I sat opposite her on an ornate chair, perching on the edge as decorum demanded, my skirts tucked properly around my legs, and my corset pinching my waist. I wanted to get the pleasantries over with, but they were a necessity.
“How are you, my dear?” she asked with a friendly smile. She was in her mid-forties and took great pains to deflect the appearance of her age behind a tight corset, expensive clothing, and gaudy jewelry. “I had such a lovely time at your mother’s ball several weeks ago. Mr. Maybrick’s voice is a dream. What an honor for you to dance with him. I had so hoped my own daughter could join us that night, but she was indisposed. I do hope your mother will invite Mr. Maybrick back again, so that I can introduce him to my daughter. But then again, perhaps you have already stolen him for yourself.”
She prattled on and on, and every time she asked a question, I began to answer, but she cut me off and continued speaking.
The butler brought in the tea tray, and Mrs. Windham poured a cup for me and then one for her. She spoke about the Whitechapel Murders, as they were called, but she had no more information than anyone else. I kept my eye on the clock, wanting to be done with the arduous conversation, though I needed to endure it for at least thirty minutes before I could ask to speak to Danbury. It would be rude to cut the visit short before that.
As soon as the clock hit thirty minutes, I gently interrupted my hostess.
“About a year ago,” I said, “my mother discharged a maid from her employment, and I’ve been told she found a place here. I wonder if I may speak to her about a private matter?”
Mrs. Windham’s eyebrows shot up. “I hope she’s not being accused of something untoward.”
“No. Nothing like that. Her name is Sarah Danbury.”
“Yes, of course. I know who you’re speaking of.” She rose abruptly. “I’ll call her in.”
I also rose. “Thank you, Mrs. Windham.”
She nodded and then left the room.
Several minutes passed before the door opened again and Danbury entered, her eyes wide with concern.
“Hello, Danbury.”
She nodded and offered a curtsy, though every line of her body communicated her discomfort. The last time I saw her was the night Mary left.
“Please come in and close the door,” I said to her.
Danbury slipped inside and shut the door but stood as close to it as she could. “What can I do for you, miss?”
“Please don’t be worried,” I said as I motioned her closer. “I’m not here to cause trouble. I’d like to ask you some questions about my sister, Mary.”
She didn’t look relieved or less concerned. If anything, she appeared more upset as her eyes darted around the room. “I don’t know anything, miss.”
“You don’t know why Mary suddenly left our house?”
She swallowed and shook her head.
“You never heard any conversation? Mary didn’t mention anything to you?”
“No, miss.”
Her behavior told me that she wasn’t telling the truth—but why?
I took a step closer, needing her to understand how important her answer was to Mary’s well-being.
“Mary is in grave danger. Her very life depends on what youmight know. I need to understand why Mary left my parents’ home. I spoke to her, and she said that Father didn’t force her to leave, but that she left of her own free will. I don’t believe her for a moment. Why would she give up the comfort and safety of her parents’ home to—” I couldn’t continue. I wanted to know why Mary would take up with a man for safety when she had my father’s protection to rely upon. “Please. I must find answers. I fear Mary’s life is in danger from the man who is murdering women in Whitechapel.”
Danbury’s eyes grew wide at that statement. “Is Miss Mary in real danger?”
“Yes.”
She glanced around the room again, as if looking for prying ears, and then leaned in. “Please don’t tell anyone where you heard this information. I fear for my own life if someone should know.”
I frowned, but if the truth was so dire that my sister would hide in Whitechapel, then perhaps Danbury’s fears were well-founded.
“Of course I won’t,” I promised.
