wrong.”
It was the best answer she could have given. It allowed him to pursue the subject.
“Never mind,” he said easily, smiling at her. “Just think back to what you used to do three years ago. Do you remember that week?”
“Oh yes,” she said, her voice hushed.
“Tell me something about it. Were there many visitors to the house?”
“Oh yes.” Memory brought a momentary smile to her face. “There was lots of people then.” The light vanished. “Of course, after Mr. Robert’s death all that stopped, only people coming to give their condolences.”
“Ladies calling in the afternoons?” Pitt suggested.
“Yes, most days, either on Mrs. Piers or Mrs. Robert. There was usually one of them in, and one out paying visits ’erself.”
“Dinner parties?”
“Not very often. More often they dined out, or went to the theater.”
“But some came here?”
“Of course!”
“Mr. Danver?”
“Mr. Julian Danver, and ’is father Mr. Garrard, and Miss ’arriet,” she replied quickly. “And Mr. and Mrs. Asherson.” She mentioned half a dozen more names which Pitt wrote down under the disapproving eye of the butler.
“Now see if you can recall a particular day,” he went on, “and go through your duties one by one.”
“Yes, sir.” She looked at her folded hands and recited slowly, “I got up at ’alf past five and came downstairs to clean out all the grates, taking out the cinders to the back. Mary’d give me a cup o’ tea, then I’d make sure all the ’arths was clean and things blacked as should be, and the brasses, firedogs, and the like polished, and I’d lay the fires and light them so when the family came down in the rooms’d be warm. I’d make sure the footman brought in the coals and the scuttles was full—sometimes you ’ave to be be’ind them all the time. Then after breakfast I’d start dusting and cleaning—”
“Did you clean the library?” He had to press for an identification to justify his position.
“Yes sir—sir! I remember now: that’s very like the vase we ’ad, but it in’t it!”
“You’re sure?” the butler put in sharply.
“Yes, Mr. Redditch. That in’t our vase; I’d swear to it.”
“Thank you.” Pitt could think of nothing else to ask. At least he had some names and could begin looking for a possible amateur thief. He stood up and thanked them.
Redditch relented.
“Would you like a cup of tea in the kitchen, Mr. Pitt?”
Pitt accepted immediately. He was thirsty, and he would very much like a hot cup of tea. He would also like an opportunity to observe as many of the servants as he could.
Half an hour later, after three cups of tea and two slices of Madeira cake, he went back to the main hallway and opened the library door. It was a gracious room, lined with bookshelves on two sides, the third taken up with windows from floor to ceiling curtained in rust red velvet. On the fourth side was a huge marble fireplace flanked by semicircular tables inlaid with exotic wood. There was a massive desk in oak and green leather, its back to the windows, and three large leather-covered armchairs.
Pitt stood in the middle of the floor, imagining the scene on the night Robert York was killed. He heard a slight sound behind him and turned to find the maid, Dulcie, in the doorway. As soon as he saw her she came in. Her brow was puckered and her eyes bright.
“There was something else?” he asked quickly, sure he was right.
“Yes sir. You asked about guests, people callin’ ’ere ...”
“Yes?”
“Well, that week was the last time I saw ’er, or anything belonging to ’er.” She stopped, biting her lip, suddenly uncertain whether she should be so indiscreet.
“Saw who, Dulcie?” He must be gentle, not attach too much importance to it and frighten her. “Saw who?”
“I don’t know ’er name. The woman what wore the cerise-colored gowns, always something o’ that shade. She weren’t a guest—at least, she never came in the front door with other people, and I never saw ’er face except that one time in the light from the gas lamp on the landing; there she was one moment, and gone a second later. But she wore cerise always, either a gown or gloves or a flower or something. I know Miss Veronica’s things, and she ’adn’t nothing that color. But I found a glove one day in the library, ’alf under one of them cushions.” She pointed to the furthest chair. “And once there was a piece o’ ribbon.”
“Are you sure they weren’t the elder Mrs. York’s?”
“Oh yes, sir. I knew the lady’s maids then, and we talked about the mistresses’ clothes. It’s a hard color, that; I know as neither of them wore it. It was the woman in cerise, sir, but ’oo she was I swear I don’t know. ’Cept she came and went like a shadow, like no one should see ’er, and I ’aven’t seen ’er since that week, sir. I’m sorry as it weren’t the right vase, sir. I wish as you could catch ’ooever done it. It in’t the silver: Mr. Piers says as you can always get money from the insurance, like ’e did when Mrs. Loretta lost ’er pearls with the sapphire clip.” She bit her lip and suddenly stopped.
“Thank you, Dulcie.” Pitt looked at her worried face. “You did the right thing to tell me. I shan’t repeat it to Mr.
