“From my husband,” she said with what I thought to be an over-wrought smile. “He had just returned from a ride in the park and saw with his own eyes the brother outside with the knife. He told me of it over rolls and hot chocolate,” she said with a laugh more suited to a discussion of the latest Paris fashions.
“You are aware that William Gilbert and I are old friends, are you not?” My outrage at her lack of decorum nearly caused me to miss the fact that her version of events did not match her husband’s.
“Oh! I am sorry! So, that is why it is you who is questioning the servants.”
“Indeed, that and my status, as well as my connections to people of influence.” I hoped my words did not make me seem a braggart. “If I might, I should like to question your servants as well. Perhaps one of them might have seen more than Manwaring did.”
Her beautifully arched brows rose and her eyes grew wide. “What a splendid notion! They shall despise every moment of it, of course, but I find I cannot say you nay. When shall they expect you?”
“I am at your disposal, though I suppose they shall have quite enough to do in preparing refreshments for your gambling night tomorrow.” The possibility that she did not serve refreshments was one not worthy of contemplation.
“It keeps them a good deal occupied, but I shall instruct my housekeeper to ensure that they each give you their utmost cooperation.”
“Very well; I shall come tomorrow morning, shortly after ten. I trust the butler will allow me through the front entrance—I should dislike having to descend those evil-looking steps down to the kitchen door.”
“But of course!”
“I am much obliged. Now, I believe I must be off,” I said, standing. “Ten of the clock is so very early.”
“Indeed,” she said with a look of sympathy. We parted on good terms, and I hastily made my way home and up to bed before either Canning or Rey found their way to their respective doorsteps. I wished to be in excellent form for my questioning of the Manwaring servants.
The next morning was a rather vile, wet and, windy day, the sort one hopes not to see before winter. Contrary to expectations, when I presented myself at the front door of Manwaring House I was denied entrance. I found this puzzling in the extreme. I looked down the area steps; they did not appear to be so evil in the light of day. I pulled my caped greatcoat more tightly about me as I descended to the lower level and rapped on the kitchen door.
It was opened by a young boy with soot on his nose. His mouth fell open upon finding a swell standing at the bottom of the area steps.
“Is the housekeeper at home?” It was the most ridiculous string of words that had ever passed my lips.
He slammed the door in my face and, based on the sounds that issued forth from the other side of the door, scurried off. This commotion was followed by the sound of a hesitant tread coming towards me. When the door was again opened I was faced with a haggard woman, gray of hair and face, her slight waist girdled about with keys.
“Sir!” she cried in a voice riddled with astonishment. “What is it that you want?”
“I am Trevelin,” I said with a thoroughly unwarranted bow. “I have been given leave to speak to the household. I have questions of a delicate nature.”
She took her time in answering as she stared into the distance. I could not say whether her disinclination to look me in the face was due to our disparity in status or if it had everything to do with the scar at the corner of my mouth. Whatever the case, I reproached myself for dwelling on the maudlin.
“I live just to the other side of the square at Canning House.” I knew I should one day have to refrain from relying on Canning’s respectability, but this was not that day. “I should very much like to come in and have a cup of tea.”
“Very well.” She seemed nearly too weak to curtsy, but managed an unsteady descent that required my hand before she could rise. “I thank ye,” she said as she motioned me to enter, whereupon she led me through the kitchen bustling with activity. “Molly, bring a tray to my sitting room for his lordship.”
After the warm kitchen, her chamber felt as cold as Willy’s cell at Newgate. We sat at a table across from each other on a set of uncomfortable hard-backed chairs, and said nothing until the tray arrived. The housekeeper stared into her lap whilst I looked about the meager room. A framed verse of scripture took up some space on a wall over a table upon which there was a prayer book and a candle stick. There was a miniature of a young man garbed in long out of fashion attire on the mantel, balanced on top of a pretty piece of lace. A small collection of clothing hung from hooks on the wall and there was a thin rug on the floor. That was all besides the bed, no wider than the one Willy currently occupied.
Molly arrived with the tea tray and set it on the table. The housekeeper poured it out and once we each had taken a few sips of the hot brew, she seemed warmer in spirit as well. “I am Mrs. Carrick.” She risked a full glance into my face and quickly looked away again. “I hope the tea is satisfactory.”
“Indeed, it is very good and most welcome on such a damp day. Mrs. Carrick, can you tell me why I was not admitted by the butler?”
She gazed into her cup. “That would be on account of the master. He does not like to admit gentlemen when there is no call for them to be here.”
“But Lady Clara was expecting me.”
“Espesh’ly then. I believe he don’t trust her,” Mrs. Carrick said with a sage nod.
It seemed I was speaking with a disgruntled servant. I continued to press her despite the mild repugnance I felt at my lack of delicacy. “Pardon me, but I wish to comprehend. He has no qualms with men arriving late at night, but won’t tolerate callers during the day?”
She sat up straighter in her chair. “Aside from the parties, he only objects when he’s to home. There’s them who come at all hours when he’s away,” she said with a smirk.
I thought perhaps it was men of Huther’s ilk who so offended Manwaring. “What of a man who used to be the tutor for the Gilberts?”
“Do ye mean Mr. Huther?” she cried, clearly enjoying herself. “He was dismissed from Gilbert House after that poor lad was murdered, so Lady Clara has taken him on. Do ye wish to speak with ‘im?” she asked in disbelief.
“In truth, I would, and in regard to that poor lad. Are you aware of other servants who might know anything useful?”
She heaved a sigh. “As to that, I couldn’t say. I don’t consort with the staff,” she said, drawing herself up and looking me straight in the eye, “except to direct their duties. But as the mistress has given ye leave, ye can talk to them yerself. Ye may use me room here. I shall have one of the maids come in and do up the fire all nice and bright for ye.”
“That would be most welcome.” I had removed my gloves to take tea and they were now as cold as ice. I liked her well enough to delay rubbing my hands together for warmth whilst she yet remained in the room.
Presently, a girl who looked to be no older than sixteen entered with a shy bob of her head. She did not wait for my answering nod, but went straight to the hearth to make up the fire. Soon the logs were sufficiently riddled and the fire was flaming high.
“That shall do very nicely,” I said in hopes of winning her over. “Might I ask your name?”
She turned and flashed me an uncertain look. “Sally.”
“Sally, would you be good enough to answer some questions?”
She frowned, which was a pity as it made her too-thin lips all but disappear. Her poor teeth and skin were compensated for by a pair of exceptionally fine cornflower-blue eyes.
“Are you aware of the young gentleman who was deprived of his life a few days since?”
She nodded, but her expression gave nothing away.
“The man arrested for the crime is a friend of mine. I would like very much to discover the actual killer.”
“What’s that to do wi’me?” She wasn’t defiant, merely curious.
“Only that this household is a near neighbor to the Gilberts. S
ervants do speak to one another.” I took a sip of my tea. “With whom are you friendly?”
“I am walking out with Edmund, hims who works for Lady Vawdrey.”
This was unexpected news. “I have met him,” I said carefully. “He is a handsome fellow, is he not?”
“Yes, sir.” She smiled, and her face took on a glow. Clearly, this was a subject with which she was comfortable. “We met when he came with his mistress to the workhouse. If he hadn’t found me a position, I would still be there.”
“How good of him. Tell me, how did Mr. Throckmorton arrange for you to be employed here?” In truth, I had no reason to believe the matter had a thing to do with Johnny’s murder, nor did I have reason to think it did not.
“Alls he said was that the lady was needin’ another housemaid. I was ever so happy to get out of the workhouse. People are disappearin’ from there.”
“What can you mean?”
She twisted her hands together in her apron. “I don’t know ‘zactly. Only, Betty Pitchfork was hired out of the workhouse to here before me, but when I got here she was gone. No one knows where she went to. And when I went to visit my friends at the workhouse on my first half day off, Lizzie Wright told me that Janie Cooper wasn’t there no more. She hadn’t gotten work or nothin’—she just vanished. And, Lizzie says that wasn’t the first time, neither. And it’s true, I know ‘tis. That’s why Edmund got me a job; so I could get away from there.”
This was odd indeed, and not only because it cast Throckmorton in a heroic light. I decided I had possibly been wrong about him. “I am very sorry to hear that your friends have gone missing.” I felt immediately chagrined the moment the words left my mouth; certainly peers of the realm failed to apologize to a servant for a thing. “Do you have reason to think these disappearances have anything to do with Johnny Gilbert’s murder?”
“No, sir.” She looked puzzled. “I don’ see as to how.”
“Are you acquainted with Mr. Huther? He was the tutor at Gilbert House but is now employed here, correct?”
She shrugged. “I s’pose. I’ve seen him a few times. He’s bin comin’ here to milady’s gamblin’ nights for a while, and often gamblin’ days, too.”
“Mrs. Carrick has just informed me that the butler has been told not to admit any men during daylight hours.”
“I know aught about that. I’ve only seen him use the kitchen door like the other servants.”
“Can you recall a time when he used the kitchen door whilst he was still employed at Gilbert House?” I wasn’t entirely certain it was important, but if there were a connection between Gilbert House and this one, it was most likely through Huther.
“Yes, I think so.” She looked uncertain.
“It’s important that you remember. Take your time before you answer. Did you see him at this house at any time the day before Johnny Gilbert was killed?”
“I am not sure what day that was,” she said fearfully.
“It was the day Mr. Throckmorton called at the Gilberts to ask for a recipe. Perhaps he stopped here to see you that day as well?”
“Oh, yes!” Her face cleared such that I knew that she had never considered Throckmorton to be involved in Johnny’s death. “Mr. Huther was below stairs that day. It wasn’t the next day, but the one after that he was here to dinner with the rest of the servants.”
“Thank you, Sally! You have done well.”
She left with a sunny smile, seemingly unconcerned as to the implications of my questions. She sent in the cook, but she knew nothing of import. I was unable to glean anything useful from any of the other servants except for verification as to the tutor having been in the house, including below stairs, the day before Johnny died. When I asked to speak with Mr. Huther, I was told that he was out of the house. Reluctantly, I departed the same way I had entered and literally ran into him on the area steps.
“Mr. Huther! What a surprise,” I said as I rubbed the portion of my chin that had come into contact with his teeth.
He threw me a surly expression. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.
I was shocked. I hadn’t expected to be treated such by a servant, least of all by the timid tutor. “I am here to learn what I can of Johnny Gilbert’s death. What are you doing here? From what I understand, there are no children in need of instruction at Manwaring House.”
He gave me a hard look. “If you want answers, you need look for them elsewhere. Try at the workhouse; the one that odd fellow is always haunting,” he said with a jerk of his thumb across the square in the direction of Hampton House.
“Do you refer to the male housekeeper?” My dislike for Throckmorton was beginning to fade, but I was not yet ready to absolve him.
“People are disappearing. Whatever the trouble is, it began there.”
I decided that I must visit the Bloomsbury workhouse as soon as possible. “Yes, these disappearances are indeed troubling. Would you agree that there is trouble here at Manwaring House as well?”
Huther shook his head. “Lady Clara has been very good to me.”
“Good enough that you would conceal a murder?”
Huther’s timidity might have fled, but it was evident that I had struck a chord of some sort. “Are you accusing Lady Clara of murder?” he demanded.
Had I been? It was a reasonable question, one to which I did not have the answer. “Of course not,” I said, as I knew it was expected of me.
“Mark my words, it started at the workhouse!” Huther stepped around me and made his way down the steps to the kitchen door.
I remained unmoved and watched as he opened it, entered the house, and shut the door behind him. Something about this mundane action triggered in me a notion, one I could not, struggle as I did, put to words. And yet, I knew it pointed to a vital clue, one still in shadow and in want of illumination. With a sigh of defeat I returned to Canning House, ordered out the carriage, refreshed myself with the remains of breakfast from the sideboard in the morning room, and set out for the workhouse patronized by Lady Vawdrey and her man.
The distance to the Bloomsbury workhouse from Mayfair can be covered on foot in a reasonable amount of time. I chose, however, to take the carriage. I alighted outside the wrought- iron gate which was tended by a doorkeeper. It seemed that his assignment was to manage the comings and goings of those on both sides of the gate. Realization dawned as I watched people, much like Lady Vawdrey, arrive to perform charitable duties. Others were present to inquire after suitable domestic help, as had Lady Vawdrey on numerous occasions. Sally had been hired to Manwaring House from the workhouse with the help of Throckmorton. Others were permitted to leave only for the day to perform work that did not include lodgings. The power of the doorkeeper was impressive.
I had only begun to wonder what he might be able to tell me when Rey appeared at my side. I turned to him with what must have been patent surprise.
He shrugged. “Did you not request that I follow the housekeeper?”
“You mean to say that he is here now?” I asked in delight.
“Si, it is the day of the week that he and Lady Vawdrey journey here with food and medicines. But today she does not feel so well, so I thought to myself that he might go alone. Though I lingered at the front window so as to ascertain when the carriage would arrive, it never did. And then I saw him on the walkway with a basket over his arm; he seemed to be making his way on foot. As my hostess is confined to her chamber, I was able to rush after him with only the servants to wonder at my behavior most uncouth.”
“My compliments! Has anything of note occurred?”
“Not as of yet, but perhaps when he departs we may observe him without Lady Vawdrey as witness to our suspicions of the man.”
I nodded and drew my greatcoat up higher along my neck. The day was growing colder and there was no indication that the sun would emerge.
“What have you learned from your assignation with Lady Clara?” Rey asked. His tone was indifferent, but his anxiety showed in more su
btle ways.
“Nothing of any use. She seemed concerned about whether Johnny’s actual killer was properly incarcerated, and sought my opinion on the matter.”
“This is all that she wanted?”
I had never felt so compelled to defend myself over so little. “I agree, it was peculiar of her to insist I attend her gaming hell, which was not in operation at the moment, only to ask me questions about the murder of a young boy. She did give me leave to question her servants this morning, but when I arrived I was not admitted. Upon rapping on the kitchen door, I was finally admitted entry, and able to speak with the servants. They informed me that when Manwaring is at home there is a standing order that no men are to be admitted.”
“This is not so strange, is it? He is jealous of his wife.”
“I suppose, but is it deserved? We were alone together, but I never felt that what she wanted of me was something of which her husband should not approve.”
“I see.”
I thought perhaps he did not, but as we were being approached by the unfriendly-looking gentleman on the other side of the gate, I transferred to him my full attention.
“Loiterin’ at the workhouse gate is not allowed!” he bellowed.
“You must be the doorkeeper,” I said with all the respect I felt it wise to proffer such a large and belligerent fellow. “I am Trevelin. Perhaps you would be willing to answer a question or two about the disappearances here.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “Ye ain’t one of those who writes for the newspapers, or one of them Bow Street Runners, are ye?”
“Not for a moment,” I demurred, delighted to be conversing with the one person in London who seemed unaware of the scandal attached to my name. “I wish to discover the connection between those gone missing from the workhouse and a murder.”
“Murder? At the workhouse? Ge’ away with ye’!” He took a metal bar of the gate in each of his large, meaty hands and thrust his bulbous nose between them. “We have no use for such talk, d’ye hear?”
“Perhaps we should depart and return with the authorities most proper,” Rey suggested.
The Devil in Beauty: A Lord Trevelin Mystery (The Lord Trevelin Mysteries Book 1) Page 10
