Chapter Ten #2
“You think it’s the same person who killed St. John, or at least brought the bodies to our doorstep?”
“Or it’s someone taking advantage of the event to spill their own venom—perhaps even to distract us.”
“Well, at least it’s a clue,” Constance said. “Though I must admit I’ve had more than enough of anonymous letters after the affair at Sutton May.”
“This was no letter. This was a notice, designed to be seen by more than the occupants of the house. Everyone was supposed to see it and revile you.”
“To drive us out,” Constance said. “I suppose it was always a risk setting up in such a place.”
Solomon put a finger under her chin, turning her face up to his. “You will give in?”
“Not without a fight. But I do have to consider the safety of my girls. And our clients,” she added ruefully. “Most of whom do not want their presence with us advertised to the world.”
“At least they have the excuse of charity.”
“That is true. What an excellent idea of yours that was…” Even if someone, or several someones, were doing their best to destroy the rise of her respectability.
*
That evening’s party was not as well attended as the night before, partly because there was no lauded musician, Constance’s presence had not been guaranteed, and the charity donors rarely came twice in a row.
But the girls were their charming selves, and Constance, as she had always done, pushed worries to one side in order to be the perfect hostess, making sure her guests were comfortable, entertained, and never lonely.
Supper had just been served when Max murmured her in ear that there was trouble.
She excused herself to her companions and accompanied Max into the hallway. “What?”
“In the back garden again. Jeremy saw someone creeping about.”
“Thanks. You watch at the front. Where is Mr. Grey?”
“I don’t know, ma’am.”
Of course, he was the first person she saw in the garden, standing very still just beyond the doorstep. She slipped her hand into his. Their communication was silent, a touch of the fingers, the faintest of shrugs against her shoulder.
Who is there?
I don’t know.
After a moment, he led her toward the bench on the lawn, and they sat down together.
Her skin prickled, because the raspberry bushes on her left were stirring when there was no wind.
Shadows moved on the other side of the garden, and at the back, near the gate.
One of them might have been a cat, but her heart beat faster.
Solomon put his lips close to her ear. “I think there are two of them. Jeremy heard one man slip through the gate while he was walking round from the front. He’s behind the raspberry bush.
I saw another whisk in before he saw me at the door.
He’s skulking in the shadows behind the apple tree at the back. They seem spry and quick.”
She pressed her cheek to his, so that they could speak in the inaudible whispers of lovers. “Then not the old ladies themselves. What are we waiting for?”
“For Jeremy and Max to get round the mews to the back gate, while you and I stroll to the raspberry bushes.”
“Shouldn’t we have a lantern to see their faces clearly?” Constance suggested.
“Jeremy has one and Janey will bring two from the kitchen.”
“How efficient you are in this house.”
“In this life,” he murmured with mock complacency. “Shall we?”
Along with the clop of horses arriving home to the mews for the night, she could hear the soft, distant voices of grooms and, closer, accompanying a moving light, Max’s unmistakable laughter. He was used to acting and good at it.
She and Solomon strolled down the narrow path as though interested only in each other. Solomon paused beside the raspberry bush, but as he spoke, Constance slipped her hand free and advanced another few feet to cut off their intruder’s path to the gate.
“You had better come out, you know,” Solomon said to the raspberries.
The gate opened, flooding the dark shadows and the apple tree with wildly swinging light. There came a startled grunt and sounds of intense scuffling.
The raspberry bushes waved and rustled, and a female voice commanded, “Don’t hurt him! Don’t dare hurt him!”
Janey’s two lanterns, held up to shine on the speaker’s face, clearly blinded the female intruder, who emerged with one arm held across her eyes.
Even so, Constance could see she was young, no old harridan. She was sure she had never seen this person in her life before. But Solomon had. His intake of breath betrayed startlement as well as recognition.
“Let him go!” the young woman insisted, panic in her voice.
Jeremy and Max held the other intruder by the arms, marching him up the path to the others. To be fair, he no longer struggled. Constance doubted he ever had, for there was not a hair out of place on his handsome head, or a crease in his well cut evening coat.
Hanibal Cordell.
Constance began to laugh. “Sir, how unexpected. Then this must be Miss… But no doubt discretion is the better part of this revelation. You may release him, gentlemen, and return to your duties.”
She regarded Miss St. John in some consternation. Under no circumstances could the girl be seen inside the house. Yet there was little privacy out here, where anyone could be lurking beyond the garden walls.
Miss St. John reached up somewhat defiantly and pulled a thick mourning veil from the top of her hat to cover her face from brow to throat.
“Well,” Constance said, “you had better come in.”
The girl seized Cordell’s freed arm, and Constance waved Janey and the lanterns forward in front of her. Solomon, presumably, brought up the rear.
There was no privacy in the kitchen, where servants came and went all the time while supper was served.
Without instruction, Janey abandoned the lanterns at the door and led the way through the kitchen to the stairs.
At the top, she pushed the baize door open a crack and peered out.
A male voice and a female gurgle of laughter faded, and Janey led the way through to the small parlor, where she turned on the gas lamps.
“Thanks, Janey,” Constance said, and her assistant reluctantly departed. “Do sit,” she invited her guests, “and explain.”
“Must we?” Cordell asked, with a trace of his familiar arrogance. “I am, after all, your employer.”
“We shan’t dispute terminology,” Solomon said without softening. “But I never heard that any employer had the right to invade an employee’s private property.”
“We couldn’t come to the front door, could we?” Cordell said reasonably.
“Because of me,” Bella St. John said.
“You,” Constance said without sympathy, “should not be here at all. And you, sir, should not have brought her.”
“He was meant to go in alone and bring you out to the mews,” Bella said. “But I went in before he could stop me.”
“Why?” Constance asked, baffled. “Do you imagine a brothel is an interesting or romantic place?”
Bella’s face heated to a fiery red. “No, of course not.”
“Perhaps you were seeking adventure?”
“I was seeking the truth!” Bella burst out.
Constance blinked. “About me?”
“About me,” Cordell said with a crooked smile.
“I was seen by the Willow creature a few houses up from yours, entering this establishment yesterday evening, and of course she and her crow of a sister could not wait to impart the news to Bella and her mother. They also revealed that Mr. St. John was found here, something we had been keeping from the ladies.”
“We?” Solomon asked.
“Anthony and I. Even the police inspector understood that.”
Bella’s large, mournful eyes were fixed on Constance. “Did my father come here?”
“Never,” Constance said steadily, “until the night he died. Even then, he was never over the door.”
The girl’s gaze did not shift.
“She doesn’t believe me,” Cordell said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. “I told her—”
Bella stopped him with a quick, silencing gesture. “Let her speak. I presume you are Mrs. Silver?”
“More properly, I am Mrs. Grey. But yes, the establishment is mine.”
“And how do you know Mr. Cordell?”
“My husband met him in your home. They talked together on leaving, and Solomon gave him a card for our investigation business, Silver and Grey.”
The suspicion remained in Bella’s eyes. She was not yet convinced.
Solomon stirred in his chair. “We also discussed other aspects of this establishment. My guess is that Mr. Cordell was curious—and perhaps too impatient to wait for morning to visit the Silver and Grey office.”
“Exactly,” Cordell said, but Bella did not look at him.
She flashed a glance at Solomon. “What other aspects are there?” she asked contemptuously.
“There are the people who live here.” Constance allowed a shade of scorn into her smile. “Yes, we are people too. Not all of us were born to wealth and safety. Some of us were born into poverty. Some of us fell there from poor decisions or bad luck. Either way, we are still entitled to life.”
“Like this?” Bella said, gesturing to encompass the whole disreputable house.
“Why not? My profession is as old as time, Miss St. John, though not all of us choose it. Some do. But what do you think happens to the ladies of your own class who are seduced—or worse—by so-called gentlemen? What happens to the maids who are made pregnant because they’re too frightened to resist their masters, and are then dismissed without a character?
Without help, their fall is relentless and inevitable. Some have to provide for children.”
“So you take them in and put them to work here,” Bella said disdainfully.
“Oh, I take in the few I can help, and yes, we are all responsible for some work. Some choose to be courtesans in a safe place—”
“Safe!” There was anger as well as derision in the girl’s face.
Solomon said, “Brothels are rarely safe for women, who can be beaten, abused, and even murdered without anyone batting an eyelid. They deserve it, don’t they, for being fallen women? It does not happen here.”
“Nor,” Constance added, “are we going to kidnap you and hold you captive without food and water until you are broken enough to agree to lie with whoever is brought to you. Because, yes, that happens too, to women of all classes unfortunate enough to be in the wrong place without the right protection.”
“That’s enough,” Cordell said, clearly appalled at such subjects sullying the ears of his betrothed—who, in fact, was looking both astonished and revolted.
“It is,” Solomon agreed. “More than enough. So, Constance takes in as many such women as she can, providing shelter, medical treatment, and good food, all without judgment. She helps them give birth and have their children adopted by decent people where appropriate. She sees to their training in various trades and professions they have chosen—if that is their wish. It is a recognized charity, which Mr. Cordell has chosen to support after his visit last night.”
“With cash donations,” Cordell added deliberately, in case, presumably, his betrothed chose to suspect any other kind of transaction. “Many respectable people do.”
“This morning,” Constance continued, noticing that the girl’s flushed face had whitened, “Mr. Cordell called at the Silver and Grey offices by appointment, and contracted us to investigate the death of your father. Who was not, by the way, known at any other of the establishments I’m familiar with.
We will hear in time if he ever visited any, but my impression of the man is that he did not. ”
Bella was still staring at Constance, as though trying to force the truth out of her. “You were not born into poverty, deprived of wealth and education!”
“My dear, I am a mere example of dragging myself up by the garters,” Constance drawled.
“You can choose to disbelieve everything I, my husband, and Mr. Cordell say. Or you—having rather forced yourself into my house—can help us find the truth about your father. Mr. Cordell seemed to believe it would help you.”
Bella’s gaze fell at last. It was a lot to grasp and understand, and no doubt contrary to everything she had ever been taught. But the defiance, the outrage, had drained out of her.
“How can I help you find the truth?” she asked in a small voice. “I know nothing about his leaving the house that night, or about opium, or anyone who could conceivably want to hurt him.”
Solomon leaned forward. “You could begin by telling us all about him. And by allowing us into his study to see his private papers.”