Silence in Hanover Close (15 page)

Emily was too crushed to argue.

“Yes, Mama,” she said wearily. The whole realm of answers and explanations was too tangled in her mind, too alien to Caroline, and too little understood even by herself for her to begin to unravel and present them.

“Good.” Caroline smiled at her. “Now perhaps you will offer me a dish of tea—it is extremely cold outside. And in a few months I shall speak to the vicar. There are committees for various things that would do very nicely as suitable places for you to begin to associate again.”

“Yes, Mama,” Emily said again hollowly, and reached for the bell rope.

The rest of the day was thoroughly miserable. Outside, the wind blew showers of sleet against the windows, and it was so dark all the gas lamps were burning even at midday. Emily finished her letter to Great-aunt Vespasia, and then tore it up. It was too full of self-pity, and she did not want Aunt Vespasia to see that side of her. It was understandable, perhaps, but it was not attractive, and she cared very much what Vespasia thought of her.

When Edward finished his lessons they had afternoon tea together, and then the long evening stretched to an early bed.

The following day was utterly different. It began with the morning mail, which contained a letter from Charlotte posted late the previous evening and marked “Most Urgent.” She tore it open and read:

Dear Emily,

Something very sad has happened, and if we are right, then it is also evil and dangerous. I think the woman in cerise is the key to it all. Thomas knew of her too, from the lady’s maid at the Yorks’. Of course he didn’t tell me about her at the time, because then he did not know we had any interest. She saw Cerise—I shall call her that—at the
York
house in the middle of the night. When I told him what Aunt Addie said you can imagine his reaction!

But the dreadful thing is that when he went into the station at Bow Street before going back to question the maid at Hanover Close again, he heard that she had been
killed
the day before! Apparently she fell out of an upstairs window. Thomas is very upset. Of course, it could have been an accident and nothing to do with his inquiries or the fact that she told him about Cerise, but on the other hand someone may have overheard her. And this is the interesting thing: all the Danvers were in the house when Thomas was there, so anyone might have been in the hall at the time she and Thomas were in the library talking.

What we need to do is find out who was there when she fell. Thomas can’t do it because there is no reason to suspect it wasn’t an ordinary domestic accident. People do sometimes fall out of windows, and one cannot start casting suspicions on a family like the Yorks. And if the whole investigation of Veronica should come out, then there would be the most dreadful scandal and goodness knows who would be hurt. Julian Danver would probably be ruined, and Veronica most certainly would.

You must tell Jack when next he calls.

If there is anything else, I shall tell you as soon as I hear it.

Your loving sister, Charlotte

Emily held the paper with tingling fingers. Her hands were numb and already her mind was racing. The woman in cerise! And the lady’s maid who had seen her in the York house in the middle of the night was now dead.

But they would never get beneath the smooth, supremely disciplined surface of the Yorks’ facade by going for the odd afternoon tea, or walking round the Winter Exhibition and exchanging a few slight confidences on fashion or gossip. Pitt had disturbed something much deeper than an old burglary, or the question of Veronica’s suitability to become the wife of Julian Danver. This was something of such passion and horror that even three years later it could erupt without warning into violence—and now, it seemed quite possible, murder.

They must get closer, much closer—in fact, they must get inside the Yorks’ home.

But how?

An idea occurred to her, but it was preposterous! It would never work. To start with, she would not be able to carry it off; she was sure to be found out immediately. They would know.

How would they know? It would be difficult—of course, it would—she would have to behave entirely differently, alter her appearance, her face, her hair, even her hands and her voice. An Englishwoman’s background could be identified by her voice the moment she spoke; no servant had those rounded vowels, the precise consonants, even if the grammar had been meticulously copied. But Veronica York would be needing a new lady’s maid, someone who would be there all the time, in the unguarded moments, someone who would see everything, as only those who are invisible can. And domestic servants are invisible.

Knowing it was absurd, Emily went on planning how it might be done. She had had a lady’s maid all her life—first her mother’s, then her own—and she knew the duties by heart. Some she would certainly not be very good at; she had never really tried to iron, but surely she could learn? She was rather good at doing hair; she and Charlotte had played at doing each other’s before they had been allowed to wear their hair up. She was adequate with a needle; there could not be all that much difference between embroidering and mending.

The difficulty—and the danger—would be in altering her manner so that she passed for a servant. What was the worst that could happen if she were discovered?

She would be dismissed, of course, but that hardly mattered. They would think she was a well-bred girl who had fallen into some sort of disgrace that necessitated taking a menial position. They would almost certainly assume she had had an illegitimate child, that was the kind of disgrace women fell into. It would be a humiliation, but a brief one. If they ever met her again as Lady Ashworth they would be unlikely to recognize her, because it would never occur to them that it was she; if it did, she could brazen it out. She would look daggers at them and suggest they had lost their wits to make such an offensive and tasteless suggestion.

As a lady’s maid she would not meet any guests to the house; she would never be asked to wait at table, or answer the door. Perhaps the idea was not so absurd after all. They would never discover who had murdered Robert York if they continued as they were. They were playing at it, touching the fringes, knowing there was a terrible passion under the conventional surface, but only throwing around guesses as to what it was, and whom it had pushed into murder. Inside the York house she could learn infinitely more.

She shivered suddenly, thinking of the danger. Being dismissed as a fallen woman would be nothing, a brief embarrassment. But if by some horrendous mischance they did recognize her as Emily Ashworth, they would assume she had taken leave of her senses, that George’s death had robbed her of her sanity. The scandal would be appalling! But there was no reason why that should happen.

No, the real danger was from the person who had already killed Robert York, and possibly Dulcie, killed her simply because she had seen or heard something. Emily would have to be exquisitely careful! She must pretend to be stupid, and innocent, and she must always, always guard her tongue.

The alternative was to give up—to go on sitting here in black, either alone or talking polite rubbish to the few people who called on her, until Caroline arranged some wretched committees for her to be righteous on. She would get nothing but secondhand reports from Charlotte. She would not contribute anything at all herself. Even Jack would be bored with her soon.

By the time Jack called at midmorning she had made the decision. Thank goodness she had not sent that wretched letter to Aunt Vespasia. She was going to need her help. She would call on her that afternoon.

“I’m going to the Yorks’,” she announced as soon as Jack came in.

“I don’t think you can do that, Emily,” he said with a slight frown.

“Oh, not socially!” She waved her hand, dismissing the notion. “Their lady’s maid saw Aunt Addie’s woman in cerise at the Yorks’ house as well, in the middle of the night. She told Thomas—and now she’s dead!”

“The maid?”

“Yes, of course the maid!” Emily said impatiently. “The woman in cerise has vanished, and she must have something to do with treason, and almost certainly Robert York’s murder. We must find out all we can, and we shan’t do that by calling for tea now and then.”

“What else? We can hardly walk in and start interrogating them,” Jack pointed out.

“Even if we could, that wouldn’t do any good.” Emily was excited now. Whatever Jack said it was not going to put her off. For the first time since George’s death she was going to do something totally outrageous, which he would certainly have forbidden, and she was glad there was no one who could command her obedience. “We must be subtle,” she continued. “We must observe them when they have no idea, and little by little they may betray themselves.”

He was at a loss to understand, and with delight she dropped her bombshell.

“I am going to take the position of lady’s maid! I shall write one reference myself, and get another from Great-aunt Vespasia.”

He was stunned. “Good God! You can’t! Emily, you can’t go as a servant!”

“Why not?”

The first minute spark of humor lit in his eyes. “You wouldn’t know how, for a start,” he said.

“I would!” Her chin came up, and she knew she must look and sound ridiculous. “For goodness’ sake, Jack, I’ve had a very good lady’s maid for years. I know perfectly well what she does, and I can do it myself in a pinch. I certainly had to learn how when I was a girl.”

He started to laugh, and at any other time she would have thought it a delightful sound, full of joy and vitality. Now she heard derision in his laughter, and it was extremely provoking.

“I’m not saying it will be easy!” she said sharply. “I am not used to having people tell me what to do, and I shan’t like being at someone else’s beck and call, but I can do it! It will be something of a change from sitting here all day doing nothing at all!”

“Emily, they’ll find you out!” His laughter vanished as it dawned on him that she might be serious.

“Oh no they won’t! I shall be a model of good behavior.”

Disbelief was written all over his face.

“Charlotte has got away with being Miss Barnaby,” she carried on determinedly. “And I’m a far better liar than she is. I shall go this afternoon, otherwise I may be too late. I have written myself a glowing reference, and I shall obtain another from Aunt Vespasia. I have already telephoned her— did I tell you I have acquired a telephone? It’s a wonderful thing; I don’t know why I didn’t get one before—and she is expecting me this afternoon. She will write an introductory letter for me if I ask her.” She was not at all sure that Aunt Vespasia would do anything of the sort, but she would do all she could to persuade her.

Now he looked really concerned. “But Emily, think of the danger! If what you are supposing is true, then someone murdered the maid. If they have even a suspicion of you, you could end up the same way! Leave it to Thomas.”

She swung round on him immediately. “And what do you suggest he do? Go as a footman? He wouldn’t have the slightest idea how to get on, apart from the fact that they know him already and that he is with the police. From what Charlotte says, his superiors aren’t interested in Robert York’s death. All they want to do is make sure Veronica is suitable to marry Julian Danver!”

“Oh come on!” Jack turned sideways in the chair opposite her. “That’s what they said, but it’s obviously an excuse. They don’t care in the least what Veronica does, if she’s discreet about it. And if she weren’t they’d know without anyone’s finding out for them. They’re suspicious about York’s death and whether Veronica had a lover or not, and if he or even Veronica herself murdered Robert. They are just too devious to have said so outright.”

She stared at him. “Are they? What about treason? What about the woman in cerise?”

He thought for a moment. “Well, that could have been Veronica herself after an assignation with Julian Danver, if they were lovers then.”

“Then it was Julian who killed Robert York?”

“Possibly. The fact that he’s an agreeable fellow is irrelevant. Some of the worst cads I’ve known have been charming, as long as you didn’t stand in their way. Or it could have been Harriet leading a double life, with Felix Asherson. She’s obviously in love with him.”

“Charlotte didn’t tell you that!”

“My dear girl, she didn’t need to! Do you think I’m a complete fool? I’ve seen too many flirtations not to know when a woman’s in love. She was polite, she pretended he was a friend and of no romantic interest. She avoided his eyes, and looked at him when he was turned away. She was so careful it must matter to her very much.”

She had had no idea he was so perceptive. It came as a sobering surprise, puncturing her confidence.

“Indeed,” she said coldly. “And of course you are never mistaken—you can read women just like that!” She tried to snap her fingers and failed to make the sharp sound she wished, producing instead only a faint thump. “Hellfire!” she said under her breath. “Well anyway, I am going to the Yorks’. There is something hideously wrong in that house, and I shall discover what it is.”

“Emily, please.” His voice changed completely, the lightness vanished. “If they catch you out in the least thing they may well realize why you are really there! If they pushed one maid out of the window they won’t hesitate to get rid of you, too!”

“They can’t push two maids out of the window,” she said with chill reason. “Eyebrows would be raised, even at the Honorable Piers York!”

“It doesn’t have to be a window,” he said, getting angry himself. “It could be the stairs, or a ladder. They could push you under a carriage wheel, or it might be something you ate. Or you could simply disappear, along with a couple of good pieces of the family silver. Emily, for God’s sake, use a little sense!”

“I am bored to screaming with using sense!” She turned round fiercely and glared at him. “I have worn black, seen no one, and been sensible for six months, and I am beginning to feel as if it was me they buried! I am going to the Yorks’ to be a maid and discover who murdered Robert York, and why. Now, if you wish to come to Great-aunt Vespasia’s with me, you are welcome. Otherwise, will you please excuse me, because I have work to do. I am telling my own staff that I am going to stay with my sister for a while. Of course I shall tell Charlotte the truth. If you want to help, that will be very nice; if not, if you prefer to disassociate yourself, I shall understand completely. Playing detective is not for everyone,” she finished with immense condescension.