this place? Every house in the street has a maid and some o’ them has a cook an’ all.’
Jasper had made — stolen — a lot of money over the last two years, and a few months before, they had moved into this house, detached and with rooms for servants. It was one in a street of middle-class dwellings, the homes of solicitors, accountants, a doctor or two. Now he said, ‘No maid. I won’t have one because there’s too much to be seen. Gawd knows what she’d find when she was cleaning.’ Most of his loot he sold to a fence and banked the proceeds, but some items he kept. There was a handsome clock, an oil painting of a nude, and others.
Flora tried again: ‘The neighbours might talk ‘cause we haven’t got anybody.’
‘ No, they won’t. Not them. They’ll keep themselves to themselves like they always do. You just smile nicely and say, "My husband works in the City," in your posh voice, and they’ll be happy. Now, come here.’ And he dragged her down to him.
* * *
‘Why, they’ve not been properly married for years!’ Ada’s voice was lowered but Cecily, standing in her father’s study, could hear the maid clearly. She stood still, dressed in only a thin robe but warmed by the morning sunlight streaming through the windows.
Jane, newly up from the country and being shown the ropes by Ada, said ‘Ooh! Really?’
‘ Well, they’ve got separate rooms. He’s always going off for days at a time. He’s been in France for the past week, supposed to be on business. I know what sort o’ business that is. And she has men come here. They stay in one of the guest rooms so it all looks right and proper, but we’ve seen them going back to it in the mornings.’
‘ When the cat’s away ...’ Jane sniggered.
‘ ... get another Tom,’ Ada finished. They both laughed, then she went on, ‘That’s done.’ They had lit the fire in the breakfast room and now returned to the kitchen.
Cecily was no more than irritated. She had overheard that kind of conversation more than once over the years. She knew that whatever her parents did was right, and those who whispered behind their backs were prissy or envious. Now she decided that if she ever had the ordering of this household Ada would go. She looked in the bookcase, found the volume she wanted and carried it upstairs to the schoolroom. It had once been the nursery, but the nurse had long since departed and Cecily, now fifteen, was taught by a governess. The latest in a succession of appointments was Miss Estelle Beaumont. She had told her pupil to write an essay on the Norman Conquest but the subject bored Cecily. She had other things to do with her time so she would copy out a chunk of the encyclopedia.
Estelle Beaumont was slender, comely, shy and of good family, but she was without money and had been alone in the world since the death of her father. In the schoolroom that morning she read the hastily written essay and ventured, ‘It is — scribbled, rather.’
‘ Well, you’ve read it so it’s clear enough,’ Cecily said carelessly.
‘ And it seems to be a copy of the entry in the encyclopedia.’
Cecily reddened. ‘It’ll be right, then, so what does it matter? And don’t you dare accuse me of cheating. That’s just quoting.’
If Estelle hadn ’t known before why there had been a succession of governesses in this house, she did now. She tried another tack: ‘Sit up, dear, straight back. It’s most important for your posture.’ She demonstrated, advancing her shapely bosom. It was at that point that the schoolroom door opened and Charles Spencer entered.
‘ Daddy!’ Cecily shrieked. She jumped up and threw her arms around him. ‘When did you get home?’
‘ Just now.’ He held her, but his eyes were looking over her head at Estelle. ‘Good day to you, Miss Beaumont.’
She bobbed him a curtsey. ‘Good day, sir. I trust you had a comfortable journey.’
‘ I did.’
‘ Take me to the park, Daddy,’ Cecily said
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