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Authors: Michelle Diener
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Aldridge House. “That’s a lot of house for so few.”
“All closed up.” Jones shrugged. “If we need something doing, we call people in, but Sir Barrington hasn’t been back for near two years. Never even met him, meself. When old Simons, their butler, passed on, the other staff moved on to other jobs. Couldn’t bear to stay, ’specially with the house empty. So Sir Barrington’s solicitors appointed me ’n’ Mary to take it on.”
They were back at the front door, which stood open, and Jones went first, lantern high.
“Two rooms down to the right, I think. That’s where it seemed the light was coming from,” Jonathan said.
The room was a parlor or drawing room of some kind. Everything was covered in dust sheets, except for a small, delicate Sheraton writing desk. It was open, and papers were scattered around the floor.
Jones put the lantern down on top of it and stared. “There ain’t nothing valuable in there; it’s just the post that comes in for Sir Barrington. His solicitor picks it up once a week. I put it in this desk meself. If Mr. Greenway thinks it’s not important enough to forward on to Sir Barrington or isn’t summat for him to deal with, it gets left in there.”
“When did Mr. Greenway last come to collect the post?”
“Yesterday mornin’. And there ain’t been any new post since then.”
Fortunate. Very fortunate.
“Would you like me to let the authorities know about this, Jones? Or inform Mr. Greenway, so that he can take it further?”
“If you would, your lordship.” Jones didn’t try to hide the relief in his tone.
They searched the ground floor for open windows. Only the one the thief had climbed out of was open, and it had clearly been jimmied with the crowbar that lay abandoned inside the room.
With no choice but to leave it for the next day, Jones locked the room behind them and led Jonathan back to the front door. “I’ll have the carpenters in in th’ mornin’. Have them look at all th’ windows, make sure they’re all sturdy.”
Jonathan gave a nod and walked home. He’d thought atfirst it might have been Giselle Barrington in the house, but the person running across the garden had definitely been a man.
Was someone looking through Barrington’s correspondence for evidence of where she was? Or when she planned to return?
Or were they hoping Barrington or his daughter might have posted the tsar’s document to Goldfern?
His front door swung open before he reached it, and Edgars was there to take his coat.
“Good evening, sir.”
He gave a nod. “All well here?”
Edgars hesitated a moment. “All fine, my lord.”
Jonathan turned sharply. “What is it?”
Edgars looked away, uncomfortable. “Just the new cook, acting a bit strange.”
“Strange? How?”
Edgars looked down at his shoes, a red flush on his cheeks. “She went out, sir, and then came flying back in as if the devil himself were after her. Said she thought someone was following her.”
Jonathan looked toward the servants’ staircase. “I wonder . . . I saw a burglar over at the Goldfern place. He got away. I wonder if our cook saw him?”
“A burglar?” Edgars raised his head. “She did seem very frightened, my lord. Perhaps she was right to be.” He looked at the stairway as well.
“Call her up to the library if you will, Edgars. I’m going toBarrington’s solicitor tomorrow, and I might as well have all the information I can about the matter.”
“Certainly, my lord.” Edgars looked as if he were being forced to swallow a frog.
“What is it?” Jonathan tried to keep the irritation from his voice.
Edgars looked down the stairs again and fidgeted in place.
He was frightened of her! Or at least nervous around her. In that respect, his new cook was like every other cook he’d ever had.
“I think she’s gone to bed,” Edgars said.
“Knock softly. If she doesn’t answer, we’ll leave it for tomorrow.”
What had Madame Levéel done to his
“All closed up.” Jones shrugged. “If we need something doing, we call people in, but Sir Barrington hasn’t been back for near two years. Never even met him, meself. When old Simons, their butler, passed on, the other staff moved on to other jobs. Couldn’t bear to stay, ’specially with the house empty. So Sir Barrington’s solicitors appointed me ’n’ Mary to take it on.”
They were back at the front door, which stood open, and Jones went first, lantern high.
“Two rooms down to the right, I think. That’s where it seemed the light was coming from,” Jonathan said.
The room was a parlor or drawing room of some kind. Everything was covered in dust sheets, except for a small, delicate Sheraton writing desk. It was open, and papers were scattered around the floor.
Jones put the lantern down on top of it and stared. “There ain’t nothing valuable in there; it’s just the post that comes in for Sir Barrington. His solicitor picks it up once a week. I put it in this desk meself. If Mr. Greenway thinks it’s not important enough to forward on to Sir Barrington or isn’t summat for him to deal with, it gets left in there.”
“When did Mr. Greenway last come to collect the post?”
“Yesterday mornin’. And there ain’t been any new post since then.”
Fortunate. Very fortunate.
“Would you like me to let the authorities know about this, Jones? Or inform Mr. Greenway, so that he can take it further?”
“If you would, your lordship.” Jones didn’t try to hide the relief in his tone.
They searched the ground floor for open windows. Only the one the thief had climbed out of was open, and it had clearly been jimmied with the crowbar that lay abandoned inside the room.
With no choice but to leave it for the next day, Jones locked the room behind them and led Jonathan back to the front door. “I’ll have the carpenters in in th’ mornin’. Have them look at all th’ windows, make sure they’re all sturdy.”
Jonathan gave a nod and walked home. He’d thought atfirst it might have been Giselle Barrington in the house, but the person running across the garden had definitely been a man.
Was someone looking through Barrington’s correspondence for evidence of where she was? Or when she planned to return?
Or were they hoping Barrington or his daughter might have posted the tsar’s document to Goldfern?
His front door swung open before he reached it, and Edgars was there to take his coat.
“Good evening, sir.”
He gave a nod. “All well here?”
Edgars hesitated a moment. “All fine, my lord.”
Jonathan turned sharply. “What is it?”
Edgars looked away, uncomfortable. “Just the new cook, acting a bit strange.”
“Strange? How?”
Edgars looked down at his shoes, a red flush on his cheeks. “She went out, sir, and then came flying back in as if the devil himself were after her. Said she thought someone was following her.”
Jonathan looked toward the servants’ staircase. “I wonder . . . I saw a burglar over at the Goldfern place. He got away. I wonder if our cook saw him?”
“A burglar?” Edgars raised his head. “She did seem very frightened, my lord. Perhaps she was right to be.” He looked at the stairway as well.
“Call her up to the library if you will, Edgars. I’m going toBarrington’s solicitor tomorrow, and I might as well have all the information I can about the matter.”
“Certainly, my lord.” Edgars looked as if he were being forced to swallow a frog.
“What is it?” Jonathan tried to keep the irritation from his voice.
Edgars looked down the stairs again and fidgeted in place.
He was frightened of her! Or at least nervous around her. In that respect, his new cook was like every other cook he’d ever had.
“I think she’s gone to bed,” Edgars said.
“Knock softly. If she doesn’t answer, we’ll leave it for tomorrow.”
What had Madame Levéel done to his
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