by Anne Perry
“Where’d they all go, then?” she said to Ada as they were dusting in the sitting room.
“ ’Ow do I know?” Ada said indignantly. “Mebbe these is them, for all it matters. Get on wi’ yer job.”
Gracie looked at the titles. “But these are all poetry an’ novels,”
she said. “An’ stories o’ the lives o’ real people. ’Ere’s the Duke o’ Wellington, an’ there’s Prime Minister ’Orace Walpole.”
“An’ ’ow der yer know that, Miss Clever?”
“ ’Cos it says so on the cover, o’ course,” Gracie replied. “Wot d’yer think, I looked at the pictures?”
“Since when did you learn ter read, then?”
“Since a long time ago. Why? Can’t you?” She stared at Ada as if she were looking at a curiosity.
“Yer don’t ’alf ta give yerself airs,” Ada retorted. “Yer in’t gonna last long. Tuppence worth o’ nothin’, you are.”
“So, where’s the books, then?” Gracie went back to the original question. “Or is that yer way o’ sayin’ yer don’t know?”
“ ’Course I don’t know!” Ada spat back. “But I do know me place, an’ that’s more’n you do! Need someb’dy ter show it ter yer, an’ I’ll be ’appy ter take the job. I think termorrow yer’d better do all the slops, chamber pots an’ all. An’ not just your share, you can do Norah’s an’ Biddie’s as well.”
Gracie was beginning to wonder if there had been books in the chest at all, but it was obvious Ada was not going to help.
“Yer know so much, Miss Ever So Clever,” Ada said, flicking her duster around the ornaments on the mantel. “You should be careful about all them questions yer keep askin’. Yer so sorry for Mrs.
Sorokine, ’oo were actually a bit of a cow, if yer ask me. Lot o’ grand ways with ’er nose in the air, but under it no better’n a tart ’erself, jus’
less honest about it. Askin’ jus’ the same questions as she did, you are.
Want ter end up wi’ yer belly cut open, do yer? Not that yer’ve got anythin’ as’d drive any man wild, ’ceptin’ as ’e got cheated, thinkin’
as yer was a woman, an’ all! Put yer in a matchbox, we could-an’ a good idea that’d be, an’ all.”
Gracie felt the sting of insult. She was very aware that she was small, and too thin. There was nothing feminine or shapely about her.
She had no idea why Samuel Tellman wanted her, except that to begin with she would have nothing to do with him. Now the whole idea of their marriage was frightening, in case she disappointed him terribly. But Ada would never know that.
What was important right now was that Ada had told her something she had not known: Minnie was also interested in the box, and what had been in it, or had not been.
“Yer reckon as that was wot got ’er killed?” she asked, forcing the rest out of her mind.
“Yeah! I do, an’ all,” Ada responded. “Always askin’ questions, she was, just like you. If yer don’t want nobody ter cut yer throat, then keep yer mouth shut!”
“I’m gonna tidy the bedrooms,” Gracie said, picking her duster up and striding toward the door. Actually she was going to find Mr. Tyndale. She needed his help and there was no time at all to waste. She wished she had realized the possible importance of the box before, but the beginning of an idea had only just entered in her head.
As she crossed the landing she heard Ada shouting behind her.
She was tempted for an instant to go back to tell her, extremely patronizingly, to keep her voice down. Good servants never shouted, absolutely never! But she could not afford the luxury of wasting the time it would take.
She found Mr. Tyndale in his pantry and went in without even thinking of leaving the door open.
“Mr. Tyndale, sir,” she began. “I know yer got Mr. Sorokine all locked up, but there’s still things as we don’t know, an’ we gotta be right.” She drew in her breath and hurried on. “We gotta be able ter explain everythin’. Mr. Dunkeld ’ad a box come on the night Sadie was killed, right about the same time. ’E said as it were books, but there in’t no books in ’is rooms, nor in any o’ the other rooms neither, nor in the sittin’ room.”
“The sitting room has at least fifty books, Miss Phipps,” he said gravely. “Possibly more.”
She kept her patience with great difficulty.
“Yeah, I know that, sir. But they in’t books on Africa like Mr.
Dunkeld said ’e sent for so urgent they ’ad ter come in the middle o’ the night. All the ones ’e got were the same as ’e ’ad before.”
Tyndale frowned. “How do you know that, Miss Phipps?”
“ ’Cos I looked!” she said as politely as she could manage. Why was he so slow? “I can read, Mr. Tyndale. I think as ’e ’ad somethin’
else come in that box, an’ somebody’s gotter know wot it were.”
Tyndale looked uncomfortable. “It may have been something for the party, which could be private,” he pointed out.
Gracie felt herself coloring with embarrassment. She had no idea what such a thing would be, and would very much rather not find out.
But that was another luxury detection would cost her. “There in’t nothin’ private when there’s murder, Mr. Tyndale. Somebody must ’a seen it, wotever it were. Edwards ’elped carry it in. ’Ow ’eavy were it?
Books? Yer can feel if somethin’ slides around inside a box yer carryin’. ’Ow ’eavy were it when they took it out again?”
Tyndale still looked just as uncomfortable. “I have no idea what was in it, Miss Phipps. I have no right, and no wish, to inquire into such things. It is better not to know too much of the business of our betters.”
She was touched with pity for him, and impatience.
“Mr. Dunkeld in’t your better, Mr. Tyndale,” she said gently. “An’
I don’t think anybody ’oo pimps around wi’ tarts is either!”
“Miss Phipps!” He was aghast and his voice was probably louder than he had intended it to be.
The pantry door swung open and hit the wall. Mrs. Newsome stood in the opening, her face bright pink, her eyes blazing. “Miss Phipps, I have warned you as much as I intend to about your behavior. Mr. Tyndale may be too kindhearted, or too embarrassed, to discipline you. I am not. You are dismissed. You are not suitable to have a position here at the Palace. Ada has complained about you. Both your work and your attitude are unsatisfactory. And now I find that you have deliberately disobeyed my orders that you were not to come here alone with any gentleman member of staff, and close the doors.
You place Mr. Tyndale in an impossible situation. Pack your boxes and you will leave tomorrow morning. I shall give you a character, but it will not be a good one. The best I can say for you is that, as far as I know, you are honest and clean.”
Tyndale’s face was scarlet. He was mortified with shame, both for what Mrs. Newsome apparently thought and because he had failed to protect Gracie from her wrath. He knew no way to extricate himself now without letting her down. Perhaps also he was disappointed that Mrs. Newsome should think so little of him as to have leaped to such a conclusion.
It was up to Gracie to protect him. He was in this position because of his duty toward her, which he had promised to observe. The case was nearly over. Mrs. Newsome was going to be either a friend or an enemy. Neutrality was no longer an option. Gracie made her decision.
“Mr. Tyndale, I got ter tell ’er,” she said earnestly. “It in’t that I’m not grateful, I am. But we need ’er ’elp, an’ we in’t got time ter mess around ’opin’.”
He nodded very slowly. “I understand.” He looked over Gracie’s head. “Mrs. Newsome, would you be so good as to close the door? I find myself in a position where I am obliged to break a trust, or face an even worse situation. I would like to do it as discreetly as possible.”
Mrs. Newsome blinked. The color had not ebbed from her face, but she was no longer so certain of herself. She closed the door in obedience, but she still stood as far
away from him as possible. The air in the small room was charged with emotion.
“Mrs. Newsome,” Tyndale began. He glanced at Gracie, then continued. “Miss Phipps is working here for Special Branch. Mr. Narraway asked me to take her on, and keep her position here completely secret, so she might have as much freedom, and safety, as possible in helping Inspector Pitt to learn the truth of what happened to the two unfortunate women who have been murdered.” He was speaking too quickly, gasping for breath. “If she has appeared to take liberties, they have been necessary in order to carry out her primary duty. There was no one she could confide in except me, therefore she was obliged to speak to me alone. Ada is a busybody with a jealous and cruel tongue.
If anyone should be dismissed, it is she.”
Mrs. Newsome stared at Gracie as if she had crawled out of an apple on the dessert plate. Then she looked past her at Mr. Tyndale again. “I see. I understand why she has behaved so. . indiscreetly.
What I do not understand, Mr. Tyndale, is why you did not feel as if you could have trusted me with the truth. I would have thought after all the years we have worked together, you might have thought better of me, indeed would have known it.” She turned round and put her hand on the doorknob to leave.
“I was asked not to, Mrs. Newsome,” Tyndale said miserably. “It was not my choice.”
She kept her back to him. Her voice trembled. “And did you complain? Did you say that it was necessary to take me into your confidence, and that I am to be trusted as much as you are?”
He did not answer. He had been distracted with anxiety, even fear, and he had not.
Gracie sighed. This was all so terribly painful, and it did not have to be. “Mrs. Newsome, ma’am,” she said softly, “if yer ’adn’t ’ated me, if yer’d bin nice ter me, like it were all all right, then someone like Ada’d ’ave known there were summink different, an’ she’d ’ave worked it out. It weren’t until Mrs. Sorokine got killed as we knew ’oo it were as done it. An’ ter be honest, even now we in’t fer certain sure.
Not completely. There’s still things we don’t know-like wot were in that box wot Edwards ’elped ter carry up the stairs ter Mr. Dunkeld the same night as poor Sadie were gettin’ killed. An’ wot were in it when ’e took it back down again.”
Mrs. Newsome turned and stared at her. The color in her face was ebbing away, leaving only two blotches on her cheeks. She looked at Mr. Tyndale as if Gracie had not even been there. She drew in her breath sharply, then let it out in silence.
“We gotta find out,” Gracie urged. “We in’t got much longer before they ’ave ter take Mr. Sorokine away!”
Mrs. Newsome reacted at last. “Then I suppose we had better speak to Edwards, and see what he tells us about the box,” she replied.
“I will send for him, and return.”
The moment she was gone, Gracie pushed the door closed again and looked at Tyndale. He was still unhappy. Something had been lost that he had no idea how to replace.
“She’s ’urt because she got left out,” she observed. “Yer did right ter tell ’er. We in’t got no choice.”
“Indeed,” he replied, but she knew that was not what he was thinking. Mrs. Newsome had not trusted him, and nothing she could say or do now would heal that.
“She don’t trust yer,” Gracie said aloud.
He did not meet her eyes. “I am aware of that, Miss Phipps.” He was angry and hurt that she should make a point of the obvious.
“An’ she sees it like yer don’t trust ’er,” she added.
“That is quite different! I was bound to secrecy by duty. I did not imagine for a moment that Mrs. Newsome had done anything wrong,” he protested.
Gracie gave a tiny shrug. “No, Mr. Tyndale, I don’t s’pose yer ever done nothing wrong like she thinks neither, but yer works bleedin’
’ard ter protect them as does, an’ turn a blind eye ter things wot curls yer stomach. ’Ow’s she ter know?”
He looked startled, then deeply embarrassed. He could think of nothing to say, but she could see it in his eyes that quite suddenly he understood, and a wealth of conflict and realization opened up in front of him. Perhaps she had said far too much, but it was too late to take it back.
Mrs. Newsome returned with a very nervous Edwards, who answered Mr. Tyndale’s questions without any of his usual insolence.
“Yes, sir, it was heavy.”
“Did they rattle around?” Tyndale asked. “Move at all when you changed the balance going upstairs?”
“No, sir, not much moving at all. If it wasn’t books, what was it, Mr. Tyndale?”
“I don’t know,” Tyndale replied. “How heavy was it when you took it down again?”
“Pretty much the same, sir.”
Gracie felt her heart pounding. Maybe she was right!
Tyndale looked at her, puzzled, then back at Edwards. “Are you certain of that?”
“Yes, sir. It was still heavy. I reckon as he sent some books back as well.”
“Did you look inside it?”
“No, sir! ’Course I didn’t.”
“Thank you. You can go,” Tyndale told him.
As soon as he was gone, Gracie excused herself also and raced up the stairs to find Pitt. It was the last piece of the puzzle.
“ ’Ave they took ’im yet?” she said breathlessly.
“If you mean Sorokine, no.” He looked up from the paper he was writing for Narraway, a brief and unsatisfying account of the case.
There would be no prosecution. Perhaps tonight Pitt would be in his own bed.
Gracie closed the door and came over to the table. “Mrs.
Sorokine were askin’ about the china pieces, the cleanin’ up, an’ the Queen’s bed linen, weren’t she? An’ mebbe she saw the dish in Mr.
Dunkeld’s case too.”
“Yes.” He seemed too weary, and perhaps disappointed to ask her why she cared.
“An’ she knew about the bottles wi’ blood in,” Gracie went on.
“An’ mebbe she knew that that case Mr. Dunkeld ’ad on the night o’
the murder, wi’ urgent books on Africa, didn’t ’ave no books on Africa in it.”
“How do you know that?” He put the pen down and discarded his writing. The tiredness slipped away from him. “Gracie?”
“ ’Cos they in’t nowhere,” she answered. “Yer know wot I reckon, sir? I reckon as they brought summink else in in that box, ter do wi’
the murder, an’ it went out wi’ summink in it too.”
“Something like what?” He frowned, leaning forward now.
“What, Gracie?”
It was as mad an idea as anything going on in the mind of whoever was killing people. She hardly dared tell him. He would laugh at her, and never trust her with anything important again.
“Gracie?” His voice was urgent now, a sharp edge of hope in it.
She dreaded being a fool, perhaps making him look stupid in front of Mr. Narraway-and worse than that, in his own eyes. Should she stop now, before she said it?
“Yes, sir,” she gulped. “We bin’ thinkin’ all along that someone went ravin’ barmy, off ’is ’ead, an’ found poor Sadie, wherever she were, an’ took ’er ter the Queen’s bedroom and lay with ’er, then killed ’er. .”
“I know it isn’t good.” He pursed his lips. “Even lunatics usually have a pattern that makes sense to them. I’m not happy about it, but the evidence shows that’s where she was killed, and quite early in the evening. She must only just have left the Prince of Wales.”
“It looks like she were killed there,” Gracie agreed, her throat so tight she could hardly breathe. “But it in’t all that easy ter get inter that ’e could go there in the middle o’ the night an’ take a tart there.
There’d be servants around. ’E’d take an awful risk. An’ why do it?”
“Someone did,” Pitt reasoned. “I saw the room, and the blood.
And someone broke the dish, even though it was replaced-” H
e stopped suddenly.
“Wot is it?” she asked.
“By Cahoon Dunkeld,” he finished very slowly. “And he hated Sorokine. He wouldn’t cover anything for him.” His eyes grew bright.
“He was covering for someone else, Gracie! Someone whose gratitude would be worth a fortune to him!”
“ ’Is ’Ighness?” she barely breathed the words. It was terrible! The worst nightmare she could imagine. What would Pitt do now? He wouldn’t cover it up-he couldn’t, not and live with himself. And if he said anything, no one would believe him, and they’d all cover it up so he would look like a liar-worse, a traitor to the throne. Perhaps that was what they all did anyway!
Pitt’s would be one voice alone, against all of them. He would be ruined. They would see to it. They would have to, to cover for themselves because of all the other things they’d hidden and lied about over the years.
It hurt, all the dreams broken, but there was no time to think of that now. She must look out for Pitt.
“Yes, why not?” Pitt was saying. “He would go along to the Queen’s bedroom, and no one would take any notice. In fact he could have arranged to have no servants about. He lies with Sadie, falls into a drunken sleep, and wakes up with her dead beside him, and blood all over the place. He’s terrified. He calls Dunkeld to help him.
Dunkeld moves the body and. .” He stopped.
“Wot?” she demanded. She was so frightened every muscle in her was clenched.
He pushed his hair out of his eyes. “No, it makes no sense,” he admitted wearily. “I was going to say he put the body in the linen cupboard and used the port bottles full of blood to make it look as if she had been killed there. And replaced the broken Limoges dish. But that would mean it was planned very carefully in advance.”
He looked at her, horror deepening in his face. “Gracie, he knew someone was going to be killed, and where! And come to that, how!
The only way he could do that would be if he killed her or had someone else do it. And however sure he was of Sorokine’s madness, he couldn’t guarantee he would do it in the Queen’s bed, beside the Prince of Wales! Or that it would be Sadie, and not one of the other women, or with any of the other men.” He bit his lip. “He brought the blood with him, and more important he brought the Limoges dish!”
