Read Online When the Devil Drives by Caro Peacock - Free Book Online Page A

ma’am.’
    She spoke before I could get a word out, and gave a bob that might have been a curtsey, although there was nothing servile about her. No ingénue of a maid, this one. She was older than I was, probably in her mid thirties, plump and short, with crinkly brown hair under her cap, shrewd dark eyes in a round face and a brown mole on her right cheek. I didn’t like the fact that she’d been instructed to call me Mrs. It had a kind of spurious respectability that suggested I lacked the genuine kind.
    â€˜You’re Suzette?’ I said.
    â€˜Yes, ma’am.’
    The frivolous French name didn’t suit her. From her voice, she was as Cockney as drizzle on pavements, and about as cheerful. She stepped back for me to enter and closed the door.
    â€˜We’re upstairs, ma’am.’
    I followed her along a short corridor, past several closed doors, and up a flight of green carpeted stairs to the first landing. The house was clean and smelled of polish, but there was a lifeless air about it, like an empty hotel.
    Suzette opened a door on the landing, stood back to let me go in first and waited to take my cloak and bonnet. I kept them on and looked round, hoping to find some more evidence of who Mr Clyde was. Nothing. I was standing in a drawing room, tastefully furnished but as lacking in character as the staircase. The colours were muted greens and greys, heavy curtains shutting out most of the October daylight. The piano was draped with a shawl, folded with right-angled precision as if defying anybody to lift the lid. I walked through to the next room. A small bedchamber done out in pink and grey chintz, with a four-poster bed that looked too wide for one but not comfortably large enough for two. A door next to the bed led to a tiny dressing room with a modern plumbed-in wash stand and water closet. Pink towels were folded on the wash stand, along with a fresh cake of soap. Geranium, and expensive.
    â€˜Is everything in order, ma’am?’ Suzette, not letting me out of her sight.
    â€˜Yes, thank you. Where do you sleep?’
    â€˜Over there, ma’am.’
    From the tilt of her head, I took her to mean across the landing. Another door from the drawing room led to a dining room only just large enough for its mahogany table and four chairs. There was no sign of a kitchen. I assumed that people who lived here sent out for food.
    When I went back to the drawing room, Suzette handed me a key on a silver chain.
    â€˜To that, ma’am.’
    Another tilt of the head towards a rosewood writing desk against the wall. She was clearly not one to waste words, apart from the irritating habit of ma’aming me with every breath.
    â€˜No door key?’
    â€˜You don’t need one, ma’am. I’ll always be here to let you in.’
    And to report back to Mr Clyde.
    â€˜Thank you, Suzette. You can go. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to leave.’
    She didn’t like it, but withdrew. I unlocked the writing desk. It was as empty as a drum, apart from a note and a leather purse. The note said simply: ‘Miss Lane, for incidental expenses’. The purse contained twenty bright new sovereigns. I put five of the sovereigns in my pocket, locked the rest back in the desk and went out to the landing.
    â€˜I’m going now,’ I called.
    Suzette appeared, prompt as a pantomime genie.
    â€˜You’ll want me to go with you tomorrow, ma’am. To the dress fitting.’
    Ladies able to afford Madame Leman’s prices would certainly take their maids to help them undress. I said I’d call for her at eleven o’clock and escaped with relief into the street.
    Tabby seemed to sense my mood and didn’t ask many questions on our omnibus journey to Aldersgate. Outside the yard of the Three Nuns, I explained about cabmen.
    â€˜They’re not easy to talk to because they’re always looking out for a fare. The best time to catch them