Scandal Above Stairs

by Jennifer Ashley

  Cynthia sailed in through the front door, and I went in after her. We found ourselves in a wide hall, the entrance to the taproom across from us and a staircase beside that. Cynthia went up the stairs without hesitation, and I followed, hastening to keep up with her.

  The landing on the third floor led to a room that was more like a fashionable club’s drawing room than a tavern’s snug. Long tables with upholstered chairs around them filled the carpeted floor, a large fireplace with a carved walnut mantelpiece took up most of one wall, and bookcases overflowing with books lined the remaining walls. The wide window let in plenty of light from outside; that is, what could filter through the clouds and smoke.

  I was relieved to see other ladies here, well-heeled women in subdued ensembles speaking earnestly with the ladies and gentlemen they were with. Bluestockings, I thought silently. Ladies who were more intellectual than was fashionable, who read books and journals on science and medicine and other topics women’s brains were supposed to be too small and delicate to comprehend. A nonsensical idea, I always believed. Women, in my experience, could understand complicated ideas quite well, sometimes better than a man could. Cooking, I’d decided, was only a form of what the chemical scientists did with their concoctions, only mine smelled much better.

  Mr. Thanos rose from a table near the window, where he had been holding up a book to catch the light. He dropped the book and made his way to us, bumping into the other chairs along the way. He looked so delighted to see us that my heart warmed. Mr. Thanos was a truly genial young man.

  “Lady Cynthia, Mrs. Holloway,” he said. “You honor me.”

  He came at us with arms outstretched, as though planning to embrace us, but at the last minute he seemed to come to his senses and shook Lady Cynthia’s hand. Then he took mine in a firm grip.

  “Please, come. Sit.” He waved us at the table where he’d been. “They do a passable tea here, or coffee. Unless, er, you’d like something stronger, Lady Cynthia?”

  All eyes in the room were on us. They’d know Mr. Thanos, if he was a regular here, and must have at least heard of Lady Cynthia Shires. Their stares were for me, I presumed. In this room, I was the oddity.

  Mr. Thanos escorted us to his table and told the waiter who hovered to bring us a repast. We’d have everything—tea, coffee, and whiskey for himself.

  “Have you told her?” Mr. Thanos asked Cynthia when the waiter had gone, Mr. Thanos’s dark eyes wide and eager.

  “Told me what?” I asked.

  “Not had a chance,” Cynthia said briskly. “The house was in an uproar this morning, and by the time my aunt had finished pestering me and I was free, Mrs. Holloway had gone.”

  “It is my half day out,” I said, feeling the need to explain.

  “Not blaming you,” Cynthia said. “Only saying why we haven’t chatted. Anyway, Mrs. Holloway, last night after I went out, I ran into Mr. Thanos in Leicester Square, at a club there. Bobby was quickly drunk, so Mr. Thanos suggested we retire to a quiet room. There we did some thinking. When I needed to take Bobby home, we decided to meet up here today and continue the discussion.”

  I ought to be shocked. A lady and a gentleman—never mind she dressed herself so like a gentleman that the tipsy patrons of last night’s club hadn’t realized she was female—alone in a room together would mar Cynthia’s reputation still more than it already was. I should scold her, warn her of peril.

  Instead, I leaned forward, excitement building. “What did you conclude from this thinking?”

  “Consider,” Mr. Thanos said. “Antiquities are going missing from the British Museum.” He fluttered his fingers in its general direction. “Possibly they have been for some time, only no one noticed until recently, as they are from obscure storage rooms. Now, collectors known to have large numbers of Roman, Egyptian, and Greek antiquities are having their houses burgled.”

  “Including Clemmie’s next-door neighbor, Lord Chalminster,” Cynthia put in. “You remember him—the odious Minty’s father. Well, Chalminster’s mad for relics of the ancient world. He had two small vases from Athens, and a Roman-era sculpture that was uncovered at Delphi—Emperor Hadrian’s boy lover or some such. The vases are gone. The statue of the beautiful young man, untouched.”

  Again, I ought to be shocked that an unmarried lady made casual mention of a Roman emperor’s proclivities, but in truth, I found it refreshing that we could speak of such things without embarrassment.

  Lord Chalminster’s name was familiar to me. His son, who went by the deplorable nickname of Minty, had, with his chums, once beaten Daniel down in front of Euston Station. Daniel told me later that Minty had invested money in Fenian plots—whether he’d done so from a desire to overthrow the government or because he was foolish and excitable, I never learned. The latter, I suspected.

  Daniel had not spoken of the matter since, and I wondered if he’d promised Lord Chalminster to cover up his son’s perfidy. I also wondered if these thefts had any connection to our adventure in Saltash, though I did not see how at the moment.

  Mr. Thanos nodded at Cynthia’s tale. “All this tells me these thieves are the most interested in ancient Greece,” he said. “The Roman statuary being found all over Greece is still valuable, but the true artifacts from the Athenian era—the time of Pericles, Socrates, and that ilk—are quite priceless. Especially if one is Greek.”

  He sent me a significant look I could not interpret. Did Mr. Thanos mean they were important to him because of his Greek heritage? From what Daniel had told me, Elgin’s grandfather had been raised in Constantinople, rarely setting foot in Greece itself, but that did not mean his family could not be sentimental about Greece’s ancient past.

  Cynthia frowned at him. “You’re being impossibly vague, Thanos. What he means, Mrs. H., is that these days, many archaeologists digging up the ancient world have begun stating that the antiquities should stay in the country in which they are found and not be carted off to museums in London, Paris, and New York. Nor should they be sold to collectors who hoard the bits they purchase in their mansions in Mayfair or Manhattan.”

  “Ah.” I caught on. “You believe the thief or thieves are fanatical about returning the objects to their respective countries?”

  “Greece in particular,” Cynthia said, while Elgin nodded. “That is why we were discussing the Parthenon Marbles at supper. Greece repeatedly calls for their return, and repeatedly, Britain refuses.”

  “Because they know that if they return the marbles, they open the way for Egypt to request the return of the Rosetta Stone,” Mr. Thanos said. “The Rosetta Stone is a stele that was found in Egypt, Mrs. Holloway, by Napoleon’s army, and turned out to be the key to deciphering Egyptian hieroglyphs. You see, the stone had one text, but in three different writings . . .”

  “Never mind about all that now,” Lady Cynthia broken in.

  “I have heard of the Rosetta Stone, Mr. Thanos,” I said at the same time, though I was interested to know what the three scripts were. I would have to quiz him about it on another occasion.

  “The point is,” Cynthia went on, “perhaps thieves are nicking the things to take back to Greece themselves, never mind what the governments squabble about.”

  I recalled my encounter with Mr. Varley this afternoon and thought about his cryptic discussion with Daniel in the pawnbrokers shop. I remembered also the hands of the thug on the table at the morgue, with his blunt and callused fingers that had performed hard labor. Those two men were no more Greek than I was, and I doubted they cared much about what antiquities moved where.

  I voiced the opinion as soon as I formed it. “These are men who worry only how much money they obtain for their crime,” I finished.

  “True,” Mr. Thanos said, undaunted. “But the fanatics might have hired them.”

  That was so. I wondered whether Daniel had drawn the conclusion Mr. Thanos and Cynthia had, or if he had othe
r ideas.

  “I believe this is precisely why Daniel—I mean Mr. McAdam—agreed we should suggest, Mr. Thanos, that you attend a few of the soirees and suppers in Park Lane and see what you can see. Lady Cynthia with you, of course. To discover whether a guest is taking the things, or whether a gang of thieves is using the gatherings to distract the household while they purloin the objects.”

  I paused as the pair of them stared at me, and I wondered if I’d offended them by suggesting that one of their class could steal. The idea that criminal tendencies happen only among the lower classes was nonsense, but one must choose one’s words with care when speaking to a member of the family one works for.

  As I opened my mouth to apologize, Mr. Thanos exclaimed, “When the devil did you see McAdam?” He flushed. “Oh, pardon my language, Mrs. Holloway, Lady Cynthia.”

  “An apt question,” Cynthia said. “When the devil did you see Mr. McAdam? We haven’t found hide nor hair of him.”

  “He found me.” I lowered my voice and explained about encountering him in the scullery stairwell the night before, and his wish to meet with Mr. Thanos in this very pub tomorrow evening.

  “Damn and blast,” Mr. Thanos said heatedly. “Ah, beg pardon again, Mrs. Holloway, Lady Cynthia. But I wish he’d let a fellow know he’s alive and well.”

  “Possibly he feared that those who wish him harm are watching your rooms,” I said to Mr. Thanos. “And he could not risk it. As he has no connection to me, he perhaps felt that contacting me would be safer, knowing I’d pass on messages to you.”

  Mr. Thanos nodded as though my speculation made good sense, but Cynthia eyed me sharply.

  “No connection to you?” she demanded. “The man stayed with you in Cornwall after sending the two of us scurrying back to London. How can you say no connection?”

  “I will thank you to not proclaim that in public, my lady,” I said, leaning to her and speaking in a low, rapid voice. “Yes, I stayed in Cornwall, but quite separately from Mr. McAdam, to ensure that he came to no harm. He is apt not to take care. His son arrived, and of course I had to look after him as well.”

  “Of course,” Mr. Thanos said without surprise. He saw a thing for what it was, another trait I admired in him.

  Lady Cynthia’s gaze grew sharper. “I beg your pardon, Mrs. H. I did not mean to impugn your good name. But it is a connection, mark my words.”

  “McAdam must believe no one knows of the connection,” Mr. Thanos said reasonably. “Except his closest friends.”

  I said nothing, and mercifully, Lady Cynthia ceased her interrogation. Her eyes held interest, however, and I knew I’d not heard the last of it.

  “I’m glad to hear he’s all right,” she said. “He has a good idea. I’d be delighted to go to my friends’ homes and nose about. A stack of invitations arrives every day—I say no to most, but I’ll shoot off a late reply to the ones who have antiquities, and we’ll storm battlements.”

  She stuck out her hand to Mr. Thanos. He flushed but took the offered hand and shook it. He looked a bit bewildered but also happy.

  I kept my speculations about their connection to myself.

  * * *

  * * *

  Lady Cynthia insisted I accompany her home in the coach. I started to refuse her offer to ride inside with her, recalling what Mrs. Bywater had said about being too familiar, but changed my mind and accepted. If I were to ride on the outside, I’d have to sit on the box with the coachman, who was giving me a too-ready smile. Riding inside with Cynthia would be the much safer choice.

  As the landau rolled west to Mayfair, Cynthia mused on what she’d wear to these soirees and what she’d say to whom, looking forward to confounding people. Thankfully, she did not mention Daniel, except to express her hope that he was well and we’d see him soon.

  “Oh, he’ll turn up when he is good and ready,” I said. “With a cheery wave, as though nothing much has gone wrong.”

  “I believe you.” Cynthia spoke lightly but gave me another look that made me uneasy.

  The coachman turned from Oxford Street to Duke Street and Grosvenor Square and thence to Upper Brook Street. I asked Lady Cynthia to let me out on the corner of Park Street, so I could walk the rest of the way home.

  Cynthia thought my request odd, but once she understood that I’d leap out of the coach whenever it might pause if she didn’t comply, she knocked on the roof and called for Henry to stop.

  Paul was kind enough to help me down. “I’ll get on those invitations,” Cynthia called to me before Paul shut the door. “Never was so excited to attend soirees before, I must say.”

  Henry nodded to me before he tapped the near horse with the whip. “See you at home, Mrs. Holloway.”

  “Indeed,” I answered. As we were both going to the Mount Street house, it was inevitable.

  Henry had to turn his attention to the other vehicles, then the landau rolled on, and I walked on in peaceful solitude—that is, in as much solitude as one can have on a London street.

  Because of my diversion to Bedford Square and the pub, I was returning later than usual, in spite of the relatively speedy journey in the landau. Six o’clock had come and gone. Fortunately, I was able to slip inside while the other servants were upstairs preparing the dining room or waiting on the master and mistress or Lady Cynthia just coming home. No one noticed as I ducked into the housekeeper’s parlor to take off my coat and hat, tying on my apron as I emerged.

  Only Tess fell upon me. “Mrs. H., I thought you’d never come,” she said in a frenzy. “Whenever someone asked about you, I pretended you’d just popped outside or into another room for a moment. Mr. Davis is a nosy one, ain’t he? But I smoothed the way for ya.”

  She beamed at me, confident I’d praise her for lying. I ought to explain to her that falsehoods for any reason were wrong, but as I had no wish to listen to Mr. Davis complain that I’d burdened him by being late, I did not scold her.

  Tess had done well in my absence, I had to admit. She had the onions chopped and waiting in a bowl, carrots likewise, peas shelled, cauliflower heads removed from the stems and sliced. She was a dab hand with a knife, was Tess. I would advise her to begin saving money to buy a set of her own, as one could never depend on a kitchen to have good ones.

  Sara came breezing in to tell us Lady Cynthia was going out, and so there would only be two for supper. I assumed Lady Cynthia was already beginning her task of wandering about her friends’ homes to see what she could discover about the thefts.

  It was a mercy this evening’s meal could be simple. The scullery maid was cleaning a sole, which I’d fry and serve with butter and lemon. For meat I had mutton in a butter sauce, which would be sent up with a quantity of spring greens, the cauliflower with nutmeg and cream, and a light apricot soup. I’d made tarts this morning with rhubarb and fresh strawberries, and now Tess sliced strawberries to be strewn over the top.

  I put aside thoughts of antiquities, thefts in Mayfair homes, Daniel skulking in the streets, and Mr. Varley frightening the wits out of me. At this moment, I was a cook, worried about her béchamel thickening, her lettuces remaining unwilted, and the cauliflower in cream sauce not curdling.

  Mr. Davis strode in and out, setting down what wine I needed without a word. He’d learned to leave me be when I was in the final throes of a meal; only dire circumstances made him interfere.

  Tess and I sent up the dishes, breathed sighs of relief, and prepared a lighter meal for the staff. I retreated to the housekeeper’s parlor to eat mine and invited Tess to join me.

  Tess seated herself at the table, bouncing a little on the wooden chair’s cushioned seat, and took up her fork. “Well, ain’t I a great lady?” She gave me a wide smile. “It’s decent of ya, Mrs. Holloway, that ye share your table with the likes of me.”

  “The likes of you is a cook’s assistant in a respectable house,” I told her as I enjoyed a
bite of the cauliflower. The cream was silky, the nutmeg pungent. The dish had turned out well. “Mr. McAdam would not have sent you to me if you were a bad ’un, as we say.”

  “Mr. McAdam is a wonderful man,” Tess said with conviction. “I hope he’s all right.”

  “He is,” I said, deciding that Tess did not need to worry over him. “I have spoken to him.” I had wanted to tell James the good news that Daniel was alive as well, but I had not seen him about, nor did I know where his boardinghouse was. I could only hope Daniel had sought him out and assured him he was well.

  Tess blinked at me. “Did ya? When was this? When you were out today? Where is he? What happened to him?”

  I doubted Tess wished any harm to Daniel, but I thought I should keep most of his secrets. “He does not want his location known at this time. But he is well.”

  “Oh good.” Tess let out a breath. “Poor man.” Her eyes began to twinkle. “I think he’s sweet on ya, Mrs. H.”

  I firmly changed the subject. “Tell me about yourself, Tess. Do you have family?”

  Her face darkened. “You don’t need to know about me family, Mrs. Holloway. You know I’m from the backstreets of London, and me mum and dad weren’t no good. I’m putting that all behind me now.”

  “Very commendable. But you should tell me. I’ll not impart anything of your past to others if you do not wish it. For instance, how did you come to be arrested? I know you were innocent—Daniel would not have helped you otherwise.”

  Tess avoided my gaze. “Weren’t nothin’. Cove thought I picked his pocket. I didn’t. But he seized hold of me and dragged me off to the magistrate.”

  I imagined Tess had not gone willingly, which had likely not helped her case. “Did you explain to the magistrate that the cove had it wrong?”

  “Didn’t I just?” Tess flashed me an indignant look that told me on this point she was speaking the truth. “Magistrate had the constable box me ears, and then I was off to Newgate.” She shivered, her gaze dropping to her half-empty dinner plate.