The Sleeping Partner (16 page)

The room was a little smaller than the parlor they had lately quit, whitewashed and with no ornament but two windows that admitted afternoon sunlight. Wooden benches lined three walls, facing two chairs at the head of the room where two women sat, both with Bibles open in their laps. On the benches sat the rest of the inmates of the house, perhaps a dozen women, each with a workbasket at her side and a piece of sewing in her hands. There were candles—the room reeked of tallow—in tall holders at the ends of each bench, but they had not yet been lit, and the women bent to peer at their work.

Mrs. Rillington urged her visitor forward. “Walk among them, madam. Girls, your prayers!”

At her command all the women in the room raised their faces up and began to murmur the Lord’s Prayer. Miss Tolerance walked among them as required, looking at each woman’s face. They were of varying ages, all thin and tired looking; several appeared sickly; at least two of them had once been very pretty. None of them was Evadne Thorpe. Miss Tolerance finished her circuit, shook her head, and thanked the women for their time.

Mrs. Rillington frowned. “Back to your work, then!” She turned and left, compelling the visitor to follow. The readers took up their Bibles again. In the hall Mrs. Rillington waited to dismiss Miss Tolerance.

“I am sorry your sister was not here, my dear. If you will give me her name I can tell you if she comes—”

Miss Tolerance had no intention of giving Evadne Thorpe’s name to this woman. “By then it is likely to be too late to help my mother, ma’am. I thank you very much indeed for your assistance. I must continue my search, but first,” she took a coin from her reticule and pressed it into the other woman’s hand. “Let me give you something toward the maintenance of this good house.”

Mrs. Rillington nodded as if it were only her due. She did not wish Miss Tolerance luck in her search—apparently no girl not fortunate enough to come to her was anything to her—but did wait until Miss Tolerance was on her way out the door to examine the amount of the coin she had been given.

The rest of Miss Tolerance’s afternoon was very much the same. She managed to visit four more reformatory homes, all similar in look and piety to Mrs. Rillington’s. Two were under the aegis of the church, one was a private charity, and the last was run by a pair of beleaguered Roman Sisters, but all of them depressed Miss Tolerance mightily. By the time she had left the last it was near dusk and she was hungry. She had not been to Tarsio’s that day; perhaps Lady Brereton had left a message for her. She gave the chairmen orders for Henry Street and sat back. She had now a long list of places Evadne Thorpe had not been seen, and between that and the effect of visiting five Magdalene houses in a single afternoon, she felt in need of restoratives.

Corton, Tarsio’s second porter, met her at the door. “I was just about to send round to you, miss. You’ve a visitor just come.”

Miss Tolerance raised her eyebrows interrogatively. “Salon or kitchen, Corton?” If this was a tapster from a coaching inn neither he nor Tarsio’s clientele would be comfortable with her interviewing him in the Ladies’ Salon. Corton took her meaning at once.

“I’d reckon you might want to go somewhere else, miss. The Spotted Dog, p’raps? He’s waiting downstairs.”

Miss Tolerance understood from this that her caller was an upper servant whose dignity would not permit him to be visited in the kitchen. “The Spotted Dog is an excellent suggestion.” She pressed a coin into his hand. “If you will tell the man that I will meet him there in five minutes?”

Corton, delighted to have provided an appropriate solution to a problem, bowed Miss Tolerance out of the club before going to give her message to the visitor.

The Spotted Dog was one of those public houses which cater to London’s serving class. As its habitués were in the main upper serving-men with strong opinions on what constituted proper service, it was as comfortable a meeting place as Tarsio’s might have been. Miss Tolerance arrived, causing a little stir by bringing her female self into a surrounding as masculine as any club in London, bespoke a pot of coffee, and sat by a window. There was an observable hierarchy among the clientele, based both upon their own rank and the position of their employers. Miss Tolerance witnessed a passage between a senior servant from a gentleman’s household, attempting to maintain his status with a junior man in service to a Marquess. The Marquess’s man appeared to be winning. Faint strains of “When
we
were visited by the earl of Liverpool…” could be heard from the footman as she went past.

“Miss Tolerance?”

The man who inquired for her was short, bandy-legged, and wiry. From his build Miss Tolerance would have taken him for a stableman, but he wore a suit of broadcloth appropriate to an indoor servant. He had short-cropped white hair, very blue eyes, and the ruddy complexion of the inebriate. He seemed sober enough now, however. He presented a note to her.

“Lady Brereton’s compliments, miss. I believe you were wishful to speak to someone from the house.”

“Indeed I was, sir. Pray sit. Will you take coffee, ale, or wine?” Miss Tolerance opened the note from Lady Brereton, which introduced her visitor as the chief footman at Lord Lyne’s house, by name John Wheeler. Mr. Wheeler requested ale, which was ordered at once.

“Lady Brereton will have told you why I wished to meet with you?”

“You’re going to find Miss Evie.”

I hope it shall be as easy as that.
“And you have no reluctance to speak to me?”

Wheeler shook his head. “Known Miss Evie all her life, miss. A very sweet little girl she was, and growing into a fine woman. Family didn’t ought to let her go without they try to find her.”

“I presume that Miss Thorpe’s disappearance has been discussed in the servants’ hall?” At Wheeler’s nod, “What is the sense among you? Was the elopement a great surprise?”

“It was, miss.” Wheeler’s ale arrived and he tasted it with satisfaction.

“There had never been any sign that she was attached to some young man?”

Wheeler leaned forward confidingly. “None any of us noticed. Not gifts nor letters. When Miss Clarissa—Lady Brereton as is now—was out, there was always flowers and notes and the like. In course, Miss Evie wasn’t out yet. When the season started, though, she’d have had beaux. But for now? Naught.”

“Nothing came to her from Whiston Hall?” That was Lord Lyne’s Warwickshire house.

“No, miss. Not for Miss Evie. Things come back and forth to the master, in course of business, but nothing come for Miss Evadne.”

“Well, let us talk of other things. Can you tell me what happened that day—who came and went at the house, if anything caught your attention?”

Wheeler took another draught of his ale, set it down, and closed his eyes as if attempting to recall.

“There was—Lord Lyne and Miss Evie had words about something at breakfast—he found her reading something he didn’t like, something about windows? Quite angry he was, red in the face, looking at her over his spectacles with his eyebrows all drawn together. Miss Evie spoke up quite spirited about her book, but milord called it trash and called her a stupid girl. Miss Evie run up to the schoolroom, and that was the last I saw of her until after noon.”

How useful the servants’ hall could be, Miss Tolerance reflected. “Lady Brereton was not at breakfast?”

“No, miss. She takes hers in bed.”

“And what were the comings and goings that morning?

Wheeler thought long. “Miss Clari—Lady Brereton come down a little later and wrote some letters in the little parlor, then went up to see if Miss Evie wanted to go to Bond Street, shopping. Milord stayed in his office—”

“Was he still angry?”

Again Wheeler appeared to give the question substantial thought. “Not that I could see. Milord may rant, but he don’t carry it forward nor hold a grudge, as they say. In any case, he was closeted away all morning. Miss Nottingale and Miss Evie went out for a walk, what Miss Nottingale calls a good ramble. And round about noon Lady Brereton and her maid left to go to the shops. Miss Evie came home a little time after that, and Miss Nottingale sent down for a collation, which was brought up to the schoolroom. And then—” Miss Tolerance had the distinct sense that Mr. Wheeler was frustrated by his lack of knowledge.”—then Lady Brereton returned home, might have been two o’clock, and Miss Evie wa’n’t nowhere to be found. No one thought much of it until my lord come out his study, maybe an hour after Lady Brereton come home. He come out calling for Miss Evie, red in the face and roaring mad. You know the rest, miss.”

“I do. Thank you, Mr. Wheeler.” Miss Tolerance was trying to make a picture for herself of what the family’s movements had been that morning. “Were there other comings and goings that morning? Deliveries, mail, messages? Anything for Miss Evadne?”

“Miss Evie? A man did come from the library with a package for Miss Evie. Mail come, and messages for milord. Business, like.”

“A package from the library. Was she expecting it?”

Wheeler shook his head. “That I cannot say, miss. I was on my way down to the servants’ hall when it come; Pinney went up to fetch her.”

“And what time was that? Who was the last to see her?”

“Annie, one of the maids, she saw Miss Evie when she brought the tray to the schoolroom, which’d be about half past one. I asked particularly before I come tonight. Annie, and then Pinney, as I said. That was the last anyone in the servants’ hall saw of her.”

Miss Tolerance nodded. “There is usually a footman at the door? How could Miss Thorpe have let the house unobserved?”

Wheeler looked faintly embarrassed. “Servants’ hall has its dinner at two o’clock, ma’am, although there’s a man left upstairs to answer the door. Pinney’d ha’ seen her did she leave that way, ‘less he was called away. Or she might have slipped out the garden gate to the alley and none the wiser.”

“I see.” Miss Tolerance bit her lip. “And there was surprise in the servants’ hall at Miss Thorpe’s elopement?”

“You might have knocked us all down with a feather!”

“Because there was no sign of a lover?”

“Well, that. But, too, Miss Evie ain’t that sort of girl even if she did fancy herself in love. Nor if she were mad at her pa; not one of us can imagine her doing such a thing for spite. You’d ought to ask Miss Nottingale, of course.”

“Miss Nottingale is of the same opinion.” Miss Tolerance paused to think. “Lord Lyne was in his office all day? That room is on the first floor?”

“To the right of the top of the stairs, yes, miss. It’s paired with the little withdrawing room in the back of the house, then—”

“How do you think Miss Evie left her letter for her father?” Miss Tolerance interrupted. “If he did not read it until, what? Three o’clock? And milord was in his office all day? Unless she asked someone to deliver it to him, surely her father would have seen her leave the letter.”

Wheeler’s ruddy face grew redder still. He thought, thought again, and looked at her with surprise. “I don’t see how she could. She didn’t give it to no one. There’s a tray left out for mail to be franked by milord; she could have dropped it there.”

“Would the footman have seen her do so?”

Wheeler’s face fell. “Pinney’d have been in and around the hallway and likely to see her, but he might not ha’ taken note.”

Miss Tolerance agreed. “This suggests one of three things: that Pinney was in her confidence—” she cut Mr. Wheeler off as he began to sputter a protest ”—that she put the letter on the tray unseen; or that the letter was delivered to the door and thence to Lord Lyne.”

“Miss, I’d take my oath that Pinney would ‘ave said if ‘e’d seen ‘er.” In his anxiety Mr. Wheeler’s aitches were deserting him. “We’ve all known Miss Evie since she was born, miss. There’s not one of us wishes ‘er ‘arm.”

“I am sure that is so, Mr. Wheeler,” Miss Tolerance said gravely. “May I ask that you have a word with Mr. Pinney—you will know, I am sure, whether he is telling the truth or no—and leave word of what you learn for me at Tarsio’s?”

Mr. Wheeler, who had neglected his ale, refreshed himself with a hearty draught. When he had emptied the pot and licked his lips, he nodded solemnly. “I’ll see to it, miss. If I find Pinney’s been keeping secrets, do you wish to speak to him?” The ale, and a moment of reflection, appeared to have restored Mr. Wheeler to self-possession.

“If it is possible to do so without creating problems with Lord Lyne, yes, I should very much like to speak to him. One last question, Mr. Wheeler.” Miss Tolerance took a sip of her coffee. “You have been with the family for many years?”

”Over twenty-five, miss. Started out in the country at Whiston Hall when I was a boy.”

“Would you say you are acquainted with Lord Lyne’s ways?”

A half-smile quirked the corner of Wheeler’s mouth. “I suppose so, ma’am. Milord is not one of the confiding sort. But a man keeps his eye open and knows the family’s ways.”

“Precisely my thought.” Miss Tolerance took another sip of coffee. “You said Lord Lyne is not a man to hold grudges.”

“I’d not say so, miss. No.”

“Can you think why he might be so determined against assisting his daughter?” Miss Tolerance thought she recognized in Mr. Wheeler’s face a reluctance to indict his master. “Since I cannot see the note Miss Thorpe left, I am trying to understand if there might have been information in it which he did not share with the family, which would explain his attitude.”

“I can’t tell you, miss. I’d have said his lordship was very fond of Miss Evie. This’d have been a blow to him on top of—”

“Yes?”

Again Wheeler looked uncomfortable. “It’s no secret milord wanted Mr. John for the Navy; and it’s no secret that Mr. Henry—”

Miss Tolerance took pity on Wheeler’s scruples. “You need say no more about Mr. Henry; I think I understand that.”

“Lord Lyne’s a man sets great store by the family, by the name. Miss Evie running off like that would be a blow. I’d just not ha’ thought—”

“—that he would show more concern for his name than his daughter? It does seem harsh. Mr. Wheeler, I thank you for your help.” She took out her pocketbook.