hesitant in dealing with people. 'It's good to see you, Rider,' he said now and he meant it, for Sandman was one of the few people Sir Henry felt comfortable with. 'It's been too long.'
'It has, Sir Henry.'
'So what are you doing these days?'
'A rather unusual job, sir, which has persuaded me to seek a favour from you.'
'A favour, eh?' Sir Henry still sounded friendly, but there was caution in his eyes.
'I really need to ask it of Hammond, sir.'
'Of Hammond, eh?' Sir Henry peered at Sandman as if he was unsure whether he had heard correctly. 'My butler?'
'I should explain,' Sandman said.
'I imagine you should,' Sir Henry said and then, still frowning in perplexity, went back to the sideboard where he poured two brandies. 'You will have a glass with me, won't you? It still seems odd to see you out of uniform. So what is it you want of Hammond?'
But before Sandman could explain, the double doors to the drawing room opened and Eleanor was standing there and the light from the large drawing room was behind her so that it seemed as if her hair was a red halo about her face. She looked at Sandman, then took a very long breath before smiling at her father. 'Mother was concerned that you would miss the duet, Papa.'
'The duet, eh?'
'The Pearman sisters, Papa, have been practising for weeks,' Eleanor explained, then looked back again to Sandman. 'Rider,' she said softly.
'Miss Eleanor,' he said very formally, then bowed.
She gazed at him. Behind her, in the drawing room, a score of guests were perched on gilt chairs that faced the open doors of the conservatory where two young women were seating themselves on the piano bench. Eleanor glanced at them, then firmly closed the doors. 'I think the Pearman sisters can manage without me. How are you, Rider?'
'I am well, thank you, well.' He had thought for a second that he would not be able to speak for the breath had caught in his throat and he could feel tears in his eyes. Eleanor was wearing a dress of pale-green silk with yellow lace at the breast and cuffs. She had a necklace of gold and amber that Sandman had not seen before, and he felt a strange jealousy of the life she had led in the last six months. She was, he remembered, engaged to be married and that cut deep, though he took care to betray nothing. 'I am well,' he said again, 'and you?'
'I am distraught that you are well,' Eleanor said with mock severity. 'To think you can be well without me? This is misery, Rider.'
'Eleanor,' her father chided her.
'I tease, Papa, it is permitted, and so few things are.' She turned on Sandman. 'Have you just come to town for the day?'
'I live here,' Sandman said.
'I didn't know.' Her grey eyes seemed huge. What had Sir George Phillips said of her? That her nose was too long, her chin too sharp, her eyes too far apart, her hair too red and her mouth too lavish, and it was all true, yet just by looking at her Sandman felt almost light-headed, as though he had drunk a whole bottle of brandy and not just two sips. He stared at her and she stared back and neither spoke.
'Here in London?' Sir Henry broke the silence.
'Sir?' Sandman forced himself to look at Sir Henry.
'You live here, Rider? In London?'
'In Drury Lane, sir.'
Sir Henry frowned. 'That's a trifle—' he paused, 'dangerous?'
'It's a tavern,' Sandman explained, 'that was recommended to me by a Rifle officer in Winchester and I was settled in before I discovered it was, perhaps, a less than desirable address. But it suits me.'
'Have you been here long?' Eleanor asked.
'Three weeks,' he admitted, 'a little over.'
She looked, Sandman thought, as though he had struck her in the face. 'And you didn't call?' she protested.
Sandman felt himself reddening. 'I was not sure,' he said, 'to what end I should call. I thought you would appreciate it if I did not.'
'If you thought at all,' Eleanor said tartly. Her eyes were grey, almost smoky, with flecks of green in them.
Sir Henry gestured feebly towards the doors. 'You're missing the duet, my dear,' he said, 'and Rider came here to see Hammond, of all people. Isn't that right, Rider? It's not really a social call at all.'
'Hammond, yes,' Sandman confirmed.
'What on earth do you want with Hammond?' Eleanor asked, her eyes suddenly bright with inquisitiveness.
'I'm sure that's for the two of them to discuss,' Sir Henry said stiffly, 'and me, of course,' he added hastily.
Eleanor ignored her father. 'What?' she demanded of Sandman.
'Rather a long story, I fear,' Sandman said apologetically.
'Better that than listening to the Pearman sisters murder their music teacher's setting of Mozart,' Eleanor said, then took a chair and put on an expectant face.
'My dear,' her father began, and was immediately interrupted.
'Papa,' Eleanor said sternly, 'I am sure that nothing Rider wants with Hammond is unsuitable for a young woman's ears, and that is more than I can say for the effusions of the Pearman girls. Rider?'
Sandman suppressed a smile and told his tale, and that gave rise to astonishment, for neither Eleanor nor her father had connected Charles Corday with Sir George Phillips. It was bad enough that the Countess of Avebury had been murdered in the next street, now it seemed that the convicted murderer had spent time in Eleanor's company. 'I'm sure it's the same young man,' Eleanor said, 'though I only ever heard him referred to as Charlie. But he seemed to do a great deal of the work.'
'That probably was him,' Sandman said.
'Best not to tell your mother,' Sir Henry observed gently.
'She'll think I came within an inch of being murdered,' Eleanor said.
'I doubt he is a murderer,' Sandman put in.
'And besides, you were chaperoned, surely?' her father enquired of Eleanor.
'Of course I was chaperoned, Papa. This is,' she looked at Sandman and raised an eyebrow, 'a respectable family.'
'The Countess was also chaperoned,' Sandman said, and he explained about the missing girl, Meg, and how he needed servants to retail the local gossip about the fate of the staff from Avebury's house. He apologised profusely for even thinking of involving Hammond. 'Servants' tittle-tattle isn't something I'd encourage, sir,' he said, and was interrupted by Eleanor.
'Don't be so stuffy, Rider,' she said, 'it doesn't require encouraging or discouraging, it just happens.'
'But the truth is,' Sandman went on, 'that the servants all talk to each other and if Hammond can ask the maids what they've heard…'
'Then you'll learn nothing,' Eleanor interrupted again.
'My dear,' her father protested.
'Nothing!' Eleanor reiterated firmly. 'Hammond is a very good butler and an admirable Christian, indeed I've often thought he would make a quite outstanding bishop, but the maidservants are all quite terrified of him. No, the person to ask is my maid Lizzie.'
'You can't involve Lizzie!' Sir Henry objected.
'Why ever not?'
'Because you can't,' her father said, unable to find a cogent reason. 'It simply isn't right.'
'It isn't right that Corday should hang! Not if he's innocent. And you, Papa, should know that! I've never seen you so shocked!'
Sandman looked enquiringly at Sir Henry, who shrugged. 'Duty took me to Newgate,' he admitted. 'We City
