Want ter end up wi’ yer belly cut open, do yer? Not that yer’ve got anythin’ as’d drive any man wild, ’ceptin’ as ’e got cheated, thinkin’
as yer was a woman, an’ all! Put yer in a matchbox, we could-an’ a good idea that’d be, an’ all.”
Gracie felt the sting of insult. She was very aware that she was small, and too thin. There was nothing feminine or shapely about her.
She had no idea why Samuel Tellman wanted her, except that to begin with she would have nothing to do with him. Now the whole idea of their marriage was frightening, in case she disappointed him terribly. But Ada would never know that.
What was important right now was that Ada had told her something she had not known: Minnie was also interested in the box, and what had been in it, or had not been.
“Yer reckon as that was wot got ’er killed?” she asked, forcing the rest out of her mind.
“Yeah! I do, an’ all,” Ada responded. “Always askin’ questions, she was, just like you. If yer don’t want nobody ter cut yer throat, then keep yer mouth shut!”
“I’m gonna tidy the bedrooms,” Gracie said, picking her duster up and striding toward the door. Actually she was going to find Mr. Tyndale. She needed his help and there was no time at all to waste. She wished she had realized the possible importance of the box before, but the beginning of an idea had only just entered in her head.
As she crossed the landing she heard Ada shouting behind her.
She was tempted for an instant to go back to tell her, extremely patronizingly, to keep her voice down. Good servants never shouted, absolutely never! But she could not afford the luxury of wasting the time it would take.
She found Mr. Tyndale in his pantry and went in without even thinking of leaving the door open.
“Mr. Tyndale, sir,” she began. “I know yer got Mr. Sorokine all locked up, but there’s still things as we don’t know, an’ we gotta be right.” She drew in her breath and hurried on. “We gotta be able ter explain everythin’. Mr. Dunkeld ’ad a box come on the night Sadie was killed, right about the same time. ’E said as it were books, but there in’t no books in ’is rooms, nor in any o’ the other rooms neither, nor in the sittin’ room.”
“The sitting room has at least fifty books, Miss Phipps,” he said gravely. “Possibly more.”
She kept her patience with great difficulty.
“Yeah, I know that, sir. But they in’t books on Africa like Mr.
Dunkeld said ’e sent for so urgent they ’ad ter come in the middle o’ the night. All the ones ’e got were the same as ’e ’ad before.”
Tyndale frowned. “How do you know that, Miss Phipps?”
“ ’Cos I looked!” she said as politely as she could manage. Why was he so slow? “I can read, Mr. Tyndale. I think as ’e ’ad somethin’
else come in that box, an’ somebody’s gotter know wot it were.”
Tyndale looked uncomfortable. “It may have been something for the party, which could be private,” he pointed out.
Gracie felt herself coloring with embarrassment. She had no idea what such a thing would be, and would very much rather not find out.
But that was another luxury detection would cost her. “There in’t nothin’ private when there’s murder, Mr. Tyndale. Somebody must ’a seen it, wotever it were. Edwards ’elped carry it in. ’Ow ’eavy were it?
Books? Yer can feel if somethin’ slides around inside a box yer carryin’. ’Ow ’eavy were it when they took it out again?”
Tyndale still looked just as uncomfortable. “I have no idea what was in it, Miss Phipps. I have no right, and no wish, to inquire into such things. It is better not to know too much of the business of our betters.”
She was touched with pity for him, and impatience.
“Mr. Dunkeld in’t your better, Mr. Tyndale,” she said gently. “An’
I don’t think anybody ’oo pimps around wi’ tarts is either!”
“Miss Phipps!” He was aghast and his voice was probably louder than he had intended it to be.
The pantry door swung open and hit the wall. Mrs. Newsome stood in the opening, her face bright pink, her eyes blazing. “Miss Phipps, I have warned you as much as I intend to about your behavior. Mr. Tyndale may be too kindhearted, or too embarrassed, to discipline you. I am not. You are dismissed. You are not suitable to have a position here at the Palace. Ada has complained about you. Both your work and your attitude are unsatisfactory. And now I find that you have deliberately disobeyed my orders that you were not to come here alone with any gentleman member of staff, and close the doors.
You place Mr. Tyndale in an impossible situation. Pack your boxes and you will leave tomorrow morning. I shall give you a character, but it will not be a good one. The best I can say for you is that, as far as I know, you are honest and clean.”
Tyndale’s face was scarlet. He was mortified with shame, both for what Mrs. Newsome apparently thought and because he had failed to protect Gracie from her wrath. He knew no way to extricate himself now without letting her down. Perhaps also he was disappointed that Mrs. Newsome should think so little of him as to have leaped to such a conclusion.
It was up to Gracie to protect him. He was in this position because of his duty toward her, which he had promised to observe. The case was nearly over. Mrs. Newsome was going to be either a friend or an enemy. Neutrality was no longer an option. Gracie made her decision.
“Mr. Tyndale, I got ter tell ’er,” she said earnestly. “It in’t that I’m not grateful, I am. But we need ’er ’elp, an’ we in’t got time ter mess around ’opin’.”
He nodded very slowly. “I understand.” He looked over Gracie’s head. “Mrs. Newsome, would you be so good as to close the door? I find myself in a position where I am obliged to break a trust, or face an even worse situation. I would like to do it as discreetly as possible.”
Mrs. Newsome blinked. The color had not ebbed from her face, but she was no longer so certain of herself. She closed the door in obedience, but she still stood as far away from him as possible. The air in the small room was charged with emotion.
“Mrs. Newsome,” Tyndale began. He glanced at Gracie, then continued. “Miss Phipps is working here for Special Branch. Mr. Narraway asked me to take her on, and keep her position here completely secret, so she might have as much freedom, and safety, as possible in helping Inspector Pitt to learn the truth of what happened to the two unfortunate women who have been murdered.” He was speaking too quickly, gasping for breath. “If she has appeared to take liberties, they have been necessary in order to carry out her primary duty. There was no one she could confide in except me, therefore she was obliged to speak to me alone. Ada is a busybody with a jealous and cruel tongue.
If anyone should be dismissed, it is she.”
Mrs. Newsome stared at Gracie as if she had crawled out of an apple on the dessert plate. Then she looked past her at Mr. Tyndale again. “I see. I understand why she has behaved so. . indiscreetly.
What I do not understand, Mr. Tyndale, is why you did not feel as if you could have trusted me with the truth. I would have thought after all the years we have worked together, you might have thought better of me, indeed would have known it.” She turned round and put her hand on the doorknob to leave.
“I was asked not to, Mrs. Newsome,” Tyndale said miserably. “It was not my choice.”
She kept her back to him. Her voice trembled. “And did you complain? Did you say that it was necessary to take me into your confidence, and that I am to be trusted as much as you are?”
He did not answer. He had been distracted with anxiety, even fear, and he had not.
Gracie sighed. This was all so terribly painful, and it did not have to be. “Mrs. Newsome, ma’am,” she said softly, “if yer ’adn’t ’ated me, if yer’d bin nice ter me, like it were all all right, then someone like Ada’d ’ave known there were summink different, an’ she’d ’ave worked it out. It weren’t until Mrs. Sorokine got killed as we knew ’oo it were as done it. An’ ter be honest, even now we in’t fer certain sure.
Not completely. There’s still things we don’t know-like wot were in that box wot Edwards ’elped ter carry up the stairs ter Mr. Dunkeld the same night as poor Sadie were gettin’ killed. An’ wot were in it when ’e took it back down again.”
Mrs. Newsome turned and stared at her. The color in her face was ebbing away, leaving only two blotches on her cheeks. She looked at Mr. Tyndale as if Gracie had not even been there. She drew in her breath sharply, then let
