Buckingham Palace Gardens

and Mrs. Marquand’s rooms, and gathered up all the old ones. She staggered down to the laundry with them, occasionally dropping one or two and having to go back and pick them up, awkwardly, dropping others as she did so.

Downstairs in the laundry finally she dumped the lot of them in one of the big wicker baskets and decided to take a look around. If anyone found her here, she could easily say she was looking for soap or bran or any of a dozen other things. It was part of her duties to be familiar with all the cleaning materials available. She saw plenty of bran. Charlotte had shown her how to use that to clean stains out of good fabrics. There was white spirit- probably gin-for the same purpose; also soap, pumice, chalk, turpentine, pipe clay, flowers of sul-fur, black rosin, several large lumps of yellow wax, laundry blue, and fresh-made starch. Below that were bottles labeled for oxalic acid, salts of sorrel, sal ammoniac, and gum arabic.

She changed her mind about attempting to help with laundry and decided to do some detecting instead. She pulled out the other wicker laundry basket and opened it up. Her heart beat violently and her stomach lurched. It was full of sheets, white, with scarlet splashes fad-ing into brown. They were soaked, spattered, and smeared with blood. At the edges it was dull and dried, but in the middle the stains were still red and when she touched her fingertip to them they were damp. Poor woman. There was so much of it! She must have bled and bled. Gracie was a little numb at the thought. What would make anybody do such a thing? And here, of all the places in England.

But then a lot of this was not really as she had thought it would be. It was the Queen’s house. It should be different from everywhere else in the world. And yet the dust and the ring marks on tables, the dropped ash, the scuffs on the floor, were exactly like anyone’s house.

Except that Pitt would have picked up after himself, and since he could not afford to replace his carpets and tables-he had had to save up to buy them in the first place-he would have taken more care of them.

One of those men really had killed that woman. Why? What kind of rage made you do something like that? Did they think they could get away with it? She had already realized that the servants here protected people from having to pay for reality the way most people do.

Would they hide even this? Was that part of the job description?

Were they paying you not only for your time and your obedience but for your conscience as well? She could just imagine what Samuel would say about that!

But would it help you if the law came after you? That was a totally new thought. Did Pitt have any real power here? If not, why would they pretend with nice words that they wanted him to expose the culprit ready for prosecution, only then to cover it up and deal with it themselves? She knew the answer: because they couldn’t find out without him. Perhaps they needed his brains but not his honesty.

How would they make him keep silent about what he knew? Did he face a danger he knew nothing of?

She was cold now, even though it was steaming hot down here, and the air was full of the smell of soap and washing soda. What could she do to help him? Should she warn him? Would that be good, or only make it worse?

She started to look through the sheets again, deeper into the basket. This might be her only chance to examine them before they were washed. They were of a quality she had never felt before: fine and soft, their threads so fine they could have been silk. And she could smell the sickly odor of the blood.

They were all stitched with tiny holes along the seam at the hem.

She had seen people do drawn thread work like that. It took hours. It was beautiful. Some of them had other embroidery on as well. The two very best had what looked like a V and an R, in satin stitch, and a little crown. Victoria Regina. It could only mean one thing: The Queen’s sheets had been in the cupboard where the poor woman was killed! But they were drenched in blood, soaked in it! And they were crumpled. They had been lain on, in fact they had been slept in. The blood was smeared and marked more lightly, as if transferred from someone’s body who had rolled in it.

Gracie galvanized into movement. She must hide them where they could not be found, then go to fetch Pitt. She had no idea what this information meant, but someone was lying pretty badly, because this made no sense at all. Who had stolen the Queen’s sheets, and used them, and for what? To carry the poor woman’s body, to cover it up, to hide it for a while?

She had the sheets in her hands when she heard footsteps on the stairs and one of the maids giggling. Then Edwards the footman’s voice was quite clear, cajoling, wheedling.

“C’mon, Ada! You know you want me to!”

Gracie had never been in that position herself, but she knew exactly what he meant. What she did not know was whether he was right, and Ada was perfectly willing. Either way, Gracie’s presence here would make an enemy for life of at least one of them, most likely both. And she was doing badly enough with Ada as it was. She found herself hot with embarrassment that she might accidentally witness something she would very much rather not.

“Cheeky!” Ada said warmly. “I don’t know nothin’ o’ the kind!

You fancy yerself way too much, Mr. Edwards, an’ that’s a fact.”

“Not ’alf as much as I fancy you!” he retorted. “ ’Old still, then!”

They had not seen Gracie yet, but a couple of steps farther down into the laundry and they would. Worse, they would realize that she had to have heard them. What would she do? She was revolted at the thought of hiding in one of the baskets, full of other people’s dirty sheets. She might even get marked with blood herself, and how would she explain that? But she had to have these sheets for Pitt. There was no other way out of here, just the one flight of stairs, and Ada and Edwards were already at the foot of it. If Gracie had not been so small, and bent double half behind the linen basket, they would have seen her by now.

She must hide the sheets safely: That was more important than saving herself from embarrassment, or even bullying in the future. It was only for a few days, after all! But how? What could she do to distract their attention? She stared around at the shelves with all their jars and packets, then at the big copper tubs bubbling away with the sheets and towels in them. If she opened the flue on the boiler, it would roar up quickly. There would be steam all over the place- perhaps even a small flood. She could hide the embroidered sheets, stuff them in the bran tub temporarily, and when Ada and Edwards were busy trying to stop the flood, she could come from the bottom of the stairs as if she had just arrived. It might work. It had to.

She crouched behind the basket and reached for the long wooden spirtle that was used to stir the linen around. It would be just long enough to reach the flue, if she were very careful. Her arm ached with the weight of holding it up from one end and keeping it steady. She must make no sudden moves or it might catch their notice.

Ada was giggling more loudly and Edwards was talking softly to her the whole time. If Gracie didn’t do something pretty soon, this was going to get worse. The spirtle was long and awkward. There were tears of frustration in her eyes by the time she finally hit the flue open.

Then the spirtle slipped out of her grip and clattered to the floor.

Miraculously neither of them took any notice. If she got caught now, Ada would never forgive her. She could not afford that. Ada hated her enough already. Gracie had wild thoughts of finishing up in the linen cupboard like the prostitute. Had she also seen something that she shouldn’t have, poor soul? Was that what had got her killed?

It was about the only reason that made any sense. But what could she have seen here that anyone cared about? They seemed to do anything they wanted to anyway.

Seconds ticked by. Ada was resisting, thank heaven, playing a game. Gracie had no idea where to look for Pitt. Could she ask Mr.

Tyndale to find him?

Steam belched out of the copper and the lid banged up and down with the force of it. It happened a second time before Ada realized what it was and gave a yelp of horror. Edwards must have thought it was something he had done, because he laughed.

“The copper’s on too ’igh, stupid!” Ada shouted, as steam billowed out and filled the room. “Come an’ ’elp me get it off!”

As she plunged forward, yanking her dress straight as she went, Gracie slipped through the steam toward the stairs, then turned around rapidly, and gasped with surprise.

“Wot ’appened?” she cried out as if aghast.

“Never you mind!” Ada shouted at her. “Go and get on wi’ yer own job. I’m all right ’ere. Yer swept the stairs