the voice. There, smirking at her, was Amy’s Mr Jones: a green-eyed man of middle height, neither fat nor thin, neither handsome nor ugly. He wore a badly pressed suit. Nothing about him seemed likely to inspire squeals of delight or stunned silence, and yet he had done just that.
Mary had first met Octavius Jones, gutter-press journalist and incorrigible busybody, while she was working at St Stephen’s Tower. Admittedly, he’d been a smal help to her towards the end of the case. But he’d also been the only person to see through her disguise as twelve-year-old “Mark Quinn” and unless she was much mistaken, he’d not let that drop now. Jones was a shameless liar who’d not hesitate to sel his mother for tuppence profit, and boast about it afterwards. Needless to say, he was also the last complication she needed on a case such as this.
At the sight of Mary, his face twisted with surprise
– but only for an instant.
“Tavvy!” Amy leapt across the narrow space and planted a row of enthusiastic kisses on his face. “I ain’t expected you for ages!”
He flinched at the nickname but soon recovered. “I couldn’t wait to see you, my dear.” “Tavvy” accepted Amy’s attentions rather in the manner of a man tolerating the ecstatic licking of a puppy, and his eyes were fixed upon Mary the whole time.
“You say the sweetest things!” cooed Amy.
“Darling, aren’t you going to introduce me to your little friend?”
Amy’s voice quivered with pride as she made the introductions. “Mary, this is Mr Octavius Jones; Mr Jones, this is Mary Quinn, who started as a housemaid in the new year.”
Mary dropped a very slight curtsey. “A pleasure, sir.”
Jones’s eyes were now alight with mischief. “The pleasure’s al mine, Miss Quinn. Amy did tel me there had been some changes to the staff in recent months. And if it’s not too forward of me, I must say that you look terribly familiar. Where could I have met you previously?”
Beside him – under his arm, rather – Amy stiffened. “I’m sure you can’t have met before.”
Mary sighed inwardly. It was no more than she expected of him; he was constitutional y incapable of leaving wel alone. But it was infuriating nonetheless.
“I can’t imagine. Might you be mistaken, sir?”
“I doubt it; I’ve an excel ent memory for faces –
especial y features as intriguing as yours. So exotic…” He al but smacked his lips. “Have you, by any chance, foreign blood?”
“Quinn is an Irish name, Mr Jones.” She swung her broom in a larger arc than necessary, nearly grazing his knees. His wide grin at this far-from-subtle gesture only annoyed her more.
“Anyway, it’s lovely to see you now,” said Amy, with brisk determination. “I’m sure Miss Quinn won’t object to our taking a brief strol .”
“Of course not, Amy. Take as long as you like.”
Jones hesitated. “It does feel unkind, though, Miss Quinn, to leave you slaving here al on your own.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Tavvy,” said Amy, trying to keep her good temper. “Miss Quinn doesn’t want to play gooseberry.”
“Certainly not,” agreed Mary. “I wish you good morning, Mr Jones.”
Amy tugged on his arm, trying to draw him away, but Jones held his ground. “You do look so very familiar… Are you quite sure we’ve not met before?
Or perhaps you’ve a sister, or even a brother, who looks like you.”
“London’s a large town, Mr Jones. There must be dozens of women who look just like me.”
“That I refuse to believe. Never mind, it’l come to me in time,” he promised with a cheerful wink. “You just see if it doesn’t.”
Mary found it very difficult not to bring her broom down on his head. “Good-day, Mr Jones,” she said in her frostiest tones.
He final y permitted Amy to drag him away. But as they reached the service gate that led into the parks, he glanced back at her just for a moment. He mouthed a sentence: “See you soon.”
She didn’t
Mary had first met Octavius Jones, gutter-press journalist and incorrigible busybody, while she was working at St Stephen’s Tower. Admittedly, he’d been a smal help to her towards the end of the case. But he’d also been the only person to see through her disguise as twelve-year-old “Mark Quinn” and unless she was much mistaken, he’d not let that drop now. Jones was a shameless liar who’d not hesitate to sel his mother for tuppence profit, and boast about it afterwards. Needless to say, he was also the last complication she needed on a case such as this.
At the sight of Mary, his face twisted with surprise
– but only for an instant.
“Tavvy!” Amy leapt across the narrow space and planted a row of enthusiastic kisses on his face. “I ain’t expected you for ages!”
He flinched at the nickname but soon recovered. “I couldn’t wait to see you, my dear.” “Tavvy” accepted Amy’s attentions rather in the manner of a man tolerating the ecstatic licking of a puppy, and his eyes were fixed upon Mary the whole time.
“You say the sweetest things!” cooed Amy.
“Darling, aren’t you going to introduce me to your little friend?”
Amy’s voice quivered with pride as she made the introductions. “Mary, this is Mr Octavius Jones; Mr Jones, this is Mary Quinn, who started as a housemaid in the new year.”
Mary dropped a very slight curtsey. “A pleasure, sir.”
Jones’s eyes were now alight with mischief. “The pleasure’s al mine, Miss Quinn. Amy did tel me there had been some changes to the staff in recent months. And if it’s not too forward of me, I must say that you look terribly familiar. Where could I have met you previously?”
Beside him – under his arm, rather – Amy stiffened. “I’m sure you can’t have met before.”
Mary sighed inwardly. It was no more than she expected of him; he was constitutional y incapable of leaving wel alone. But it was infuriating nonetheless.
“I can’t imagine. Might you be mistaken, sir?”
“I doubt it; I’ve an excel ent memory for faces –
especial y features as intriguing as yours. So exotic…” He al but smacked his lips. “Have you, by any chance, foreign blood?”
“Quinn is an Irish name, Mr Jones.” She swung her broom in a larger arc than necessary, nearly grazing his knees. His wide grin at this far-from-subtle gesture only annoyed her more.
“Anyway, it’s lovely to see you now,” said Amy, with brisk determination. “I’m sure Miss Quinn won’t object to our taking a brief strol .”
“Of course not, Amy. Take as long as you like.”
Jones hesitated. “It does feel unkind, though, Miss Quinn, to leave you slaving here al on your own.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Tavvy,” said Amy, trying to keep her good temper. “Miss Quinn doesn’t want to play gooseberry.”
“Certainly not,” agreed Mary. “I wish you good morning, Mr Jones.”
Amy tugged on his arm, trying to draw him away, but Jones held his ground. “You do look so very familiar… Are you quite sure we’ve not met before?
Or perhaps you’ve a sister, or even a brother, who looks like you.”
“London’s a large town, Mr Jones. There must be dozens of women who look just like me.”
“That I refuse to believe. Never mind, it’l come to me in time,” he promised with a cheerful wink. “You just see if it doesn’t.”
Mary found it very difficult not to bring her broom down on his head. “Good-day, Mr Jones,” she said in her frostiest tones.
He final y permitted Amy to drag him away. But as they reached the service gate that led into the parks, he glanced back at her just for a moment. He mouthed a sentence: “See you soon.”
She didn’t
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