Twenty-nine
Lavender
Sunday afternoon, removing a bolt of icy blue satin from a shelf in her dressmaking shop, Lavender halted to listen to the pieces of male conversation seeping through the closed door. “I thought they were interviewing servants,” she whispered to Thea in alarm. “Not threatening wealthy gentlemen.”
Worried, Thea didn’t even notice the lovely fabric handed to her. “Arnaud is straining at the bit for a means of driving Humphries away.”
“Instead of bringing a killer to justice?” Lavender climbed down from her stool.
Thea set the bolt on a table to listen at the door, but the voices had moved on. “He wants to prove he can protect me from my father. Subtle, he is not.”
Lavender grinned at this interesting insight into a loving relationship.
It was not all billing and cooing but understanding a partner’s motivation.
She wasn’t certain she could do that. Besides, Fort was out there.
He had no excuse to defend Thea from her father, although he might be looking for his brother’s would-be assassin.
“We need to interview witnesses,” she suggested. “That’s what Hunt does.”
Thea looked dubious. “How? It’s not as if most men will pay a bit of attention to our questions.”
Lavender grinned even wider. “That’s because you’re a lady and do things proper. I have the benefit of my Nan’s teaching. Servants hear everything.”
Thea’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You think we should act as servants and eavesdrop? I wouldn’t know how to begin.”
“Not just eavesdrop. Men say things in front of servants they’d never say to Fort or Arnaud.
What do you think we’ve been doing at the tavern?
” Lavender rummaged in her trunk of used goods.
“People believe what they see. A bit of costume. Don’t speak too much.
If all we’re doing is washing glasses and serving drinks—”
“Work in the pub as you’ve been doing at the tavern!” Thea caught on quickly. “And all we do is listen?”
“Smile, make sympathetic noises. . . They won’t be drunk yet, but slip them an extra half-pint or a bit of cheese. . .” She shrugged, embarrassed that she knew all her coquette mother’s tricks.
“Brilliant! Let us see if we can learn more with flirting than threatening. And hope neither Arnaud or Fort go near the pub.” Thea enthusiastically accepted the brown round gown Lavender handed her from their second-hand trunk.
Lavender had little practice at flirting. She’d deliberately avoided following in her mother’s footsteps. But she could imitate Thea. The heiress had been raised to be sociable, even when she wasn’t in the least interested.
“The gentlemen do not own us. We are free to do as we please. If they can’t accept that, you may have to give marriage a second thought,” Lavender warned.
She’d always admired Thea for resisting the prison of matrimony, but after this past year of watching other couples pair off happily, she was wondering if she was missing something.
Thea laughed at her doubts. “Learn to fight back. A man who won’t listen to you isn’t worth having.”
That gave Lavender food for thought as they donned old clothes and mobcaps and played with some of the theatrical make-up the actors had left behind.
“We can be Meg and Mary,” Thea suggested as they crept into the hallway.
Leaning against the door frame of the interview room where men shouted, Fort had his back to them as they emerged from the shop. He didn’t even look up when they passed him on the way to the side door. Servants were invisible to aristocrats, as Lavender well knew.
They wouldn’t be invisible to other servants. She led Thea outside and around to the kitchen. To her relief, Rafe’s wife was overseeing the meal. Verity had the soul of a warrior.
She glanced at them in surprise. Their disguise didn’t fool her in the least. “Spying?” she suggested.
“Listening.” Lavender wasn’t confident enough that they’d accomplish more.
“Asking for trouble,” Thea corrected. “But we’ll avoid brawls.”
Verity laughed and let them carry trays of condiments to the bar.
Rafe wasn’t there. His tattooed clerk was collecting dirty mugs from the tables. He gave them a puzzled glance but untalkative, simply passed them on his way to the kitchen. Apparently, mug washing wasn’t done in a pub.
“What do we do now?” Thea studied the pub inhabitants.
Experienced, sophisticated Thea was asking her? Lavender didn’t know how to reply, but she knew how to study her surroundings for hints. She might not read books well, but she read people.
On a Sunday afternoon, Rafe’s fresh ham dinner had collected a decent number of customers.
All the visiting gentlemen and their servants occupied tables.
The lion-haired baron and his assistants argued while they picked at their food.
They had a stack of books and papers on one of the trestle tables in the back corner, since the guests occupied the best table, the one with chairs instead of benches.
Two of the actors, Reynard and Mercurio, leaned against the bar. Since she sewed their costumes, they easily recognized Lavender in her disguise. They raised their eyebrows but continued sipping their drinks. Having friends here added to her confidence.
“Looks safe enough,” Lavender whispered. “Start with the baron’s table, ask if they need anything else. They will recognize you, so find some way to signal them to keep quiet. I’ll speak to the actors, see if they’ve learned anything. Maybe they’ll have suggestions.”
For a lady born and bred, Thea showed no fear of sashaying into a crowded pub with a tray under her arm. Probably the company she kept. The artists in her gallery were free-thinkers. Well, Arnaud and Thea didn’t fit any molds either.
Lavender slid the two actors half-pints without being asked. She knew they were perpetually short of coin. “Are you learning anything?”
Reynard regarded her with disapproval. The most respectably garbed of the troupe, he held more civilized notions of. . . attire. His other predilections happened to be illegal. “You shouldn’t be here. Your gentlemen appear to be occupied elsewhere.”
“My gentlemen are interrogating. Unless you are prepared to provide evidence against a killer and counterfeiter, we must join the hunt.” Lavender polished a mug that didn’t need polishing.
“I repeat, have you learned anything?” The actors weren’t any more gently-bred than she.
She felt comfortable speaking with them.
Although dressed like a gentleman, Mercurio still possessed a woman’s insight. They nodded toward a table containing only two men. “The young lawyer is questioning his servant about last night. I believe he is growing nervous. I understand his firm is quite respectable?”
“So I’ve been told. Shall I see what I can learn?” Lavender carried a plate of pickled condiments and bread over to the lawyer’s table. She stopped to wipe a table behind the two. They were so intent on their discussion, they didn’t even look up as she listened.
“It will be my head if I leave this project and it turns out to be successful,” the young lawyer whispered. “But I don’t trust a scoundrel like Featherstone. What happened to Bobbert?”
The shaggy, gray-haired servant sneered. “He got cold feet and ran. Took Calendar’s horse, his pay, and left. . . He’ll be right disturbed if he learns the coin ain’t worth the color it’s painted.”
The lawyer sounded aggrieved. “I’m hoping that was a mix-up at the bank. The pay was more than generous. They’ll have to send for more. Is that why Gladstone’s bully pulled a knife last night? The magistrate is asking questions.”
The balding servant glanced suspiciously at Lavender, so she pocketed her cloth and sashayed over with her plates. “A little bite to tide you over?”
“We just ate.” The lawyer barely glanced her way but dismissed her with a wave.
Lavender leaned over the table and set a plate down anyway. “Good-looking gents like yourselves need their stamina. Don’t tell Mr. Russell. He’s a’fearin’ he’ll be paid in base coin and wants to throw everyone out.”
She’d left enough of her cleavage uncovered for the young lawyer to have a good look. He colored up nicely.
“He’ll be paid,” he said, aiming for curt but choking on it. “The company is well funded.”
“Not what I’m hearin’,” she whispered confidentially. “We’re hearin’ tall tales about thieves, what with the knifin’s and murder. Don’t sound much like good company to me. My Nan didn’t want me workin’ today.” She stood, smiled, and swung her hips back to the bar.
She’d never done the like in her life. She was practically shaking by the time she reached Thea, who was waiting for Parsons to fill tankards.
“Did you, by chance, hit Haggarty over the head with a brick bat? He appears rather stunned.” Thea glanced over her shoulder to the lawyer and his shaggy servant. “His man is watching us. Better stay away from him.”
“That old coot was saying Bobbert ran away. Maybe Arnaud is right, and we should drive them all out of town.” Lavender thought she might accomplish that easier than find evidence or witnesses.
Thea leaned over to whisper. “But I just heard Mr. Card Sharp talking to Humphries. He says important people owe him, and he’ll have no trouble helping certain parties pass the petition breaking up the Priory’s trust. They need it done quickly now that they can’t count on either of us being interested in marrying a fortune. Featherstone sounded pretty miffed.”
Lavender tried not to look at the striking gambler but studied the rest of the room.
The accountant wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
The shaggy gray-hair was crossing over to talk with the other servants, who were huddled over a table, arguing.
Frowning, the lawyer joined Humphries and the gambler.
She’d apparently stirred the pot. “Let’s retreat to the kitchen and regroup. ”
Warm and redolent of baking bread, the kitchen was a reassuring haven. Rafe was taking pies out of the oven when they barged in. He glared before they could say a word. “There are killers out there! What are you thinking? Hunt will have my head.”
“Unless we tell him, Captain Huntley won’t know.” Lavender helped herself to a sugar biscuit. Spying was hungry work. “But we do need to warn him that we may be sending villains his way.”
“We have your customers worried,” Thea said in satisfaction. “They’re so nerve-shaken, a few ghosts and all Hallow’s Eve goblins will send half running for the hills.”
Verity’s eyes brightened. “A Hallow-e’en celebration!
Although I don’t believe soul cakes will drive off customers.
Perhaps a masked procession to drive off evil?
” Then her expression grew serious. “ Are you certain all you want to do is run them off? Won’t they almost certainly go looking for Hunt then? ”
“Not if it’s the village that’s haunted.” Lavender judged, enjoying the notion. “If servants all run off, who would want to live here? Perhaps we can tell them tales of highwaymen with swords and hobgoblin heads who hunt villains, convince them we are a very bad place for a pleasure palace.”
“Spectral monks in the shrubbery!” Thea cried in delight.
“Hold the cider festival and tell ghost stories over the fires?” Rafe looked dubious. “All Hallow’s Eve isn’t until Thursday.”
Before they could exclaim over this, Arnaud and Fort entered the rear door, looking gloomy.
“Can ghosts shoot?” Lavender asked, daring the gentlemen to forbid their party.
“Ghost pistols,” Fort suggested grimly. “With ghost bullets. Why?”
“Because Rafe shouldn’t be paid in ghost coins by cowardly ghouls,” Verity declared.
The gentlemen frowned, waiting for explanation.
The usually genial duke’s son appeared weary and irritable, his dark hair falling over his brow, but he was listening—and watching her.
Lavender had never been shy, just cautious, as someone who walked between two worlds must be.
If she was to trust a lying noble, now was the time to start, because this silly idea just might work.
“Calendar’s assistant has run away. If he’s a killer, we can’t catch him.
The other servants are upset and nervous.
” Lavender waited for them to interrupt.
They didn’t but listened as if they were actually interested in what she had to say, which boosted her confidence.
“We want to chase the lot away. How long will their employers linger with no one to wait on them?”
“You plan to chase off servants with ghosts?” Fort asked, appearing to actually consider the idea.
“Steal the clothes of the dead men, add a hobgoblin pirate, a ghostly monk or two, chase them all about the inn. . .” Thea grinned defiantly. “I am very good at telling ghost tales.”
Because she talked to ghosts.
Fort’s handsome features lost their worried lines to form a truly terrifying grin. “I specialize in spectral apparitions. With a little theater, we might even terrify the entire lot and force a confession. Shall we enlist our acting troupe?”
Lavender wanted to kiss him. Maybe she would, once the monsters were gone.