Dmitry moved to help distribute the plain earthenware dishes. “Rossiya?”
He’d responded to the one word he understood. Eva groped for a way to make him understand. “Employment. Work.”
“Ah.” Dmitry nodded and glanced over at his wife, who nodded as well. “Clean. Fix.”
“In Rossiya? You cleaned and performed maintenance? Where, in a house like this one?”
More nods, but Eva remained unconvinced. Russian aristocrats were arriving in England every day. But unless Russian employers were extremely generous with their servants’ wages, how would the Grekovs have saved enough money to make the long trek? It simply didn’t add up.
Margaret came in carrying the pot of soup and a ladle, which she placed on a trivet in the center of the table. “Who’s this, then?”
Neither she nor Mrs. Dayton had seen the Grekovs since they’d arrived, for they had been too busy preparing lunch. But shouldn’t Margaret have met them previously when they came here to work? This certainly puzzled Eva. “Who’s who? The Grekovs?”
The teenage girl addressed them directly. “Hello, I’m Margaret.”
Before Eva could reply or express her surprise, Mrs. Dayton entered with the sandwiches. “Oh, company below stairs? No one told me. Ah, well, I’ve made plenty. Thought I’d serve us the same for dinner if we had leftovers.”
“You don’t know them either, Mrs. Dayton?” Eva treated the cook to an incredulous frown.
“No, should I?” Huffing, she leaned over to set the platter of sandwiches on the table. “I’m Mrs. Dayton, the cook here at High Head Lodge. And you two are? And do the toffs above stairs know you’re here?”
The Grekovs only stared back in incomprehension. Confused, Eva turned to Margaret, who had since left and returned with the teapot. “Then neither of you has met them before?”
“I’ve never seen them before in my life,” the girl attested.
“But Miss Brockhurst hired them to clean. That’s why they’ve come today. They had no idea about Miss Brockhurst’s passing, and the sight of the police vehicles rather upset them.”
Mrs. Dayton, still standing, examined the couple with a wary look. “Why don’t they speak?”
“They’re from Russia and have only been in this country for a few months. We were able to establish that much when they arrived, though not much else.”
“Well, I’ll be.” Mrs. Dayton slid back a chair and sat. “Come to clean, you say?”
Eva nodded.
“Margaret’s been helping out with the cleaning since Miss Brockhurst first arrived. Isn’t that right, girl?”
Margaret nodded. “Mostly light housekeeping. With only the mistress and her friend to look after, there wasn’t much else needed.” She regarded the Grekovs and shrugged. “Maybe Miss Brockhurst hired them and never got round to telling us.”
“Is that it?” Mrs. Dayton raised her voice as if talking to someone hard of hearing, enunciating each word. “Miss Brockhurst—when did she hire you?”
“Shouting doesn’t help them understand,” Eva said. “I could have sworn Miss Asquith said someone comes to clean several days a week. Comes, not will come. But perhaps I misunderstood. Where’s Myra?”
“I’m here. Who wants to know and why?”
Leave it to Myra to arrive in time for the meal, but not to help set it out. Though still partially disguised by her raggedly cut and curled bangs, Myra had at least foregone the garish cosmetics today. But then, with Miss Brockhurst gone, she had no one to hide from, did she?
“Do you remember what Miss Asquith said the other day about the couple who comes to clean the house?” Eva asked her.
“Maybe. I suppose.” The woman sat and reached for the sandwiches.
“Do you recall if she implied the couple had only recently been engaged?” Even as she asked, Eva held out little hope for insight from this woman. She was correct.
“Not particularly. Why should I care who comes to clean the house and when?” As Myra bit into a sandwich, she peeked at the Grekovs, who were observing the conversations around them with guarded expressions. “Are you the couple? If so, you might start with the third floor bath. It could use a good scrub. Isn’t that so, Eva? And we can’t be expected to do it.”
Eva had a sudden idea as she took her seat. Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? With a reassuring smile at the Grekovs, she tucked into her lunch, prompting them to do the same. She covertly watched them from the corner of her eye—or specifically, she studied their hands. Her idea worked, yet her observations left her puzzled.
CHAPTER 12
After lunch, Phoebe helped an astonished Margaret collect the luncheon dishes and leftover food and carry them down to the scullery. It was clear the girl had never before encountered a “toff” willing to lend a hand in such a way. Phoebe also understood that her presence below stairs not only disconcerted the staff, but would be seen as something of an intrusion, a breach of etiquette that most servants would not thank her for. However, she hadn’t followed Margaret in any sort of symbolic gesture, but rather because she wished to speak with Eva without delay.
In the scullery, she encountered Mrs. Grekov, her sleeves rolled to her elbows and her hands submerged in sudsy water. Her husband manned a mop in the main kitchen, under the cook’s watchful eye. After accepting Margaret’s stammered thanks, Phoebe went looking for Eva, whom she found in the servants’ hall.
She didn’t immediately enter the room or make her presence known. Upon seeing Eva inside, a second voice prompted her to pause in the corridor.
“All right, yes. I’d met her before.” Myra Stanley sounded indignant. “What of it?”
“I think something happened that made you shy away from her here.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Then why did you change your hair and attempt to disguise yourself with cosmetics yesterday morning? Why were you so skittish about being in the same hallway as Miss Brockhurst? Any why, Myra, did Miss Brockhurst recognize you out by the car yesterday?”
After a pause, Miss Stanley cleared her throat. How Phoebe wished she could see the woman’s face. “I hardly see what business it is of yours.”
“You are lady’s maid to Julia Renshaw now, and she is very much my business. All the sisters are. Anyone who hurts one of those girls in any way will have to answer to me. Now, what happened between you and Miss Brockhurst?”
“Nothing. She . . . she took a dislike to me, is all. Because. . . because I felt the same about Lady Diana as you do about the Renshaws. Because Miss Brockhurst thought I was being overprotective.”
“Overprotective about what?”
“Well, she was trouble, wasn’t she? Miss Brockhurst, I mean. There was something not right about her and her doings, something improper. Why, look how she treated her own family.”
At this, angry heat surged through Phoebe. How dare Stanley speak ill of someone no longer capable of defending herself? How dare she—
“I should think a woman like Lady Diana could fend for herself,” Eva said. “She isn’t exactly known for being a shrinking violet. Quite the opposite.”
“That’s a matter of opinion. I saw Lady Diana’s softer side. Just as you apparently see the softer side of the icicle I presently serve.”
Phoebe’s ire barely had time to renew itself before Eva snapped, “Don’t you dare speak of Lady Julia in that disrespectful manner.”
A long, strained silence made Phoebe wonder if the conversation had ended and whether Myra Stanley would come striding through the doorway to discover she had been listening in. Not that Phoebe cared a whit if she did; she wouldn’t be apologizing for it. But then Eva spoke again.
“I know for a fact you have not been above board, not about your time with Lady Diana, nor now, with Lady Julia.” Eva remained calm, her voice level, reasonable, which garnered Phoebe’s admiration, for she knew Eva had no such knowledge, not definitively, and was therefore bluffing. “Don’t bother to deny it, Myra. I have my source
s, dependable ones.”
Another silence, and then Myra cleared her throat. “Wh-who have you been talking to? Not Lady Diana, surely.”
“No,” Eva said, “but you know how secrets travel.”
“You couldn’t possibly—”
Myra bit back whatever she’d been about to say. Once again, Eva spoke calmly. “Couldn’t possibly what, Myra?”
“Oh, Lady Phoebe, is there something I can do for you?” Phoebe whirled to see Mrs. Dayton standing just outside the kitchen. “Is something needed upstairs?”
Phoebe smiled through her disappointment at not hearing more of Eva and Myra Stanley’s conversation. But at Mrs. Dayton’s hail, the women in the servants’ hall had ceased talking. Inside, a chair scraped against the floor, and a moment later Stanley appeared in the doorway. Her gaze met Phoebe’s for an instant before sliding away.
“My lady,” the woman murmured in greeting before turning into the corridor and heading for the service stairs.
Phoebe crossed the threshold to find Eva on her feet. “Did you hear much of that?” Eva asked.
“I did. If only Mrs. Dayton hadn’t caught me lurking. But it seems Stanley has something to hide, and you convinced her you were on to her.”
“True, but we’re not much closer to knowing what she and your cousin were at odds about.”
“What did you mean about Stanley not being above board with Julia? Has she wronged my sister in some way?”
Eva compressed her lips, a sure sign she would rather not answer, that whatever she knew she had learned in confidence.
Knowing Eva would not betray that confidence, Phoebe changed the subject. “You can try again with Stanley later. Did you learn anything from the Grekovs?”
“Let’s talk in the housekeeper’s parlor.” Eva led the way. After closing the door behind them, she said, “It appears I was wrong about the Grekovs. After trying in vain to question them during lunch, I realized I have only to look at their hands to learn about their past.”
“Their hands? How so?”
“Calluses, my lady. They’ve got them, and they don’t look to be new. So they were used to hard work in their home country. What I don’t understand is, that being the case, how did they come by the money for their journey here. Did they steal it?”
“Russia is in shambles. Perhaps they came by valuables left behind in an abandoned home. From what I understand, many people fled the warring factions with little more than the clothes on their backs.”
“If that’s the case, my lady, we’ll have to keep a sharp eye on them. We don’t want them pilfering valuables from High Head Lodge.”
“Don’t be too hard on them, Eva. If their traveling money came from illicit means, it only shows how desperate they were to escape the fighting.”
“I suppose you’re right, my lady. It’s hard to imagine what it must be like. Even in the Great War, most of England remained safe from the bombings, and no enemy armies marched through our villages.”
“Just so.”
“Has Miles finished with Mr. Cameron?”
Phoebe shook her head. “I haven’t seen either one of them yet. I’m burning to know how Mr. Cameron explained the blood on his shirt, assuming it was his shirt.”
“It must be. As you pointed out earlier, it tapers too narrowly to accommodate your cousin’s waistline, which is rather wider than Mr. Cameron’s.”
At a knock at the door, Eva opened it to admit Margaret, who bobbed a curtsy and held out a folded piece of paper. “My lady, when I was gathering up the last of the lunch dishes upstairs just now, one of the gentlemen asked me to give this to you.”
Surprised, Phoebe took the note from her. “Thank you, Margaret.” The girl nodded and turned away. Eva closed the door again as Phoebe unfolded the page. Aloud, she read, “ ‘Phoebe, please meet me in the billiard room at three thirty. I have something important to tell you, of a sensitive nature. Please come alone.’ He signed it ‘R.’ ” She looked up. “It must be from Ralph.”
“You won’t go, my lady.”
“But obviously, he’s got something he wishes to confide.”
“Then he should have confided it to Miles. Come, we’ll show Miles right now.”
“Perhaps something came of his talk with the constable, and he feels a need to discuss it. Although why me, I cannot imagine. Unless . . . I wonder if it has something to do with Julia.”
“Why Julia?”
“I can’t be certain, but I overheard them talking earlier—”
“My lady, were you eavesdropping again?”
“Can I help it if they leave doors ajar? Anyway, they seemed rather cozy. Flirtatious. It irked me, because I know she cares for—” Phoebe stopped. Yes, this was Eva she was talking to, and they kept no secrets from each other, but Theo Leighton was Julia’s secret, not hers.
Eva smiled gently. “You were about to say she cares for the new Lord Allerton. I know about it, my lady.”
“Then you also know Grams would disapprove because Theo inherited a bankrupt estate from his brother. But Eva, she flirts with other men, wealthy men, and then turns them away the moment they show the slightest interest in becoming serious with her.”
“My lady, why should it concern you what your sister does?”
“Because she concerns me, Eva. Despite our differences, I want Julia to be happy. I know she’d be happy with Theo, and I’m afraid she’ll destroy herself with the games she plays with other men. She’ll become bitter and cynical and alone in the end. If only Grams didn’t put such pressure on her to make a lucrative match.”
Eva gestured to the note caught between Phoebe’s fingers. She had almost forgotten it. “What about Mr. Cameron’s request?”
“It’s very odd. I think I should meet him at the appointed time, but I’m not foolish. Let’s find the constable and tell him about this.”
* * *
Eva wasn’t happy, not one bit. “Miles, I don’t think it’s at all a good idea to allow Lady Phoebe to enter that billiard room alone.”
Before he could reply, Lady Phoebe said, “I’ll leave the door open, and the constable will be close by.”
This argument had been going on in the morning room for some ten minutes now, and Eva felt outnumbered in her objections to letting Phoebe meet with Mr. Cameron alone. She ignored Phoebe’s latest, and oft repeated, reasoning. “Miles, it’s too dangerous. We’re talking about a man who might have lodged a spike—a spike—into the base of a woman’s skull. That is nothing to take casually.”
“It was a pin, not a spike,” Phoebe pointed out, much to Eva’s irritation.
“I assure you I take nothing casually, Eva.” Miles bristled, but only for a moment. Well, she had, in a way, called his competence as a policeman into question. “But I’m hoping what Mr. Cameron wouldn’t tell me, he’s willing to tell Lady Phoebe.”
“What did he say when you questioned him?” Lady Phoebe asked.
“He kept insisting he’d cut himself shaving and attempted to wash it out of the shirt. When I pointed out that the garment appeared to have been hidden within the linens, he said he’d merely balled everything together without a thought about it.”
“And do you believe him? Did you ask him if he has a bleeding disorder?”
“I did, actually. He said he does tend to bleed rather much at the slightest cut. Then, much to his indignation, I examined the nick on his chin. It’s small, though rather wide. Inconclusive, really. And that makes me wonder. If the wound was self-inflicted to make us believe it to be the cause of the bloodied shirt, wouldn’t he have made it large enough to be more credible?”
Eva pondered this. “Is every criminal smart enough to consider such things?”
“Mr. Cameron seems particularly intelligent to me,” Lady Phoebe said. “He’s a solicitor, after all. Such a profession requires a certain wiliness, doesn’t it?”
Eva braced for more of Phoebe’s rationalizations for proceeding with Mr. Cameron’s request, when Miles said,
“It could be that his position as the family’s solicitor prevents him from speaking freely with me. It occurs to me that he has no idea of our prior acquaintance and shared experiences. He might very well believe Lady Phoebe will keep his confidence.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Eva said.
“No, nor me, either,” Lady Phoebe concurred. “That must be the case. He views me as an objective bystander whom he can trust.”
“And if we are to learn what he wishes to trust you with, you’ll have to meet with him.” Miles forestalled Eva’s protest with the flat of his hand. “I will be close by, in the next room. Whose bedroom is beside the billiard room?”
Eva reviewed the upper floor in her mind. “I believe that’s Miss Asquith’s room, no?”
“I believe it is,” Lady Phoebe confirmed. “Which may present a problem. Miss Asquith took her lunch upstairs with her. I don’t believe she’s come down since.”
“And the room on the other side?”
“There isn’t one,” Eva told him. “The billiard room is the first room off the landing.”
“Right. Then I’ll listen in from the landing. If Lady Phoebe—”
A crash from somewhere above their heads cut off his words. The chandelier above the table swayed, the crystals clinking one against another. Eva, Miles, and Lady Phoebe went utterly still, startled expressions mirrored on each face.
Lady Phoebe spoke first. “What was that?”
Miles answered by springing into motion. Eva and Lady Phoebe hurried after him. They met no one on the stairs on the way up, nor on the landing. But doors along the corridor were opening and heads poking out. When Eva and Lady Phoebe reached the billiard room, Miles was already inside.
And so was Olive Asquith.
Eva stopped short, and someone knocked into her from behind. She turned to find Hastings, along with Lady Julia and Myra attempting to squeeze their way into the room.
“What in the world was that?” Lady Julia exclaimed. Her answer came in a scream, a piercing, high-pitched keening as the Dowager Lady Mandeville shoved her way past the others, ran to the far side of the billiard table, and sank to the floor.
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