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Grindal’s woolly brows inched closer together as he gave John a thorough head-to-toe glance. “Were you not provided with a uniform?”
“I was, sir.”
“Why aren’t you wearing it?”
“I was assisting with the coal delivery,” John replied, “and I didn’t want coal dust on my uniform. I wasn’t expecting you this morning, sir.”
“Yes,” Grindal said dryly, “the surprise is rather the point. Show me your license, if you please.”
Damn it. John kept his face expressionless. “I’m afraid I don’t have it with me, Inspector.”
Grindal puffed like a kettle on the boil. “Under the terms of your contract with the Reformatory Board, you’re required to carry the license on your person at all times. Failure to do so may be taken as sufficient cause for recommittal to Millbank Prison.”
“The contract only specified the license had to be immediately accessible,” John countered. “It didn’t say I had to keep it in my coat.”
The inspector continued to frown. “Where the devil is it?”
“In my room, Mr. Grindal.”
“I wouldn’t call that ‘immediately accessible,’ would you?”
“That would be a matter of interpretation, sir.” In the periphery of his vision, John caught sight of Norman emerging from the servants’ stairs. He diverted Grindal’s attention by pulling a handkerchief from his coat pocket with a flourish. He went to ostentatiously polish an imaginary smudge on the brass backplate of the doorknob. Raising his voice slightly, he said, “I’m sure all the other servants will have their ticket-of-leave cards on their person, Inspector.”
Norman’s eyes widened as he heard. Immediately he tiptoed back to the servants’ stairs and vanished.
Grindal regarded John with cool eyes and a disapproving mustache. “For their sake, I hope so.”
Tucking the handkerchief back into his coat, John asked gingerly, “Inspector, did anyone . . . er . . . mention anything about me . . . before you were sent to perform the inspection?”
“I was given your file,” Grindal replied, “in which you were described as ‘disorderly and violent.’ ”
“That is no longer the case, sir.”
Apparently Ransom, the arse, hadn’t sent word to the local police station that the butler at Westbrook House was an officer of the law.
“I would like the entire staff to assemble in the entrance hall as soon as possible,” Grindal said. “After I speak to them, they will remain here while I perform an inspection of the servants’ quarters. As the day proceeds, I will conduct interviews with the staff as well as the mistress of the house. I will also review the household records. Make no mistake, this will be a painstaking process, and I will take note of every detail.”
“Understood, sir. I’ll ring for the servants. The coachman, Maddock, will be a bit longer, as he’s stacking coal in the cellar.”
The older man withdrew a small leather-bound notebook and pencil stub from his pocket. “Maddock,” he said, looking over some notes. “Are you referring to the one called ‘Mad Dog’?”
“Aye, sir. He changed his name to something a bit more respectable.”
“Indeed.” Grindal continued to review the notes. “The comments in his file were most disturbing. Brutish, ignorant, possessed of unusual animal strength. Incapable of controlling his violent nature.” His gaze lifted from the page. “Would you agree with that assessment?”
“No, sir. Maddock has been nothing but reliable and responsible. He does the work of two men and never complains. He takes criticism well. He’s even been learning to read.”
The inspector appeared bemused. “Have there been complaints from the others? Has he taken liberties with the ladies?”
“I couldn’t speak for them. But he seems very respectful.”
“Are the horses well-kept?”
“Aye, he’s meticulous in caring for them. Always calm and affectionate.”
Grindal nodded, frowning in contemplation. “Maddock hasn’t been tested, it seems. He hasn’t found himself in a situation of conflict where his self-restraint has been challenged.”
“Not that I’m aware of,” John admitted.
