sip from his coffee and coughed. “What kind of idiot puts that sort of thing in writing?”
“No idiots like rich idiots,” Vivian said, shrugging as she folded the papers back up and stuffed them into their envelope. She hesitated, then tucked the whole packet into the purse she would take to work that night. There was no telling when Hattie or, more likely, one of her errand boys would show up, and Vivian wanted to be ready when they did. “And I for one don’t intend to worry over what Mrs. Wilson plans to—”
She broke off, jumping as someone knocked at the door. Leo frowned at her.
“You expecting company?” he asked quietly, reaching toward the back of his waistband.
Vivian felt chilled. She knew he often carried a gun, and she didn’tmuch care for it. “Probably just a neighbor,” she hissed, grabbing his elbow. “Don’t get jumpy when there’s no cause.”
“It pays to be prepared—”
“Not in my house,” she snapped.
He looked like he wanted to argue, but she didn’t give him a chance before she crossed to the door. Her own heart was hammering—the surprises lately hadn’t exactly been good—but she didn’t let Leo see that as she opened the door. “Who’s—” She broke off, letting out a relieved breath. “Bea! What are you doing here?”
“Finished my shift at the Buchanans’,” she said, breezing into the room, her coat fluttering open over her maid’s uniform. “I’ll say this for them, it’s not a fun place to work, but they do pay decent. Sent me home with cash today. Mama’s not too sore over the extra money this week, even if she knows I’m not telling her the truth about why I took the job.”
“What did you tell her?” Vivian asked, closing the door and turning the lock. Just in case.
Bea shrugged as she pulled off her coat. “That I was helping out a friend. Which was the wrong thing to say, of course. It made her plenty nervous. But no help for that now.” She glanced between Leo and Vivian. “What’s got you two looking like you’re exchanging secrets?”
“Mrs. Wilson’s errand,” Vivian said. She had told Bea all about her run-in with Bruiser George while they were heading home from work the night before. “Leo put on a hell of a show to distract them while I snatched the letter.”
“Tell me all about it, but not quite yet,” Bea said, taking a seat and helping herself to a swallow from Viv’s coffee mug, recognizable by the ring of lipstick around one side of the rim. “First, I have a present for you. From that rotten Corny Rokesby. But really from me.” She smiled, looking pleased with herself.
Vivian stared at her friend. “Bea, please tell me you didn’t do something dumb or dangerous.”
“Little bit of both,” Bea said. Her tone was light, but her eyes were serious as they met Vivian’s. Her coat was hanging over the back of her chair; she reached around to pull a small, leather-bound notebook from its pocket. “I told you I was going to help you out. And I meant it.”
“And I told you not to put yourself in danger—”
“Just shut up and read it,” Bea said, rolling her eyes with impatience as she held the book out.
Vivian took it with tingling fingers, half wondering what it was, half sure she already knew. She turned the pages slowly, even as her heart was pounding like a Charleston beat. “Bea,” she said, looking up. “Did you steal Cornelius Rokesby’s appointment book?”
