A Sinister Service

by Alyssa Maxwell

  “Eva, working at a factory? Leaving you and Amelia? That’s preposterous.”

  “Of course it’s preposterous, but the people at Crown Lily don’t know that. She’s been training for a position in the painting department, and she needs to make it look as though she’s sneaking off on her own time, with me none the wiser. The whole point is to see what we can find out about the department supervisor, Moira Wickham. Mr. Mercer wasn’t very nice to her, so that may have given her a motive to want him out of the way. So you see, we are working to clear Trent.”

  He raised his chin and stared at her down the length of his slightly aquiline nose. “All right, then. Thank you. Come, Jester.”

  She shook her head at him as he and Jester turned away. Fox may have matured in recent months, but at times he could be as infuriating as ever. The pair headed for his bedroom, while she continued to the stairs. All three of them were stopped in their tracks by a cry that came surging from below. Jester let out a whine. Phoebe and Fox traded looks of alarm. He said, “That sounded like Julia.”

  Phoebe’s eyes were wide as she nodded her agreement. “Yes, it did. It does.” The yelling continued, and Phoebe heard her name being called out. She started down the stairs when her bedroom door banged open and Amelia came running out.

  “Is that Julia?”

  “It is.” Phoebe’s fingers curled tight around the bannister as she continued her descent. Her siblings’ footsteps thudded on the steps above her, along with Jester’s thumping ones. Mildred Blair’s calm countenance appeared below her, at the foot of the staircase. “Mildred, what’s happening? Is Julia all right?”

  “I believe she might be having the baby,” Mildred replied, sounding as if it were no greater matter than what Julia had chosen for lunch that day. She tucked a cropped strand of midnight-black hair behind her ear.

  “Baby?” That brought Phoebe up short. “She can’t be. She has another two months to go.”

  Mildred’s lips curled in an ironic smile. “Tell that to her baby.”

  “Goodness!” Phoebe skipped over the last two steps and landed with a shuddering jolt on the marble tiles of the hall. Her teeth clattered painfully but she kept going, turning to cross the hall to the drawing room just as Julia stumbled her way into the wide doorway, leaning over and clutching her stomach. Phoebe ran to her. Julia all but collapsed against her.

  “Get me into the library, Phoebe.”

  “Why the library? Why didn’t you stay where you were in the drawing room?”

  “Because the furniture in the drawing room is all silk brocade, whereas there’s a leather sofa in the library. Now get me to it before something happens.”

  Amelia came to Julia’s other side and, together, she and Phoebe helped her make the painstaking trip to the library. From the corner of her vision Phoebe spied Fox hovering near the stairs with Jester, a frightened look on his face. She felt frightened herself. Craning to glance over her shoulder, she said as calmly as she could, “Mildred, have you telephoned for a doctor?”

  Mildred had the audacity to shrug. “I hadn’t time yet. Shall I now?”

  “Of course you shall now.” Phoebe didn’t add you idiot, but she certainly thought it. “And please ring for Hetta to come down. Where is Veronica?”

  “Out shopping, I believe. Or visiting someone.” Mildred gave another light shrug, so like one of Julia’s. “I don’t remember.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Julia half shouted, and ended with a yelp. “Oh, it hurts.”

  Phoebe heard Mildred’s footsteps clattering across the floor as she apparently went to use the telephone. Before she disappeared into the rear section of the house, Phoebe had a frightening thought. “Mildred, how far is the nearest doctor?”

  “I couldn’t say,” she called back, and kept going.

  “What difference does it make?” Julia asked between gritted teeth and let out a moan.

  Phoebe thought it could make a great deal of difference, but thought better of explaining that to Julia. As Julia doubled over again, Phoebe met Amelia’s gaze. Amelia nodded, apparently reading her mind. “As soon as we get her settled, I’ll tell Fox to run and get Ernie.”

  “Ernie? Are you mad?” With an effort Julia straightened as they reached the library. They walked her to the long sofa, upholstered in tufted green leather, which took up the greater portion of the wall beside the doorway.

  “Ernie’s a veterinarian, Julia,” Phoebe explained. “And if the real doctor doesn’t get here in time . . .” She didn’t finish. She couldn’t. The notion formed a leaden ball of dread in the pit of her stomach. Though she knew the basics about pregnancy and the birth process, the notion of presiding over the birth of Julia’s child filled her with terror.

  “What do I look like to you? A cow? A horse?” Julia paused to clamp her teeth; she pushed a groan out between them. “What do I need with a veterinarian? Especially Ernie?”

  Phoebe mouthed to Amelia, “Go.” Then she said to Julia, “He’s still a doctor and he understands the process. He’s better than nothing.”

  * * *

  Eva knew something was wrong the moment she stepped into the house. She could feel the tension in the air surrounding the kitchen, the kind of urgency that typically signifies unexpected company—much as the Renshaws had been unexpected company earlier in the week. She had also noticed Ernest Shelton’s motorcar in front of the house. Why would he be here? Had he come to reconcile with Lady Annondale? Or to confront her with his insistence that she vacate the property until her child was born? There had been another vehicle beside his, one she hadn’t recognized. His solicitor’s? Her blood sizzled at the thought.

  She seized the attention of a passing footman. He held a copper pot of water—hot water, judging by the rising steam. “What’s going on? Who’s come to visit? And where are you going with that?”

  His frown revealed his impatience at being detained from his errand. “Doctor’s here. Lady Annondale is having her baby.” He hurried up the back staircase, somehow without spilling a drop. A housemaid followed, carrying a bundle of linens.

  Eva’s heart clogged her throat. She rushed up the steps behind them, nearly tripping in her haste. Her temples pounded, her breath came in short bursts. It was much too soon for the baby. This could only mean something was terribly, dreadfully wrong. Bursting through the baize door into the main hall, she called out to Lady Annondale’s sister-in-law, Veronica Townsend, who was pacing back and forth in front of the drawing-room doorway. “Is Lady Annondale all right? The baby?”

  Miss Townsend, wearing a fox-trimmed coat, as if she were going out or had only just arrived home, met Eva’s gaze with a troubled countenance, one that did little to reassure her that Lady Annondale was in no peril. “Library,” came her succinct reply. She pointed as well, unnecessarily, since Eva could see the footman and housemaid turn into that very room.

  As Eva reached the doorway, voices drifted out to her—a calm, soothing male voice and one indignant female one. But none to signify fear or alarm or grief. And then, Eva distinctly heard Lady Annondale say, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Doctor?”

  Baffled, Eva moved to step across the threshold, only to be forced back into the hall by the same footman and housemaid she’d followed up the stairs. Both carried the same items they had brought from downstairs; those items appeared unused. Then came Lady Phoebe’s voice from inside.

  “Julia, I’m sure Dr. Wright knows his business.”

  Eva entered the room to find Lady Phoebe and Lady Amelia flanking the sofa upon which Lady Annondale reclined, her feet up and several pillows stacked behind her. Poor Amelia stood wringing her hands and biting her lower lip, while Phoebe kept a sharp gaze pinned on the doctor. Hetta hovered like an avenging angel at the man’s shoulder, undoubtedly ready to haul him away at a word from her mistress. And Ernest Shelton, the most unexpected occupant of the room, perched at the edge of the very solid-looking mahogany desk, his face pale except for the dark shadows arou
nd his eyes and mouth, as though he might, at any moment, be ill.

  As for the attending physician himself, he stood over Lady Annondale, holding an instrument Eva knew to be a fetal stethoscope, for she had seen such a device used on livestock on her parents’ farm. Shaped like an elongated earpiece to a candlestick phone, the wider end could be placed on the stomach of a pregnant woman—or animal, for that matter—and allow a doctor to hear the baby’s heartbeat.

  Eva could almost understand Lady Annondale’s doubts when it came to this young man, who could be little more than thirty, she judged. Though he spoke with authority, his physical appearance simply didn’t match his confident tone. Small of stature, with bland, youthful features and mild blue eyes, he appeared as if he couldn’t have been practicing medicine for more than a few years.

  Lady Annondale waved a hand at him. “Pish. I tell you, I’ve been having labor pains for over an hour and a half now. This baby is coming.”

  The doctor contradicted her. “False labor, Lady Annondale. It’s actually quite common, and nothing to worry about.”

  The eldest Renshaw sibling rejected this pronouncement with a scowl and another wave of her hand. “Ridiculous. I’ve never heard of such a thing. What in the world could be false about the dreadful pains I’ve been experiencing?”

  “For one,” the doctor said patiently, “I’ve been here for nearly twenty minutes. You had a pain when I first arrived, but not one since, although you say they had been coming with great frequency before that.”

  Lady Annondale treated him to one of her cavalier shrugs. “So?”

  “So true labor doesn’t proceed that way. The pains increase in severity and frequency. They do not diminish. And there are other symptoms you haven’t exhibited.”

  If Eva had expected Lady Annondale to question what those other symptoms were, she’d have been mistaken. Lady Annondale shot a look at Ernest Shelton, pinched her lips together, and scowled all the more.

  Dr. Wright placed his stethoscope in his leather bag and snapped the bag shut. Ernest Shelton slipped off the desk and, giving Lady Annondale a wide berth, made his way to the door. “I don’t suppose you’ll be needing me anymore.”

  “Never needed you in the first place,” Lady Annondale grumbled.

  Lady Amelia went to him. “Thank you for coming, Ernie. Sorry for the false alarm.”

  Lady Annondale rolled her eyes to that.

  The doctor, too, took his leave with a slight bob of his head. “You know how to reach me, Lady Annondale. If you experience anything alarming, even slightly so, don’t hesitate to ring me up.”

  He’d already reached the threshold when Lady Annondale murmured, “Why? You’ll only treat me like a hysterical female again.”

  “He did no such thing, Julia.” Lady Phoebe came around the sofa and perched on its edge, facing her sister. “And he said it was a common thing. So you see, you’re not the first expectant mother to be fooled.”

  Hetta also approached the sofa. She took a folded blanket off one of the arms and spread it over her mistress, with a little help from Lady Phoebe. She offered her mistress a gentle smile. “I bring tea, ja?”

  Lady Annondale leaned back against her pillows, letting herself sink into them. “Please. And make it strong.” Hetta turned to go, but Lady Annondale hadn’t finished. “With cinnamon. And a bit of clove.”

  “Ja, right away.” Hetta disappeared into the hall. She was replaced in the doorway by Fox.

  “Is Julia all right?”

  Jester circled his legs and trotted into the room, going to the sofa and staring up at Julia with solemn eyes, as if sensing her ordeal.

  Julia absently patted his head and leaned a bit to one side to better see Fox. “Come in,” she beckoned. “It’s safe now. And, yes, I’m fine. So is the baby. I was just being foolish, apparently.”

  Lady Phoebe shook her head. “Oh, Julia, no one thinks that.” She leaned forward to give her sister a kiss on the cheek, which Lady Annondale accepted rather than pull away, as she sometimes did. It heartened Eva to see even that infinitesimal acceptance between them.

  Lady Amelia had drifted back to the sofa, and Lady Phoebe rose to allow her younger sister to take her place beside their elder one. If anyone could soothe Lady Annondale, it was Amelia. She had that effect on everyone in the family. Meanwhile, Eva caught Lady Phoebe’s silent signal. They slipped out of the room together, only to realize Fox followed them. Jester stayed with Julia, apparently judging her need to be greater than anyone else’s at that moment.

  “Go away,” Lady Phoebe told her brother.

  He folded his arms and dug in his heels. “I want to know what you two have found out. What happened at Crown Lily today, Eva?”

  Lady Phoebe shushed him. “Lower your voice. Come along. We can’t talk here.”

  She led the way to the morning room, unlikely to be occupied at that time of day. Decorated in yellows, muted golds, and soft greens, the room was situated at the opposite end of the house from the library and guaranteed their privacy.

  Once they’d seated themselves, Lady Phoebe turned to Eva. “What did you learn today, if anything?”

  “I had a rather harrowing time of it, at first,” Eva began, and told them what had occurred with Gus Abbott and the warehouse worker named Floyd.

  “He brought you into a grinding room?” Lady Phoebe looked both outraged and fearful. “You shouldn’t have gone, Eva. It was too dangerous.”

  “After what I’d said, I couldn’t blame either man for taking me to task.” Eva shrugged. “I should have been more discreet with my questions, not to mention insinuations. And, anyway, I couldn’t imagine either of them doing away with me in the middle of the day like that, when anyone might come along and catch them at it. At least now we know Mr. Abbott’s alibi is a valid one. I doubt he’d have mentioned Mr. Tremaine’s name, otherwise. He’d know it would be too easy to check.”

  “Even so, promise me you’ll be more careful in the future.” Lady Phoebe’s forceful tone and pleading expression warmed Eva’s heart, and she eagerly made that promise.

  “My day didn’t stop being interesting after that,” she went on. “I learned there’s some festering resentment toward Miss Wickham for giving Lydia Travers the sack. Mostly among the younger workers.”

  “That’s certainly understandable, especially if the reason for it doesn’t seem believable to them. You said Miss Wickham accused Lydia of revealing design secrets to a rival company.”

  “Yes, through her beau, who works for Royal Wiltshire. Although Lydia claimed they were no longer stepping out.”

  “How do you know she isn’t lying?” Fox wanted to know. “Maybe she’s been helping the other company and Mr. Mercer found out. And she killed him to keep him silent. Maybe she stole his pattern book and is even now selling more designs to the enemy.”

  Lady Phoebe sighed with impatience. “Fox, please.” She seemed about to order him from the room.

  “No, he has a point,” Eva said. “Lydia could be guilty. Meanwhile, Moira Wickham herself could be selling secrets, and she sacked Lydia as a scapegoat.”

  “Or it’s someone else entirely,” Lady Phoebe put in, “and Miss Wickham suspected Lydia because of her beau. Or former beau. But how do we figure out which it is?”

  “I intend to speak to Lydia Travers.” Eva couldn’t help a little grin of triumph. “I found out today where she lives. I’d like to go tonight, if that’s all right. I thought if I offer to help her, perhaps with a small amount of money, or invite her for a meal, she might be willing to speak with me.”

  “We’ll go together and have Douglas drive us in the touring car.”

  Eva was shaking her head before Lady Phoebe finished speaking. “You can’t go, my lady. I’m supposed to be sneaking off to learn the pottery-painting business. Our being seen visiting Lydia together would look suspicious. It’s better I go alone.”

  Lady Phoebe blew out a breath, nodding. “I don’t like it, though.”

&
nbsp; “I’ll go with you.” Fox sat forward in his seat.

  “How is that any better than my going?” Lady Phoebe challenged. “You’ll be recognized.” Suddenly her eyes brightened. “I’ve got the perfect solution. I’ll go—”

  “But, my lady, we just agreed—”

  “I’ll go and wait in the motorcar with Douglas. Meanwhile. . . I’ve got to speak with Julia.” She jumped up from her seat and hurried out of the room, leaving Eva to wonder what on earth she might be planning.

  CHAPTER 13

  Douglas maneuvered the sedan through Langston’s narrow lanes. The one they searched for lay a mere stone’s throw from the Crown Lily factory. In fact, Eva had been told the street ended right up against one of the pottery’s perimeter walls.

  She couldn’t imagine living so close to those belching bottle kilns. How did one breathe? How did one ever wash away the stench of the coal fires, the soot, and the ash?

  Beside her, Hetta stared out the window, her expression mirroring Eva’s thoughts. Eva thought once again of the Swiss woman’s origins, growing up in the vast spaces and freshness of the Alps. No wonder the ridge above her eyes grew with each mile they traveled, each corner they turned, as the lanes narrowed and the sky all but disappeared behind the looming tenements, unless one looked directly straight up.

  When Eva considered it, there had been times her own family had had little money to speak of, surely no more than many of the people residing in this neighborhood. Yet, growing up on a farm, she had rarely noticed being poor. Between their vegetable garden, their egg-laying hens, and their cattle, there had always been enough to eat, even if sometimes it had been only just. Before her brother Danny died, her parents had always been quick to laugh and eager to embrace their children. The farm had been safe, bright, teeming with life. Not like these grimy brick tenements, with their alleys and rickety stairways and dim gas lighting.

  Beside her, Lady Phoebe gazed straight ahead, working the strap of her handbag between nervous fingers. She didn’t like this—she had said as much at the house. Though why this excursion should be any different than a dozen others she and Eva had undertaken these past couple of years, Eva couldn’t say. A presentiment? Eva shook her head at the notion. Lady Phoebe wasn’t one for premonitions. Eva expected only to talk to Lydia Travers. Certainly, no cause for fear.