“Yeah, I s’pose we were.” There was awe in Biddie’s voice and there was no movement of the iron. It must be quite cool by now, and she had not changed it for the hot one on the stove.
“What were they like, the three women?” Minnie asked. “I didn’t even see them.”
Still sitting motionlessly, Gracie saw Biddie’s skirt give a twitch as she shrugged her shoulders. “Ordinary enough, ma’am. You shouldn’t
’ave ter know about them things.”
“Oh, please!” Minnie begged. “I won’t tell anyone you said so. I just need to know. There are only three men suspected, one of them is my husband. Please!”
Biddie must have looked at Minnie’s face, because she relented.
“Well, they was women from one o’ the bawdy ’ouses, not off the street, like. Clean an’ all. At least far as yer can know. An’ dressed quite decent when they come.”
“But they were. . professional?”
“Oh, yeah. Yer can tell that by the way they talked.”
“You’ve seen them before?” Minnie pressed.
Gracie was getting a crick in her back, but she dared not draw at -
tention to herself by moving.
“Not them in particular,” Biddie answered after apparently having thought for a moment. “But ones like ’em.”
“Does Mr. Tyndale know them?” Minnie was not yet satisfied.
Biddie giggled. “Not Mr. Tyndale, ma’am. ’E don’t approve of it something terrible, but it’d be more’n ’is job’s worth ter say so. It don’t do ter let anyone think as yer’ve got opinions.”
“No,” Minnie agreed. “Of course it doesn’t. Who finds these women, then?”
“Oh, ma’am. . I. .”
“Are you telling me you don’t know?” Minnie was incredulous.
“Somebody must have taken them in and upstairs, and then told somebody they were here. Otherwise they could have been anyone.”
“Oh, they was ’oo they said, ma’am!” Biddie responded instantly.
“Who said so?”
“Mr. Dunkeld, ma’am.”
“I see.” There was profound emotion in Minnie’s voice. It was husky, almost choked. Was that what she had wanted to prove, or to disprove? “And when the two of them left, who took them out? And what about the old man who helped carry the box up?”
“When the two o’ them went they looked much the same,” Biddie told her. “Bit used, like, wot yer’d expect. A good few drinks the worse for wear, but not ’urt or nothing.”
“And the old man,” Minnie urged. “What did he look like? Was he strong? Might he have attacked her, do you think? Was he rough-looking?”
Biddie’s voice was gentle. “I’m real sorry, ma’am, but ’e looked like ’e were too old ter be up ter such things. An’ the way I ’eard it,
’e took the box up an’ came down again to his ’orse, then straight back up to fetch the box when it were empty. I’m real sorry, but that won’t ’elp yer, ma’am, much as I wish it would.”
“That’s all right. Thank you,” Minnie said, moving again, from the rustle of her skirts. “I’m very obliged for your help. Please don’t repeat our conversation to anyone.”
“No, ma’ am,” Biddie promised. There was a swish of silk and a moment later Biddie swore. “Stupid article!” she said in exasperation.
“She din’t even taken ’er linen with ’er after all!”
Gracie stood up, relieved to move at last. “I’ll take it up to ’er as soon as I’ve finished this. I’m nearly done.”
“Ta,” Biddie said sincerely.
Q u a r t e r o f a n hour later Gracie was on the guest landing with Minnie Sorokine’s chemise neatly folded, but there was no answer at her bedroom door, which was locked. Norah, in the pantry, had no idea where she was, but thought she had gone back downstairs.
“Again?” Gracie asked her. “Are yer sure?”
“ ’Course I’m sure,” Norah said indignantly. “Ever such an odd one, she is.” She was putting away the tea canisters after filling them: Dar-jeeling, Earl Grey, China. “Not a beauty like Mrs. Quase, but yer can’t miss that Mr. Marquand prefers ’er. Can’t keep ’is eyes off ’er, Ada says. An’ Mrs. Sorokine don’t seem ter care. Askin’ me about buckets an’ mops and carryin’ things around in the middle o’ the night. As if I’d know! An’ now she’s gone downstairs ter ask Timmons about it.”
“About wot?”
“About ’oo was cleanin’ up, fetchin’ an’ carryin’ bits o’ broken china an’ buckets o’ water an’ cloths an’ brushes an’ things! In’t you listening?”
Gracie stiffened. “When?”
“The night that poor creature were killed in the cupboard, o’ course!”
“Then they was cleanin’ out the cupboard,” Gracie concluded.
“Isn’t that clear enough?” She thought of the knife. “ ’Oo was it, anyway?”
“No, it weren’t the cupboard!” Norah replied smartly. “Too clever by ’alf, you are, missy! The policeman done that ’isself. This were way along the other wing, near the Prince and Princess’s own rooms, an’
the Queen ’erself, o’ course. But ’ers is further off again. Maybe they was tryin’ ter get rid of anyone knowin’ that tart ’ad bin along in the Prince’s room. Dunno why! That policeman may not be as sharp as they are, but ’e in’t stupid! ’E knows fine where she were. An’ don’t ask me wot the china were, ’cos I dunno.”
“That’s what Mrs. Sorokine was trying to find out?” Gracie’s mind raced. What on earth was she imagining?
“That’s wot she said. Now do you want me to give that to ’er when she comes back, or not?” She gestured to the chemise.
“Yes. . please. I’ll go and find her to tell her it’s ’ere.” And Gracie passed it to her, then turned on her heel and went to see if she could learn what Minnie Sorokine was looking for, her mind racing with ideas. Why was she asking? What did she suspect? It made no sense.
She had to ask three people before she nearly ran into Minnie herself, talking quietly to one of the footmen. Gracie stopped only just before either of them saw her, and hid behind a curtain to listen.
She felt foolish, but she dared not miss the opportunity.
“What kind of china?” Minnie was saying, her voice sharp with excitement.
Walton, the footman, obviously thought she was so unnerved by the murder that she had taken leave of her judgment. “Just china, ma’am, like a dish or a bowl. No harm, we’ve got plenty. ’Course, it’s a bad thing when something gets broken, but it happens now an’ again.”
“Did one of the maids break something?” she asked.
“Must have,” he reasoned.
“A bucketful?”
“Got to carry broken pieces in something, ma’am.”
“You could get a whole tea service in a bucket!” she pointed out.
“Who broke it? Don’t they have to own up?”
“It wasn’t a tea service, ma’am, it was just about as much as a good-sized dish. An’ I don’t know who broke it.”
“Which dish was it?”
Gracie could see Walton’s face. He looked totally bemused. “I don’t know, Mrs. Sorokine. Sort of blue, with some gold on it, and white, I think.”
“Do you have a service like that?” There was something like excitement in Minnie’s voice now.
“Not that I can think of. But we must, or it wouldn’t be broken, would it?”
“Thank you very much.” Minnie’s voice sounded frightened, full of raw-edged emotion.
As Gracie saw her swing round she scrambled ridiculously behind the curtain, only just in time to avoid being seen if Minnie had turned. Only she did not turn, she swept back along the corridor at a pace Gracie could not have
