The Hanover Square Affair

"You sent for me, sir."

"Yes. Hetty, is it?"

"Yes, sir. I'm downstairs maid. And I help cook."

I gestured to the bed and kept my voice low. "Did you know that this young lady was in the house?"

"She's not a young lady, sir. And I didn't know until John told me a moment ago. I thought she'd gone."

I clamped down on my anger at her self-righteousness. "Do you remember when she first came here? She came with another girl, the girl Mr. Horne called Lily."

"Oh, yes, I remember."

"Was Lily the girl's real name?"

"How should I know, sir? They give themselves names, don't they?"

My fingers curled around the head of my walking stick. "How did they arrive here in the first place, Hetty? In a carriage?"

"I don't know, sir, I never saw. I was out shopping for cook the day they came. When I came home, cook was in a foul temper and said we had to make up for more people. She sent me right out again for more vegetables. She was that glad when they left again. What do you want to know, for?"

I held on to my patience. "Did you see them go?"

"I never did. But the master said they'd gone. Both of them."

"You knew why they'd come in the first place."

Hetty flushed. "Of course I did, sir. But it's not my place to say anything, is it? If the master wants to keep young ladies about, it's not my business."

"But you didn't like it," I prodded.

"No, sir. John laughs and says the master has lively appetites. But it's wrong, isn't it? John says I read too many pamphlets."

"Yet you stay," I pointed out.

Her eyes flickered. "It's a good place, sir. Hard to get another place with wages so good. And Lily spoke kind, for what she was."

"Would it surprise you to learn that Lily was in truth a respectable gentleman's daughter, brought here against her will?"

Hetty looked doubtful. "Indeed, sir, it would surprise me very much. I thought she was an actress or dancer or some such. Are you sure? She never tried to run away."

No, I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure of anything.

"Would you have stayed if you had known she was really a respectable young lady?"

Her voice dropped a notch. "I'm ashamed to say I don't know, sir. The wages is high."

I tapped my fingers on my walking stick. "If Mr. Horne was so generous, and this is such a large house, why aren't there more of you? You said you have to double as the cook's assistant."

Hetty shrugged. "Sometimes there's more. They come and go. Cook and Mr. Bremer, they've been here forever. I've been here the longest after that, then John, then Grace, then Mr. Horne's valet, Marcel. He's French. Henry-he's the boot boy-has only been here a sixmonth. He'll not last long, though. He doesn't like it." Her face grew mournful. "But we're all out of a place, aren't we, sir? Now that the master is gone. He's truly dead?"

I gave a short nod. "He is most definitely dead. Did anyone go upstairs to the master's chambers today, Hetty? After he gave orders not to be disturbed?"

She thought a moment. "Mr. Bremer and Grace. They're the only ones he lets in. No one else. But most of the afternoon I was in the kitchens with cook and Henry, so I don't know who all went up and down in the front."

So Bremer had already lied. He'd told me he hadn't seen Horne since Horne gave orders not to be disturbed.

I said, "But there was a visitor earlier in the day. A thin gentleman. Bremer let him in."

Hetty nodded. "Oh yes, sir. I served him port in the downstairs sitting room. Mr. Bremer took him upstairs."

"Do you know who this gentleman was?"

"Yes, Mr. Bremer told me. He was a gentleman called Mr. Denis. A friend of the master's, Mr. Bremer said."

Chapter Eight

"Bury me cold," the constable breathed. "Look what they done to the poor bugger."

The constable for the parish, a round-faced young man, blacksmith by trade, stood in the doorway of the study and stared at the carnage within.

I sat at the kneehole desk near the window, leafing through Horne's collection of calling cards. Pomeroy planted his fists on his hips and surveyed the dead body, the pool of blood, and me rifling the desk.

"Did you find him, Captain?"

I didn't look up. "The butler found him. I was in the reception room. Bremer rushed down and fetched me."

"He's the gent you were asking me about, ain't he? Friend of yours? "

I chose my words with care. "He is a friend of a friend. I called to pay my respects."

"To be sure. And you found him like this."

"The butler found him," I repeated. "He fetched me, and I followed him upstairs. Horne was lying as you see him now."

Pomeroy advanced to the edge of the stain, pudgy fingers stroking his chin. "Bled like a pig, didn't he? Took a while for that lot to dry, though, wouldn't you say? Crows would be at him by now."

I said, "The butler and footman say Mr. Horne came into this room this morning and asked not to be disturbed. After that-" I spread my hands, indicating anything could have happened after that.

"Well, I'll be questioning the butler and footman, to be sure. Now, if you don't mind, sir, the constable and I will be at it."

I palmed the card of Mr. James Denis, slid it into my pocket, and closed the card box. "Carry on, Sergeant."

I crossed the room to the door and went out. The constable remained in the hall, staring at the body, his pasty face shiny with sweat.

I said kindly, "The footman can fetch you brandy or port."

"Them are the devil's drinks, sir."

Dear God, A London constable who was a Methodist. I silently wished him luck.

As I neared the staircase, Hetty put her mob-capped head out of the bedroom. "She's awake, sir. I told her the master was dead. She's a bit bewildered by it all."

I glanced back at the study, but Pomeroy and the constable were not watching me. Pomeroy's loud and cheerful tones floated down the hall. I motioned Hetty back inside the room, then stepped in quietly and shut the door.

The yellow-haired girl watched me from the bed, her dark eyes pools of confusion.

"Aimee?"

Her voice was a shallow whisper. "Yes."

I sat down in the chair I'd pulled close to the bed, and she flinched and closed her eyes.

"I'll not hurt you, Aimee," I said in the gentlest voice I could. "I've come from the Thorntons."

Aimee's face relaxed, and after a moment or two, her eyes drifted open. She had brown eyes, but the brown was swallowed up by the black of her pupils. I read shock there, and hurt so deep I could not reach it.

"My name is Captain Lacey," I said. "I've come to find you and Jane. Do you know where Jane is?"

Tears filled her eyes and streaked silently down her cheeks. "No, sir. She's gone. He sent her away."

"Do you mean Horne? Where did he send her?"

Aimee shook her head against the pillow. "He wouldn't tell me, sir, no matter how much I begged."

"I'm going to find her," I said.

Aimee's eyes remained hopeless.

I suddenly hated Josiah Horne with all my strength. I no longer gave a damn who had killed him, and I raged at them all-the nervous Bremer, the oblivious John, the self-righteous Hetty. They'd known their master for what he was, they'd known of Jane and Aimee, and yet they stayed and said nothing, silently consenting to what he did.

"I've sent for Alice," I said. "Do you remember Alice, the Thorntons' maid? I will stay until she comes."

Aimee nodded faintly and closed her eyes.

I rose, trembling with anger and helpless frustration. Hetty looked up, but I said nothing to her as I let myself out of the room, closing the door on the ruined creature on the bed.

I searched for Bremer again and found him in the servants' hall. He'd moved to the long table and held a tumbler of clear liquid between his shaking hands. His eyes had lost focus. "I've never seen the like in all my days."