Chapter Eight #2
Constance only smiled. “Don’t worry. I shan’t appall anyone by calling on the ladies. And they have already met Solomon. It would be helpful if one of us could speak more frankly to Miss St. John at least, and preferably to her mother and brother.”
“Why?” Cordell asked blankly.
“Because something in St. John’s life, past or present, must have led him to our doorstep, and frankly, we are struggling to discover what. A greater knowledge of the man and his family might help.”
Cordell licked his lips. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said at last, and picked up the contract.
Solomon was pleased to see that he read it thoroughly yet quickly, then reached for the pen beside him and signed his name clearly on both copies. So did Solomon.
“Tell us your impressions of the St. John family,” Constance said. “Were they comfortable together? Happy?”
“As happy as most. I would say they indulged their children more than my parents did, but it has done them no harm.”
“The children respected both parents?” Solomon asked, setting aside the Silver and Grey copy of the agreement.
“Oh yes.”
“And were the parents a happy couple?” Constance asked more brazenly.
“I never saw them quarrel.”
“Was that because they were in perfect, loving accord? Or because they were rarely in the same room?”
Cordell fidgeted. “Is that relevant?”
“We have established,” Solomon said, “that in the last few weeks of his life, something worried Mr. St. John. Was it his wife?”
Cordell looked genuinely surprised. “Why, no, I would doubt it. They were amicable, never did anything to displease each other.”
“What did they do to please each other?” Constance asked. “Did they give each other gifts? Did they laugh together? What did they do as a whole family?”
Cordell leaned back in his chair. Solomon could almost see him readjusting his thoughts to a different point of view, reconsidering.
“Actually,” he said, “I never saw or heard them do anything to please each other specifically. Apart from St. John agreeing to escort Bella and her mother to some formal party, or to the theatre, or to be present at some gathering at the house. I never saw them give each other any gifts. They laughed—St. John more than Mrs. St. John—but now that I think about it, it was never together, except when Bella or her brother were being amusing. The whole family met at the dining table most nights, but otherwise, it tended to be one parent or the other. Apart from the formal occasions I already mentioned.” He refocused his gaze on Solomon.
“I don’t believe that is unusual in couples of that age and class.
They drift apart and enjoy their own lives. ”
It sounded just a little defensive. Perhaps his own parents existed in a similar kind of relationship. Solomon wondered if such apathy would ever overtake Constance and himself and could not imagine it.
“And there was no concern about either of the children?” Constance asked.
“No. Though Anthony is quite eager to get away.”
“Why?”
Cordell shrugged. “I don’t know. I always thought it was just a young man’s need to spread his wings and be independent.”
“Was there any conflict with his father?” Constance asked. “There often is between fathers and sons of that age.”
“I never saw any arguments. St. John was proud of him, especially his academic achievements. They did laugh together.”
Constance was busy taking notes. Cordell was watching her.
Solomon asked, “What did St. John do with his time? What were his interests?”
Cordell’s mouth opened, and then closed as he frowned. “Actually, I don’t know. He spoke amiably on lots of subjects, spent a great deal of time in his study with books.”
“Books on what?” Solomon asked.
“Poetry. He was very fond of poetry. Classical literature. But he was also interested in modern science and engineering, bridges, railways, machines…”
“And when he left his study, when he went out, when he wasn’t accompanying his family, where did he go?”
Cordell shrugged a little helplessly. “His clubs. Various lectures on geography, archaeology, science… I don’t really know, to be honest.” His face brightened. “He did go to musical concerts at lunchtimes occasionally.”
“Do you know where?”
“No,” Cordell sighed. “I always liked him, you know, but you’ve made me realize how little I actually knew him. He was a very private man.”
A man with something to hide? Did he really go to all these lectures and concerts, or were they just cover for hours spent in an opium den?
As Cordell rose to leave, he said, “I don’t want the truth to sully St. John’s reputation, just remove the uncertainty to let the family grieve in peace.”
Solomon thought of his own long search for David, of the oddities and tragedies that had come out of other investigations. “The truth isn’t always what you want to hear. One last question for now…” He delved into his pocket and unwrapped the flask. “Do you recognize this?”
Cordell glanced at it. “Can’t say I do. He picked it up and turned it over, his eyebrows arching. “TSJ? Is it St. John’s?”
“We hoped you could tell us that,” Constance said.
“I’m afraid I can’t. I never saw it in the house, and I never saw him use it.”
*
With Constance’s approval, Janey left Hat in charge of the office and returned to Mayfair.
Hat was bright and orderly, once you got to know her, and providing she didn’t try to speak in that refined accent that made Janey giggle, she was presentable too.
Janey felt good about training her for the position she herself had held for several months now.
She was even more glad of the trust Constance and Mr. Grey had placed in her, and of her own step up to the investigative side of the business.
It was as if she had found her own purpose in a world that had once daunted, baffled, and cowed her into a creature that was half animal.
Now she was striding out, spreading her wings, doing good work.
Sometimes she even got to work with Lenny…
But she knew better than to think too much about him. He was unattainable because of her past and his own tragedy, and most of the time it was enough that they were friends, even just on a superficial level, and that he liked her company. Oh yes, life was good.
The pleasure of seeing Constance happy added immeasurably to her sense of wellbeing.
Not that she had been unhappy before Solomon Grey, but Janey had watched the change in her and was curiously proud.
Perhaps it also gave her hope. Constance, the best of them, had found love and a home.
Maybe it wasn’t impossible for Janey and the others either.
It infuriated her that someone was trying to hurt Constance, hurt all of them, with the nasty prank of the horse manure. And if the bodies had been a prank too, well, that was unspeakable.
For all of those reasons, she threw herself into the investigation, beginning in the mews with casual chat among the stable boys and coachmen.
Since Janey had spent the last few months working at Silver and Grey, she recognized very few of the local servants, nor they her.
Those nearest the establishment had already spoken to the police about the bodies on the doorstep, so she let them bring the subject up if they wished.
The questions she asked were about their employers, and what they thought of the house of ill repute.
To most of the outdoor staff, it was a mere rumor.
They had never seen anything untoward outside the house in question.
Once or twice, a house servant stole a few minutes to join in the gossip, but no one invited her to the kitchen for a cup of tea until she was at the fourth garden along the crescent, where they were interrupted by no less a person than the housekeeper, who had come in person to pass a message to the coachman.
Despite her vast seniority, she seemed prepared to listen from on high to lower-servant gossip.
“Hadn’t you better run along back to your own work?” she said to Janey after they had discussed the vast number of carriages blocking the square last week during Lady Hardcastle’s ball.
“Oh, it’s my half day,” Janey lied happily. “I got no family to visit, and no money to spend.”
“So you thought to loiter in the mews distracting our servants instead?”
Janey grinned. “Well, most people can talk and work at the same time. I do meself. But I get lonely sometimes.”
That was rather blatant manipulation that she had learned in her previous trade.
Sometimes a fellow feeling was enough to make a man notice and take the bait.
Some women too, apparently, for the housekeeper said, “Come and have a quick cup of tea with us, then. Just one, mind. I’m Mrs. Robertson, housekeeper for Mrs. Willow and her sister. ”
Janey did not have to feign her delight.
All the servants seemed to have gathered for a short break under Mrs. Robertson’s eye.
There was no butler in this establishment, only one footman in livery, and another manservant who did everything from boot polishing to gardening.
The other indoor staff were female, three maids and a cook.
“It’s lovely to meet a friendly household like this,” Janey enthused. “You must be lucky in your positions with a kind mistress.”
Interestingly, a few glances were exchanged. One of the maids sniggered into her cup.
“They’re good Christian ladies,” Mrs. Robertson said repressively. “They lead us in prayer every evening and make sure we have all we need.”
“Can’t fault that,” Janey said. She set down her cup, widening her eyes. “Here, though, they can’t think much of that household!” She jerked her head vaguely in the direction of the establishment. “There was even a murder there.”
“I heard there were two,” one of the maids said. “And the police even came asking questions, two doors down—my friend Millie, the parlor maid there, told me. It were awful.”
“Yes, but in this house we don’t talk about low subjects like murders,” Mrs. Robertson said firmly.
“Don’t talk about it much in ours either,” Janey said, not entirely truthfully. “Bit gruesome and not at all polite. But when the police ask you questions, you got to answer.”
“The police asked you questions?” Mrs. Robertson sounded shocked. Around the table, they all looked both appalled and eager. “Are they going to shut down that house?”
“Why would they do that? They’re not even sure them bodies died there.
They might have been brought, you know, to hide the truth.
They asked me what I saw, which was nothing.
Don’t suppose you saw anything, neither?
” She made it only a very slight question, as though she had already assumed the answer.
One of the maids giggled. “Saw her next door coming home at four in the morning. Ten minutes before her husband did!”
Mrs. Robertson scowled. “Decorum, Mavis!”
“Sorry, Mrs. Robertson.”
“Drink up,” the housekeeper commanded. “Time to get back to work.”
“Idle hands,” remarked a very different voice, and everyone jumped to their feet, including Janey.
A thin lady with neat gray hair, dressed all in unadorned black, stood in the kitchen doorway.
“Madam,” Mrs. Robertson said, “what can I do for you?” As she spoke she was waving the servants back to work, and, abandoning their tea, they scattered like a flock of birds disturbed by a dog in the park.
The lady, who was presumably their employer, regarded this flurry of motion with clear satisfaction. “I am just returning the inventory of…” Her sharp, beady eyes had found Janey, the cuckoo in the nest who had been edging reluctantly toward the back door. Janey froze.
“Oh, this is a neighbor’s girl who joined us for a few minutes on her half day. She is just going.”
“Yes, she is,” thundered the lady. “And she won’t be back! Get you hence, girl, back to that den of iniquity that has been foisted upon us! And tell your evil mistress to begone from the sight of decent people.”
Rumbled, Janey thought, trying not to laugh. And yet, as she swaggered out of the suddenly silent kitchen and across the back garden to the mews, she found her legs were shaking.