Buckingham Palace Gardens - Anne Perry [136]
“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