Silence in Hanover Close - Anne Perry [52]
She had had no idea he was so perceptive. It came as a sobering surprise, puncturing her confidence.
“Indeed,” she said coldly. “And of course you are never mistaken—you can read women just like that!” She tried to snap her fingers and failed to make the sharp sound she wished, producing instead only a faint thump. “Hellfire!” she said under her breath. “Well anyway, I am going to the Yorks’. There is something hideously wrong in that house, and I shall discover what it is.”
“Emily, please.” His voice changed completely, the lightness vanished. “If they catch you out in the least thing they may well realize why you are really there! If they pushed one maid out of the window they won’t hesitate to get rid of you, too!”
“They can’t push two maids out of the window,” she said with chill reason. “Eyebrows would be raised, even at the Honorable Piers York!”
“It doesn’t have to be a window,” he said, getting angry himself. “It could be the stairs, or a ladder. They could push you under a carriage wheel, or it might be something you ate. Or you could simply disappear, along with a couple of good pieces of the family silver. Emily, for God’s sake, use a little sense!”
“I am bored to screaming with using sense!” She turned round fiercely and glared at him. “I have worn black, seen no one, and been sensible for six months, and I am beginning to feel as if it was me they buried! I am going to the Yorks’ to be a maid and discover who murdered Robert York, and why. Now, if you wish to come to Great-aunt Vespasia’s with me, you are welcome. Otherwise, will you please excuse me, because I have work to do. I am telling my own staff that I am going to stay with my sister for a while. Of course I shall tell Charlotte the truth. If you want to help, that will be very nice; if not, if you prefer to disassociate yourself, I shall understand completely. Playing detective is not for everyone,” she finished with immense condescension.
“If I don’t help, Charlotte will be left high and dry,” he pointed out with a slight smile.
She had forgotten that. She was obliged to climb down, but it was hard to do it gracefully.
“Then I hope you will feel able to continue.” She did not look at him. “We must keep in touch with the Danvers; they are certainly part of it.”
“Does Charlotte know about this—plan of yours?”
“Not yet.”
He drew in breath to comment, then let it out again in a sigh. Seeing men behave like fools was one thing, but he was not accustomed to this behavior in women. He had to readjust his thinking, but Jack was adaptable and had remarkably few prejudices. “I’ll work out a way to keep in touch with you,” he said after a moment’s consideration. “Don’t forget, most houses don’t allow maids to have ‘followers.’ And they’ll comment on letters, maybe even read them if they suspect it’s an admirer.”
She stopped. She had not thought of that. But it was too late to withdraw now. “I’ll be careful,” she conceded. “I’ll say it is my mother or something.”
“And how will you account for the fact that your mother lives in Bloomsbury?” he asked.
“I . . .” At last she faced him.
“You haven’t thought,” he said candidly.
For a moment she blessed him for not being patronizing. If he had been gentle it would have been the last straw. She remembered her own early days of social aspiration, the constant struggle to keep up, to say the right thing, to please the right people. Those born to acceptance can never understand the feeling. That was one of the things she and Jack shared, a sense of being outside, accepted as long as they charmed and amused, but not by right. He had felt the sting of unconscious superiority too often to practice it himself.
He was waiting for her to flare up; instead Emily was reminded of how much she liked him. He had said nothing of the risk to her social position.
“No,” she agreed with a small smile,