Buckingham Palace Gardens

tabletops, or Mrs. Newsome’ll ’ave yer skin.”

“There’s a scratch on the top over there,” Gracie pointed out, indicating an elegant Sheraton table.

“Yeah. Done it the other night when their tarts was ’ere.” Ada’s voice was sharp with disapproval. “Dunno why they can’t just keep

’em in the bedroom. In’t like they could sing, or nothin’.”

“Do you like working here?” Gracie said quickly.

Ada looked surprised. “ ’Course I do! Meet some very good sort o’ people. Never know where it could take yer, if yer lucky and play yer ’and right.”

“Where could yer work better than ’ere?” Gracie was amazed.

“Not work, yer dozy cow!” Ada said in disgust. “Yer wanter work all yer life? I wanter marry someone with a nice steady job an’ ’ave an

’ouse o’ me own. No one ter tell me when ter get up an’ when ter go ter bed.”

It was on the tip of Gracie’s tongue to say, “I’m going to marry a policeman! And not just a constable, a sergeant.” Then she realized she could never say that here. A pity. It would stop Ada’s patronizing air quickly enough.

“Wot is it?” Ada asked her, staring, duster in her hand.

“Yeah.” Gracie let her breath out. “I see wot yer mean. One o’ them guardsmen’d be nice.”

Ada laughed. “They’re gentlemen, stupid! Yer a daft little article!

Where d’yer come from, then? Yer better lookin’ out fer a delivery boy, or summink o’ that sort. When yer finished ’ere yer can sweep the stairs. Then yer can fetch the linen up from the laundry, so we can change all the beds when we do the rooms. An’ don’t ’ang about.

There in’t no time ter waste.”

“I’m coming.” Gracie was amazed how much she resented being ordered around. She had not expected it to be so difficult. Maybe Samuel had something after all. But freedom came at a very high price. And she was here to help Pitt, and to work for her country.

Perhaps the bedrooms might yield some piece of information, although she could not think what it would be. How on earth could she learn anything useful? What would be useful anyway? How would she recognize it if it were there? And what would happen to Pitt if they failed?

However, she had very little time to spare to do more than clean up, dust, tidy, straighten, and fetch linen for Ada. It was hard work going up and down the stairs, and there was a rigid hierarchy among the servants in which she was at the very bottom, which Ada never allowed her to forget. In spite of the fact that she was twenty-one, and therefore very senior for a maid, on this occasion she was passing herself off as far less, and it pinched a little that it was without any difficulty at all. Narraway had told Mr. Tyndale both her real age and that which she was assuming, and he had not argued. She was the newest here, and that was what counted. Ada enjoyed her power and made the most of it. She must have been new once, and she was making sure of her repayment for every indignity she had suffered.

Gracie was on her way up with a pile of towels she could hardly see over the top of when Edwards caught up with her and offered to carry them for her. “No, thank you,” she declined.

“Independent, are we?” he said with a slight edge of offense in his voice.

She avoided his eyes, not wanting to see what might be in them.

“Not really,” she said steadily, climbing the steps by touch more than sight. “Can’t afford ter get the wrong side of anyone on me first day.”

“An’ what if I think you’re being standoffish?” he asked. “Too good to take a bit of an ’and from someone?”

“You wouldn’t be so daft!” she said sharply, hoping to heaven it were true. She didn’t need trouble from an amorous footman. “Yer know Ada better’n that, even if yer don’t know me.” She promptly tripped over the bottom step of the next flight, and he grabbed at her arm to steady her. “Thanks,” she said tartly. “Now don’t get me on the wrong side o’ nobody, please.”

“Ada’s gone downstairs,” he replied. “I’ll ’elp yer put these in the rooms, so yer don’t fall over yer feet again.”

“Yeah? An’ if one o’ them ladies comes into ’er room, ’ow are yer goin’ ter explain that then, eh?” she said quickly. “Don’t yer get caught up ’ere on this landin’, or them police is goin’ ter ask yer ’ow often yer come up ’ere when yer in’t supposed ter!”

That silenced him smartly, and she was relieved to see him go back down the stairs again, leaving her alone to place the towels.

Since Ada was gone, she had a little more time. She must make use of it.

She was quick in the women’s rooms. Mrs. Quase’s bedroom was very feminine. She had lots of perfumes and decorative combs, pretty handkerchiefs, silver-backed brushes, creams and ointments in crystal jars. Gracie imagined a woman very keen to preserve her beauty. She could not resist a quick look into the wardrobe, and estimated enough money spent on dresses to pay a score of maids for a year. From what she could see, her frocks were all immaculately cared for.

Mr. Quase’s room was different. There was no smell of perfume in it, rather more like leather and boot polish. The surfaces were very tidy and there was a case for papers. She touched it and found it locked.

Mr. Dunkeld’s room also had a case in it, larger than Quase’s, and it was locked as well. There were expensive cuff links and collar studs in a small bowl. They looked like gold. His shaving things were expensive also, and he had silver-backed brushes for hair and clothes, a silver-handled shoehorn, and an engraved silver whisky flask with a pigskin case on the dresser. He was obviously a man who liked to have expensive possessions and show off a little. The room still smelled vaguely of cigar smoke, for all Ada’s attempts to get rid of it.

They would have to come back with more lavender and beeswax polish. What a waste of time!

She noticed also that he had seven books on the shelf, all to do with Africa. She would like to have looked at them, but she could not risk being caught.

Mrs. Dunkeld’s room had no trace of the smoke. It smelled of lily of the valley, cool and clean, not sweet like Mrs. Quase’s room.

She went down for more towels and came back up again.

Mrs. Sorokine’s room was remarkable for the scarlet robe splashed across the bed and the strings of pearls and crystals flung on the dressing table amid a profusion of hair ornaments and jars of cream and perfume. Fearing she might come back any moment, because the room looked so interrupted, Gracie dared not stay. She placed the towels and left.

Mr. Sorokine’s room was a surprise, largely because of the number of books, and none of them was about Africa, as far as Gracie could see. There was one on the bedside table with a marker in it. She picked it up and looked at the title: The Picture of Dorian Gray. She opened it at random and started to read. She was immediately so absorbed in the strength of the words, the evil and passion in them, that she did not hear the door open. The first she was aware of him was when he spoke.

“Can you read it?”

She was so startled the book slipped out of her hand and fell to the floor. “I’m sorry!” she said too loudly, feeling the heat scorch up her face.

He bent and picked it up, being careful to straighten the pages.

“Can you?” he asked again.

She stared at him in horror. He was a tall man, handsome, with a broad brow. He had strong features, but not insensitive. Somehow, she would have expected his eyes to be brown, not the gray they were.

She nodded. It was not a matter of not lying to him so much as not denying the gift Charlotte had given her.

He smiled. “What did it say?”

“It were about wanting to be beautiful always,” she answered, gulping. “An’ young.”

He looked satisfied, as if her answer pleased him. “I’ll leave it on the table,” he told her. “Then you can look at it again. You can put the towels on the dresser.”

She had left them in a heap on the bed. Her face still burning, she picked them up and put them where they should be. Then, with hands shaking, she fled into the corridor.

Without looking at anything at all, she replaced the towels in Mr.