For, while the decent broadsheets had reported the facts of Digby Nettles’ demise with a certain amount of reserve, there were already leaflets and pamphlets being printed and sold on the streets that told a much more lurid story. People died all the time, of course, and no one cared but when the events centred around a man with so much potential for a good tale then it became a news story of real interest.
Adelia persuaded Theodore to purchase a hastily-produced pamphlet from a passing hawker and she laughed as she read it. “Apparently he is a well-known anarchist who has been stealing paintings from the National Gallery and giving them to the Prussians.”
“How?”
“They are vague as to the details. But it says here that he has undoubtedly been poisoned by the government.”
“The government! Ha! It is all nonsense.”
“Perhaps, but don’t you see that each of these lies has a grain of truth in them?”
“Well, let’s find out,” Theodore replied. “Here we are. Look at all the police outside! Shall I go and exercise some authority?” He hesitated. “Although I am finding lately that doesn’t seem to work as well as it used to,” he commented lamely.
“Throwing one’s weight around? No, it does not. However, we women have always had our own ways. Weight is not the only way to apply pressure, my dear. Come and keep them talking.” She started towards the house. At the pavement, there was a set of black railings and one policeman stood there. Another two stood at the top of the steps to the main door. A few more were scattered around, trying to disperse the crowd, though they were noticeably choosing the easier targets such as ragged boys and slatternly young women.
The policeman at the gate nodded respectfully as he took in their decent clothes, but made no move out of the way. Theodore greeted him and introduced them both, though the policeman looked unimpressed and was in no mood for a conversation.
“I say, so, do you know if Mr Wiseman’s out of hospital yet?” Theodore said.
The policeman looked disdainfully at him. “I don’t know, sir.”
“The public giving you much trouble, are they?”
“No, sir.”
“Er...” As Theodore sought for more things to say, Adelia straightened her back and headed for the gate, reaching out her hand, a movement which made the policeman instinctively draw to one side out of the way. As soon as she had her hand on the latch she stepped right up to it and began to open it, even though it brought her far too close to the policeman. To his credit, he fought his inclination to give her some space, and stopped moving, leaving his own body awkwardly and shockingly close to hers.
She tipped back her head and looked at him icily. “Excuse me.”
“I am sorry, my lady, you cannot go up there...”
“I have no wish to go up there. Why would I, the Countess of Calaway, want to stumble around the residence of a dead gentleman?”
“But you...”
“I am going down there.” She pointed to the steps beyond the policeman which led into the narrow basement frontage. “I am, as I am sure you know, a patron of the Industrial Female Home in Hockney. How are the servants here to gain a new employment without a character reference? Their old master can hardly provide them with such a character now. So they are jobless. What do you think they will do?” As she spoke she pressed forwards and because he was listening to her, his body acted automatically. With every step she made, he inched back. She was through the gate before he had really noticed. She continued, saying, “They will turn to crime, of course. I hardly need to tell you what they are already doing. If they haven’t already made off with the household silver, they will be planning to. They will become thieves, prostitutes and beggars. I am going to offer them a better prospect. If they come to us, we can provide them with certificates of improvement in lieu of any character and that way they can remain in respectable occupations. In short, sir, I am here on business. And that gives me the authority to enter. I shall leave you to continue guarding the house.” She surged down the steps and heard him say nothing more. She kept her face blankly impassive but inside she was cheering, just a little.
The small wooden door at the bottom opened into a scullery-cum-storeroom where deliveries could be dumped, and beyond that was the main kitchen of the house. As she had expected, the servants were sitting around the glowing range, eating as much as they could. An older lady with a sallow face and very dark eyes jumped up as she entered, and stared in confusion.
“Good day. I’m Lady Calaway but don’t worry. I’m just here to ...” She faltered. “Well, I may as well tell you all the truth. I’m here to find out what’s going on.”
“The police are doing that. You’re just one of them gawpers. They pay us to come and see, and you’ll pay us too,” the standing woman said, frowning.
Adelia sat herself down on a low bench by the table and sighed. “I am not a gawper. I am a private
