Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Silence falls in the room. No one moves except Lord Adler, who squirms like a child being forced to witness a particularly juvenile prank.
“I . . . do not understand,” Gray says finally.
Lady Adler’s dark brows draw together. “What is there to not understand, Dr. Gray? We have a murdered girl who is personally requesting your assistance to find her killer.”
Lord Adler coughs. I think it’s supposed to be just a single cough, either discomfort or warning, but it turns into a full hacking fit, causing his wife to leap to his aid.
“I do apologize, Dr. Gray,” says Mr. Parsons. “I know this is most irregular. My wife . . .” He looks at Madame Paix.
“She’s a gifted medium,” the younger man beside Madame Paix says, leaping up and reaching to shake Gray’s hand.
“Freddie Home. I know some men of science doubt the existence of the spirit world, but I assure you, my sister is the real thing. Incredibly gifted. Always has been. Why, when she was a child—”
“Freddie?” Madame Paix murmurs with an affectionate smile.
“I do not think Dr. Gray requires the sales patter. Whether he believes or not will be up to him.” She looks at Gray, her pale blue eyes meeting his.
“A young woman has been slain, and her killer is at large. That is, I believe, the important part.”
Seeing Gray’s expression—torn between annoyance and civility—I clear my throat.
“I am sorry to interrupt, ma’am. I am Miss Mallory Mitchell, Dr. Gray’s assistant.
If it is acceptable, I believe it would be best for me to ask questions.
” I quirk a smile. “That is part of my job. Dr. Gray works best when he is left alone to think and process.”
“Like Stella and me,” Freddie pipes up, puppy-dog eager again. “That is how we do it. My sister needs peace to think and reach out to the other side, and so I direct the questions for her.”
I turn my smile on him. “Exactly so. We take on the mundane tasks to allow the great minds to work their magic. Is that acceptable?” I look down the table, to where Lord Adler has now settled, dabbing his mouth with a handkerchief.
Everyone agrees that it’s okay for me to speak for a man. Odd, but acceptable if the woman is his assistant and not, you know, trying to take charge.
“You said your maid, Nellie, is missing. Is that correct, Lady Adler?”
“She is not merely missing. She is dead.”
I pause and choose my words. When I was a police detective, there had always been people I was supposed to treat with deference.
As much as it rankled, I usually did, because it never helps to piss off a witness.
Here, though, it’s more than simply being respectful.
This woman is a Lady—uppercase l—and I am a young lady—lowercase l—which means I’m expected to do everything short of getting down on one knee and begging her pardon for my questions.
Gray spoke to her with care and respect, but I need to go further. That means I can’t just bluntly ask whether she has any proof Nellie is dead.
“I understand that her ghost said she had been murdered,” I say. “Was that your first indication that harm had befallen her?”
“Yes.”
Again I consider, treading with extreme care. “You said she had disappeared. Was that disappearance a surprise to you?”
I inwardly exhale as Lady Adler only pauses in thought.
She just said she had no indication harm had befallen the maid.
That could mean they weren’t surprised the maid—Nellie—had left .
. . or that they just didn’t give it much thought, beyond the obvious inconvenience.
I spent enough time as a housemaid to understand that some people see them the way modern people might see a robotic vacuum.
It’s just there, doing its work, until it’s not, which is terribly annoying.
There was a good chance that Lady Adler hadn’t even considered whether Nellie’s leaving was suspicious or not. It’s like asking whether you were alarmed when your robotic vacuum fell down the stairs to its death. These things happen.
But she does give it some thought, and when she speaks, her words come slowly.
“Nellie was relatively new to us. An excellent worker, and a lively conversationalist, which I appreciated, though she never spoke about herself. When I was told she had disappeared, I was concerned and disappointed. The world is not kind to young women, and I had hoped she had found good employment here, but I was not privy to her inner thoughts on the matter.”
She pauses, and then says, “I did ask Mrs. Loomis—our housekeeper. She said she didn’t know what happened, but Sully—my lady’s maid—said she probably met a lad and ran off with him.”
Was that a wild guess, based on Nellie’s age? Or did the lady’s maid have reason to believe there was a man involved? I’ll need to speak to both the housekeeper and maid.
No, I remind myself. McCreadie will need to speak to them—if he determines there is reason to investigate.
Now, if a young woman has been murdered, he’ll obviously investigate, but if we only have a maid who took off, well, McCreadie might be one of the most honorable people I know, but he’s still a cop with oversight, and his superiors wouldn’t want him “wasting” time looking for a maid.
“Do you know when Nellie disappeared?” I ask.
“Three nights ago. She went to bed with the others—I have three housemaids, and they share a room with the parlormaid. When they woke, her bed was empty.”
“Had she taken her things?” I ask.
“Yes, which is why Sully said there was no reason for concern. It was not as if Nellie was abducted from her bed. She left of her own accord and took her belongings.”
I glance at Gray. He’s been quiet, but at this, he gives a slow shake of his head. Yeah, I don’t see a case here. A maid gathered her things and left.
“May I ask how old Nellie is?” I say.
“Sixteen. This was her first position in service. I usually promote the parlormaids, but ours is still too young for that, so I . . . Oh!” Lady Adler closes her eyes and shakes her head.
“I am truly not thinking properly tonight.” She turns to her husband, who has been as silent as Gray.
“Why did you not remind me that Mrs. Ballantyne is the one who brought Nellie to us?”
“Who?” Lord Adler says.
“Mrs. Isla Ballantyne. Dr. Gray’s sister.”
At her husband’s blank look, she shakes her head. I’m not surprised Lord Adler doesn’t know who Isla is—or that Nellie came to them through her. His wife’s social group doesn’t interest him any more than the details of household management. It’s women’s business.
I could roll my eyes at that, but Alice once told me that she’d been working in the Gray household for three days before Gray turned to her and said, “You are new.” In some ways, he is the most supportive brother or boss a Victorian woman could hope for. But in others, he’s a Victorian male.
“Mrs. Ballantyne found Nellie for you?” I say.
“She is so wonderful for that. Finding girls hoping to change their position in life. Yes, I know working in service is not what every young woman aspires to, but for some, it is a step in a good direction. Toward safety and stability. As I recall, Nellie had been employed in a factory. The conditions were appalling.” Lady Adler shivers.
“I dream of a world where children will not need to work. Not in factories. Not as parlormaids. Where they can be children.”
Lady Adler inhales, her cheeks coloring. “My apologies, dear. I sound as if I am at a charitable luncheon, trying to convince other ladies to join a cause.”
“It is a laudable cause,” I say. “A world where children do not work because their families do not need them to work.”
She taps the table. “Precisely. The problem is poverty and—” Another inhale. “And we were speaking of Nellie. Yes, Mrs. Ballantyne brought her to us, and it was her first position in a household.”
“How long had she been with you?”
“A few months? Oh, yes, she came in February. So five months.”
That’s not long, which might explain why she left. Working in service is usually easier than in a factory, but it also pays less, because room and board are covered. Nellie was young. She might not have seen the advantages—only that she had less money and freedom.
So we have a sixteen-year-old housemaid who disappeared after working for a few months.
Collected her things and left in the night.
Quitting properly and getting a reference would have been wise, but she was young and also—if she left because she hated the work—not expecting to ever return to domestic service.
On the surface, her disappearance doesn’t seem to require an investigation.
But Lady Adler will expect one, because Madame Paix contacted her ghost, who said she’d been murdered.
And told them to call Gray, apparently. Yeah, even if I did believe the dead could reach out, I cannot imagine a sixteen-year-old housemaid randomly naming Gray to solve her murder.
I do have a logical explanation for this bizarre situation, but I’ll save that for later, when Gray and I can speak privately.
For now . . .
Lady Adler watches me expectantly, as do the medium and her brother. They expect action, and Gray is just sitting there, letting me handle it.
Because I’m the detective, and it’s time to remember that. Step fully into Detective Mallory Atkinson, who had to deal with people expecting me to open a case for something that didn’t warrant taxpayer policing.
Step one: Make them feel heard.
Step two: Let them down gently, promising nothing without belittling their concerns.
I look around at those faces again, trying to determine whether I’m finished with step one.
I’m not, unfortunately. The medium’s brother is fairly bouncing in his seat as he waits to tell me more.
Madame Paix is calmer, but clearly expects questions.
And Lady Adler directs my gaze toward the medium, gently prodding me in that direction.
Fine.