“Yes, my lady.”
“Good. He appears to have been involved in all manner of criminal activities to do with the swapping of paintings, the movement of stolen goods, the selling of forgeries and so on.”
“Is that so?”
“You had not heard?”
“No, my lady, though I can listen more closely to gossip if you would like me to do so.”
“Yes ... perhaps, do, although not in a way that might put you at risk.”
“I never do, my lady,” Smith said mildly, patting at an errant curl that would not stay flat against Adelia’s temple.
“Anyway,” Adelia went on. “There is no way that Nettles could do the things that he does without help, and we believe that he has many servants in his pay, in one way or another. Does that sound feasible to you?”
Smith was silent for a while as she thought about it. Adelia watched her closely. She was aware that she was continually asking her maid to reveal secrets of her fellow servants behind their back, and that wasn’t entirely right. However she also knew that Smith would not speak if she were not comfortable with doing so, and Adelia would respect that, though it would naturally chafe.
“Rosewater for your nails, my lady?” Smith said at last.
“Please.”
While Adelia dipped her fingers in the bowl, Smith went across the room and began to fold some clothes. She spoke as she was turned away. “It gets in the newspapers, my lady, but perhaps not the decent ones that you read. There was a butler who was selling off all his family’s silver and having it replaced with tin-plated cheap stuff. There was a pair of well-turned-out footmen who were in fact telling a criminal gang when their master would be away, and they left the door unlocked and allowed the house to be ransacked – they were caught, and hanged of course. There are those who will let on to footpads where their mistress will be, and what jewellery she will have on her person, when she leaves the house. She is robbed and no one suspects the servant. These servants go from house to house, with fake character references and even fake names. You know there is a ruined barrister who works out of a pub in St Giles, who can write you any legal-looking thing you like, as long as you pay him enough for him to lose himself in gin that night?”
“I have heard of these things but I thought they might be fanciful inventions of the gutter press.”
Smith snorted faintly. “Sadly, my lady, this is but the tip of the iceberg. I could even name names...”
“No, do not, unless it is imperative that I know.”
“It is not.”
“Thank you for your candour, Smith.”
“My lady.”
Adelia sat back in contemplation for a moment. Smith said, “Will there be anything else?”
“No, thank you. Oh, do you know if Lord Calaway is still around?”
“No, my lady. He has gone out with Lord Lassiter. He said to tell you that he was ‘on the trail of art thievery, forgery and fakery.’ I believe they have gone to Dulwich Picture Gallery, at Lord Lassiter’s insistence.”
“Dulwich? Why there?”
“I have no idea, my lady.”
“How curious. Well, I think I might go shopping later – but first, could you ask for some tea to be sent up to me here? Thank you.”
Smith left and Adelia pondered what she had learned, not just about servants and their schemes, but her own daughter and what she, too, was hiding.
Eleven
Theodore and Robert were unable to get themselves into a first-class carriage at the last minute and rather than wait for the next train they hopped into second-class instead, which was just as packed as the other carriages and compartments. And over in third class, people were standing in the corridors, sitting on one another’s laps, and apparently having a noisy party. The pair of them shoved their way into a reasonably full carriage and walked along the corridor, searching for a good compartment. The one at the far end had only two ladies present, and Theodore was about to doff his hat and enter but a uniformed train guard said from behind, “Sir, this way, if you please.” Theodore turned to see Robert already standing on the other side of the guard, shrugging helplessly. Theodore nodded and followed Robert. They ended up in a much more crowded compartment at the other end of the carriage. Perhaps the ladies had requested privacy. It was a bit strange but mostly it was inconvenient. Theodore was in no mood to make an issue of it.
It was eight miles to Dulwich but many people disembarked at intermediate stations; indeed, the train made so many stops that Theodore wondered if it might have been quicker to walk. Their own compartment remained very full but as the corridor had emptied, Theodore and Robert stepped out into the clouds of lingering cigar smoke to have a private talk about their purpose.
“This particular picture gallery was the first in the country to be free to all visitors, you know,” Robert was saying. “I am on good terms with one of the curators and he will be sure to give us information...”
“What was that? Hush a moment – I heard something strange.”
“Sorry? What?”
Theodore looked down the corridor. The train’s carriages were the old style, all separate from one another with no way of crossing from one to another while the train was in motion, and each carriage was divided into compartments along one side.
“I heard something like a cry,” Theodore said. “No, it’s just me. We’re coming into a station. Perhaps it was just the squeak of the brakes or some other thing.”
The locomotive juddered and shook as it slowed down. A man burst out of the compartment at the
