Scandal Above Stairs_A Below Stairs Mystery

by Jennifer Ashley

  I said nothing, letting him fume.

  Of course, Lady Cynthia hadn’t told Mr. Davis because she did not know herself yet. I’d sent Tess out to look for James, and then both of them were to find Mr. Thanos and bring him here, dressed for supper, no misbuttoned coats and no arguments.

  I went back to preparing the salmon à la Genévése and apricot tart so all would be ready, trusting James and Tess and their youthful exuberance to complete the task to satisfaction.

  10

  The evening meal was elaborate, this being Sunday. When Tess returned, buoyant, an hour later, I put her to work with a vengeance.

  “James is with ’im,” Tess told me as she chopped the mountain of mushrooms I shoved at her. “Mr. Thanos looks like a rich cove, don’t he, but he lives in a little flat in Bloomsbury with a dragon of a landlady. She didn’t want to let me in, I can tell ya, but James made her. Seems James comes and goes as he pleases.” Her small knife flew, as did bits of mushrooms, the blade tap-tapping on the cutting board. “Lady Cynthia fancies him, does she? Mr. Thanos, I mean.”

  She sounded interested. I stirred my Genévése sauce as it slowly cooked on the stove top—carrots, cloves, herbs, butter, sherry, and stock. It would be rich when it reduced, and then I’d thicken it with butter and flour.

  “I have no idea whether she does or not,” I said, though I had my private opinion on the matter. “She does like him, and I thought she’d enjoy someone with intelligent conversation at the meal.”

  Tess only laughed. She continued to chop until I told her to cease, then I showed her how to melt butter and stir flour into it to form a paste called a roux, which could be used to thicken all manner of sauces, from white sauce to velouté.

  “A roo?” Tess asked, wrinkling her nose. “Like those beasts in Australia?”

  “No, you silly creature. R-O-U-X. It’s French.”

  “Well, I don’t know French, do I? I was born right here in London.”

  “You barely know English,” Davis said as he came through, heading for the servants’ hall to don his coat. “Best let Mrs. Holloway teach you a thing or two, my girl.”

  Tess waited until Mr. Davis had turned around, and she put out her tongue at him. “How do you stick it here, Mrs. H.? With all these people what get above themselves?”

  “Mr. Davis is not above himself,” I said. “He’s butler, which means you answer to him as much as to me. Though me first, naturally.”

  Tess flashed me a merry look. “Of course. Mr. McAdam said I was to obey you better than I would me own mum—which I wouldn’t. Me mum was drunk from gin all the time before she fell on the road and was killed.” She peeked into the pan, stirring the lump of roux as it started to brown. “What do we do with this now?”

  I had to blink at the matter-of-fact way she spoke of her mother’s death, but I realized it wasn’t matter-of-fact to her at all. She kept her gaze on the pot, her cheeks flushed, and my pity for her stirred.

  We put the cooked roux in the Genévése sauce to thicken it up, and ladled the sauce over the salmon that came bubbling out of the oven. I sent this up with the salad of greens and mushrooms, and then turned to getting out the second course—ham and asparagus, and chicken vol-au-vent. I’d already baked the small cases of dough for the vol-au-vent, and now Tess quickly scooped out the interiors, helping me fill them with a heap of minced chicken and mushrooms in a white sauce.

  Those went up next, and we set about finishing the apricot jam tart, gooseberry fool from the leftover gooseberries Tess and I had bought, and a sponge cake I’d baked yesterday.

  After that, as the scullery maid rushed back and forth from kitchen to sink, I loaded a plate with vol-au-vent, a bit of salmon, and gooseberry fool, and Tess and I shared it.

  “This ain’t bad, is it?” Tess said as she shoved a whole ball of vol-au-vent into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed before she spoke again, pride in her voice. “Look what we did, eh?”

  “Indeed.” I gave her a modest nod. “You were of great help, Tess. If you can learn to cook this food, you’ll be able to find a place anywhere.”

  “If I want to sweat in a kitchen all me days.” Her brows came down. “You been ever so kind to me, Mrs. H., but I ain’t fit to work in a lady’s house.”

  “Nonsense. My mother was a charwoman, and I assumed I would be myself. But I worked hard and studied and bettered myself. You can too.”

  “But I talk like a gutter tart. And I am a tea leaf, like I told you, and Mr. Davis thinks. You know what that means?”

  “I do,” I answered. Tea leaf—thief. “But Mr. McAdam believes in you. If you behave yourself, you will do fine. No need to scrub any more floors.”

  “All I’m fit for, some say. Or worse.” She took a large forkful of sponge cake. “But the eatin’s good when you’re a cook, ain’t it?”

  “It can be. But you have to learn to be choosy about your places. Some ladies in the finest houses can be quite parsimonious and yet expect you to prepare exquisite meals.”

  Tess stared at me as she licked crumbs from her fork. “How do ya know how to talk so nice? I don’t know what parsi-thingee or exquiseet means.”

  “I learned by listening and by learning to read and pronounce.” I was quite proud of myself for mastering my letters, and I saw no reason to be modest about it.

  “Well, that’s all right for some. I’m gutter London to the core, ain’t I? Ain’t no one going to raise me high.”

  “My dear, I was born in Watling Street, within a few feet of Bow Lane,” I said. “I told you, my mother was a char. We lived in two tiny rooms with one tiny stove and had to scrounge up every meal ourselves.”

  Tess’s mouth hung open, showing crooked teeth that managed to look charming on her. “You never. You ain’t no Cockney, Mrs. H.”

  “Ain’t I just?” I said, falling into the tones of my youth. In my opinion, no person had a more musical lilt to their voice than a true Londoner, but in this world, one is judged by one’s accent and manner of speech—a person is placed instantly as soon as he or she opens his or her mouth. I had learned to speak rather neutrally, neither posh nor working-class. I suppose I could say I now had the accent of a domestic trying to get on with things. “Me mum’s friends said I’d be good for nothing but kicking me heels to the ceiling, but me mum wasn’t having that.” I cleared my throat and returned to my usual voice. “So you see, Tess, being born in the gutter does not mean you have to remain there.”

  “Well, ain’t you full of surprises.” Tess grinned at me, her freckles spreading. “All right, then, you teach me to cook, and if you can make me into something like you, I’ll give you a guinea. If I ever get me hands on one, that is.”

  “A bargain.” I held out my hand, and Tess shook it, at first doubtfully, then with strength.

  Mr. Davis strolled into the kitchen, his coat over his arm, which was a signal that service was done for the night.

  “Wherever did Lady Cynthia find that Mr. Thanos?” he asked. He hung his coat carefully on a peg then dropped into a chair and reached for a vol-au-vent. “Bizarre fellow, but fascinating. Who the devil is he?”

  “A learned man, I believe.” I spoke offhandedly, but I was agog to hear how his visit had gone.

  Davis rose and found a plate and a fork, returned, and speared a bit of salmon in sauce for himself. “Those two twits who came to woo Lady Cynthia were put in their places, all right,” he said admiringly. “Lady Cynthia got Mr. Thanos to talking about antiquities, and Mr. Plimpton and Mr. Marchand only looked bewildered and out of their depth. They tried to turn the conversation to sport, but Lady Cynthia, who adores sport, for heaven’s sake, steered it right back to the ancient world. Then she and Mr. Thanos began quoting things in Latin, throwing lines at each other, and laughing. I had no idea what they were saying, but it was comical, bless her. Even the master looked confused, and him a Cambridge man as
much as Mr. Thanos.”

  I smiled in satisfaction. “Well, it serves Lady Cynthia’s aunt and uncle right to bring addlepates to court her. Lady Cynthia is an intelligent young woman and should marry a man with some book learning.”

  Mr. Davis huffed. “Good gracious, I knew more than those sprigs of aristocracy did, and that only from reading the newspapers every day. Mr. Bywater and Mr. Thanos started talking of how Athens is still crying out for the return of the Parthenon friezes and statuary that Lord Elgin purloined almost a hundred years ago now. Even Lord Byron thought they shouldn’t have been taken. Those lads at the supper table had never heard of Lord Elgin and had to be told that the marbles he sold to the British Museum aren’t British at all. They couldn’t understand why the Greek people would want British statues when they have plenty of statues of their own.” Mr. Davis rolled his eyes. “I don’t think they’d ever heard of Lord Byron either.”

  “I don’t know who any of those blokes are,” Tess said brightly.

  Mr. Davis sent her a patient look. “You didn’t spend years in university either, did you? Mr. Thanos calmly explained it all to them. I thought Lady Cynthia was going to kiss him, right there at the table.”

  “Oh?” I asked with eagerness. “Truly?”

  “Subdue your matchmaking instincts, Mrs. H.” Mr. Davis gave me a disapproving look. “Why do women always insist on marrying fellows off?”

  “We only want to see our friends happy,” I said. I’d had a bad marriage, it was true, but that did not mean I was against marriage entirely. My friends the Millburns were quite peacefully married, doves in a nest.

  “Well, leave me out of your sights, Mrs. H., thank you very much.” Mr. Davis busied himself chewing through the salmon, and then reached for a large hunk of cake. “Make sure you bolt the doors and windows tonight. Apparently, more houses on Park Lane have been burgled. Lady Cynthia’s friend again, and others too. It wasn’t in the newspapers, but Mr. Bywater said so. He told me to make sure the silver was locked up tight.” He shook his head. “We aren’t safe in our beds anymore, are we?”

  I listened in surprise and trepidation. I knew I was right about Clementina’s husband selling off his paintings to pay his debts, but he’d been stealing to an exact schedule—I hadn’t expected another attempt until July, if there would be another at all, as Clemmie had already cornered Sir Evan about it.

  In disquiet, I wondered if I’d been too hasty to believe the matter closed—perhaps there was much more going on than I’d previously believed.

  “What sort of things were taken?” I asked. “More paintings?”

  “No, no. Statuary and curiosities—antiquities. That’s what had Mr. Thanos and Lady Cynthia going on about them. Things like hair combs from ancient Rome, pots from ancient Greece. Other things from collections. One fellow, who lives next door to Lady Cynthia’s friend Lady Godfrey, inherited a large collection from his grandfather and is a collector himself. Apparently, he lost some fine bronzes and boxes made of silver and precious gems. Some gold pieces as well. A terrible pity, Mr. Thanos said. Sad when things are lost forever.”

  I assumed those to be Mr. Thanos’s words, because Mr. Davis looked quite cheerful with his mouth full of cake.

  “Well, there aren’t any antiquities in this house,” I said and then hesitated. “Are there?”

  I caught sight of Tess, who had her hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh. I glared her quiet, but Mr. Davis hadn’t noticed.

  “Lord Rankin doesn’t collect,” Mr. Davis said. “Too frivolous for him. But he bought this house and everything in it from its last owner. Don’t think there’s ever been a proper inventory, except for the silver. That I know down to the last pepper pot.”

  “Hmm,” I said, and then we spoke no more about it.

  Once Mr. Davis had eaten and gone and the house began to settle for the night, I asked Tess what she’d been laughing about.

  “When you said there weren’t no antiquities in this house,” Tess said as she brought a clean bowl from the scullery for my bread dough. “I wanted to say except you, Mr. Davis. But I didn’t say it, did I?” She looked proud. “Am keeping guard on my tongue, like you said to. And like Mr. McAdam said.” Her expression changed to worry. “Do you think Mr. McAdam’s all right? James said he still hasn’t seen him.”

  “I believe he is.” I thought of the beggar with Daniel’s eyes, wondering anew if I’d decided he was Daniel because I needed him to be. “But I’d feel better if I could lay hands on the man.”

  “Me too,” Tess said, downcast. “He’s been good to me.”

  I would have to pry the entire story of how she’d met Daniel and why he’d decided to save her, but we still had much to do tonight, and no more time for talk.

  I had hoped Mr. Thanos or Cynthia would come down to speak to me, but neither did. It was not uncommon for guests to seek out the cook and give her thanks for a meal or a coin as a gift. Tonight, however, none of them appeared, the guests departing quickly.

  Mr. Thanos stayed longest of all, I was gratified to see. I knew who was coming and going, because I stationed Charlie, the boy who looked after the stove and fires, on the stairs leading to the street, and he reported to me.

  When Charlie came down and yelled to me that Mr. Thanos was leaving—the black-haired gent with specs, he called him—I dusted off my hands and hastened up the outside stairs, the rain-soaked night air curling the hair on my forehead.

  Mr. Thanos walked out from the main house to a cab, Mr. Bywater with him. Lady Cynthia, to my disappointment, was nowhere in sight.

  Mr. Bywater, a medium-height man, slightly portly in the stomach with gray hair and a salt-and-pepper mustache, shook Mr. Thanos’s hand. “Very pleased to meet you, sir. Quite lively conversation. I look forward to our outing at the museum.”

  I kept to the shadows, far enough down the stairs that they wouldn’t see me unless they looked hard past the railings. This meant I had to rise on tiptoe, straining to hear them over the rumbling of passing coaches and carts.

  Mr. Thanos put on his hat and started to turn to the cab, and then realized he still wore his spectacles. He took off his hat and removed his specs, sliding them into his coat pocket. He dropped his hat in the process, and when he bent to retrieve it, his spectacles fell from his pocket and clattered to the street. Mr. Bywater quickly helped restore both hat and spectacles. Mr. Thanos laughed at himself, and then climbed aboard the hansom.

  As Mr. Thanos settled in, Mr. Bywater waved good-bye and retreated into the house. The cab started. I saw Mr. Thanos peer out, start as though he caught sight of me, and fumble in his pocket for his spectacles to make certain, but the cab lurched around a large cart and Mr. Thanos was lost to sight.

  “He has one of the most brilliant minds of the age,” a man’s voice said from the deep shadows under the staircase. “And is a fine and loyal gentleman. I could not ask for a better friend.”

  11

  I stifled a shriek as I scurried down the stairs and into the damp darkness beneath them. “Daniel McAdam,” I scolded in whisper. “What the devil do you think you are about?”

  I could barely make out the man huddled in the darkness, but I saw the flash of white teeth.

  “Don’t give me away, Mrs. H. There’s constables about.” His voice was that of deliveryman Daniel, a bloke just trying to make a living.

  My heart beat wildly in relief, which I let surge to anger, but I glanced furtively about and kept my voice down. “You can’t skulk out here. Come inside at once.”

  “I can and I will. Dangerous men about, as well as constables looking for the pawnbroker what killed a gent.”

  Something cold stole around me. “Did you kill him?”

  “No.” The word was firm. “But the police think I did, and the true killer would be happy to see me arrested for the crime.”

  “Do you know who killed him,
then? Is the man in the morgue Varley? The one who came into the shop?”

  “No, it isn’t Varley. I don’t know the cove who’s dead—he was a go-between, a deliveryman, and I have no idea why anyone would want to kill him. I don’t know what he was doing in the shop, but I walked in and nearly tripped over him. I knew the constables would fit me up for it, so I scarpered.”

  “Why would they?” I asked. “The chief inspector—Moss—knows you’re innocent. He’d make the constables let you go at once.”

  “Not necessarily.” Daniel’s voice became calmer, his accent less broad. “Moss had a hand in setting me up in the pawnbrokers—the previous pawnbroker has been charged with receiving and is tucked away in a cell where he can’t talk to any of his cronies—but Moss doesn’t know me well. He might believe I killed the man and think it his duty to lock me up. And how the devil do you know about Moss? I don’t remember mentioning him to you.”

  “That is because you have mentioned nothing to me. I met him when I went to Scotland Yard, to find out whether you were dead.”

  I heard the catch in my voice, and the next instant, Daniel’s hand was on mine. “Kat—good Lord, you thought the man was me?”

  I nodded, realized it was too dark for him to see me, and said, “Yes.”

  I squeezed his hand in its frayed glove, unable to express my jubilation that he was whole, alive, unhurt.

  “I’m so sorry,” Daniel said in a low voice. “I would have sent word, but I had to vanish. I didn’t dare even speak to my son. Is James all right?”

  “He is.” I released Daniel’s hand to dab at my eyes. “He’s resilient, and he believes in you. Mr. Thanos was at the morgue as well, quite worried about you. You certainly owe an explanation to all your friends.”

  “And you shall have one, when I decide it’s safe to come out from the shadows.”