Judging from the condition of the house, she’d ceased cleaning right about then, too. Perhaps they’d been lovemaking with abandon all over the furniture instead in the interim.
“Then the landlord learned she’d cocked up her toes and he told us he would pay us to pack up her house and clear out her belongings as best we could as soon as we could. Mrs. Parker was mad about her knickknacks, wasn’t she, Benson?” The butler nodded. “They waseverywhere. Little porcelain dogs and shepherdesses and vases and dishes. Had to dust each and every one of them every day for fifteen years, all them nooks and crannies, never broke a one of them. Got toknow them like they was me own children. And still she didn’t think to leave awill,” Mrs. Cartwright said bitterly. “And me out of a job. She had no children. We took the lot of the knickknacks to Fleegle’s Emporium of Wonders on Farwell Street. Got three whole shillings. Sold off her furniture, too.”
Ginny recognized the name of the shop. It was where her sister Felicity’s fiancé, Lord Cambrough, had whimsically purchased a little china pig for her. Felicity collected them.
“Do you recall in particular a little blue-and-white porcelain vase with flowers and birds on it?” Ginny asked. Her heart was thundering.
“Oh, she had a good dozen blue-and-white vases! She did so like her chinoiserie.” Mrs. Cartwright pronounced this “chinwossy.” “She didn’t love one more than another, because she loved everything the earl gave her. But I do remember the one with the birds. Had funny dark lines on the bottom, like a child had scribbled on it? The earl gave it to her, so she was right fond of it anyway.”
“It had sentimental value to the earl as well, which is why we are inquiring,” Mr. Marchand said smoothly. “Miss Woodville’s family would like to keep it in his honor. When did you take them to Fleegle’s, if I may ask?”
Ginny almost wished she could reach out and grasp Marchand’s hand as she awaited the next words.
“Two days ago.”
“Thank you for your time,” he said briskly. “I wonder if you would mind if we had a look about the house?”
“You’re the one with the gun, Mr. Marchand,” Mr. Benson said. “Would it make a difference if we minded?”
“None whatsoever,” Mr. Marchand confirmed.
Ginny and Marchand performed the quickest imaginable search, side by side, wordlessly. He wouldn’t let her wander about alone, on the off chance anyone else was lurking in the closets or bedrooms.
But the upstairs rooms were all but stripped of furnishings, fixtures, and carpets. A scrap of ribbon remained on one floor. She picked it up and held it briefly. She knew a swift stab of sadness for the woman whose house this had been. Her throat went tight again. Nearly every trace of Henrietta Parker had been erased. No dishes, cutlery, or pots and pans remained in the kitchen.
She looked up to find Marchand watching her.
Finally, he touched Ginny’s elbow as a signal. They bustled out of the house, leaving Mr. Benson and Mrs. Cartwright sitting somewhat forlornly side by side on the settee. Still holding hands.
She wondered if they’d resume what she and Marchand had interrupted when they departed.
“Do you think they’re in love?” she asked Marchand. “Mr. Benson and Mrs. Cartwright?”
She asked it mainly to see how his expression would change.
“Well, they must be, Miss Woodville.” He said it indulgently, on a slow drawl. “Whatever else could it be?”
The driest irony she’d ever heard.
The man clearly possessed not a shred of romance.
“But they’re not married.”
“Matrimony is hardly a prerequisite for what they weredoing.” He was very amused. “Neither is love. Nothing but appetite is required for that, Miss Woodville.”
She felt a bit foolish. But when she pictured Mr. Benson’s and Mrs. Cartwright’s linked hands, she was tempted to argue the point.
Suddenly she noticed there were two hacks waiting outside the house.
She turned toward Marchand wonderingly.
“They’ve been waiting there for some time. I arranged for them before I arrived,” he told her. “Nearly anyone will do anything for the right price.”
They regarded each other for a beat of silence.
“Nearly,” she reminded him.
The lowering light was behind him. In it his face was pale gold and his eyes were silver and his edges were gilded. He looked exactly like a person who could persuade anyone to do anything.
