Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

MISS MILLIE SOUTHERLAND

T he next morning, Gwinnie and Rose climbed into the ducal carriage, followed by Mr. Martin sitting in the rear-facing seat. They were all going to Mrs. Southerland's House.

Nerves had Gwinnie plucking at a fold in her coat, scratching at an imaginary bit of fluff.

She'd never been to Mrs. Southerland's as the daughter of a duke. She'd always gone as Sarah Knolls, the daughter of a solicitor. It was a deceit, and she couldn't carry on the deceit now that she had been a witness at the inquest as Lady Guinevere and not Sarah Knolls. Mrs. Southerland had stressed honesty to the women. How would the women take the knowledge of her deceit? And Mrs. Southerland's admonitions? How would they take her being a duke's daughter?

She bit the corner of her lip. She loved them all dearly and wanted the best for every one of the women who lived there. Would they believe her or think her just another wealthy lady out doing charity for a lark?

She looked out the window. No one could understand the burden of being a duke's daughter. It was certainly unique to the position. Yes, others might laugh at the idea that being a duke's daughter was hard. It wasn't difficult, not like so many lives were. It was bound up with so many rules, so many expectations— not just from within her family, but from society!

Gwinnie wryly acknowledged she had managed to thwart most of those rules. But her grandmother had once warned her there was a danger in flaunting her ability to ignore the rules too much. And if she did that too often, others in the Ton, in high society, who had once admired her would turn to ridiculing her. She might be able to handle that, she mused with a bit of false bravado; however, her quartet would likely lose engagements, and the others in her group needed the money a concert paid to support their families. She wouldn't do anything to hurt them.

And she could not forget the role her height and large-boned stature had in her society image.

But it wasn't society she worried about today. It was the reactions of ten women who had made the hard decision to leave their lives in the brothels, the stews, the pubs, and the theater background players to carve new lives for themselves. Would they feel betrayed?

"You look solemn, Lady Guinevere," said Lewis, seated across from her.

She nodded. "I am. I'm a little frightened."

He tilted his head. "Frightened?" he queried.

Rose turned to look at her as well.

"I had an easy camaraderie with the women in the house. How will they treat me today?"

"Do you intend to be different as the daughter of a duke compared to the daughter of a solicitor?" Lewis asked

"Gracious, no. I am who I am."

"Precisely," Lewis said, nodding.

"He is right, mi lady," said Rose. "I've always seen Sarah as you, just in different clothes. Don't get haughty-like because you think they expect you to be haughty. That's not who you are."

"I know. But it is so much easier to say than to do. Haughty is an easy defense from fear."

"No 'tis not. Not for you." Rose said forcefully, from the position of trusted servant. "Relax. Smile. Laugh. That is what Sarah Knolls did. That is what you do most of the time— unless you get to harassing your brother."

"Does she harass Lord Lakehurst?" Lewis asked.

Rose laughed. "Every chance she gets— and he does the same. Now that her brother has his own home, she must find a new target for her wit."

Gwinnie passed Rose a sour look.

"If it would make you feel better, Lady Guinevere, you may target me," offered Lewis, with a droll smile.

That drew a laugh from Gwinnie. "I thank you for your offer, Mr. Martin, but I don't know you well enough, and it would be looked down upon for me to twit an agent of the law."

"Looked down upon by whom?" he countered.

She thought a moment. "I don't know, it just strikes me as unseemly," she said uncomfortably.

He shrugged. "I have a thick skin, my lady. Let us leave it as an open possibility should you see an occasion to use me as the butt of your wit. You can do so, and I shall not take it amiss. And you might feel better for doing it."

Gwinnie laughed again. "You are a strange man, Mr. Martin."

He shrugged, then grinned at her with the cheeky grin she'd grown to love seeing. It made his blue eyes sparkle with his good humor, and she often found herself smiling with good humor back at him.

She loved this man's attitude. And he did laugh a lot, which she thought delightful. Too many men took themselves far too seriously. It was quite off-putting. She often did not take herself that seriously. How could she, being a woman over six feet tall?

At least he put her in better humor for meeting Miss Southerland, she thought, as the carriage drew up before Mrs. Southerland's House for Unfortunate Women.

"Hello, Mrs. Albert," Gwinnie said softly when Mrs. Albert opened the door. Rose knocked her arm. When Gwinnie looked at her, she saw her frown and knew she was reminding her to act naturally.

"Sarah?" the housekeeper asked uncertainly.

"Yes," Gwinnie said, louder and with more confidence, "— and Lady Guinevere Nowlton," she said.

"Well, I'll be!" the woman said. "Oh, excuse me, my lady," she said, curtsying.

"No, no, no! None of that," Gwinnie requested. "I'm still Sarah, too. May we come in? We— Mr. Martin and I— would like to meet with Miss Southerland, if we may?"

"Oh, gracious, yes. Come in, come in," the flustered Mrs. Albert said. "Let me go see if Miss Southerland can see you."

"Thank you," Gwinnie said.

Mrs. Albert hurried up the stairs.

She came down a moment later. "Miss Southerland would be delighted to see you," she said. "If you'll follow me…"

"No need to show us up, we well know the way," Gwinnie said, going up before her.

"I'll have tea brought up, then," Mrs. Albert said, her tone a bit confused.

"That would be splendid," Gwinnie smiled, looking back at her as she continued up the stairs.

"Miss Southerland?" Gwinnie said from the open doorway.

"Please come in, Lady Guinevere," Miss Southerland said, rising from what had been Mrs. Southerland's favorite chair to greet them. A momentary pang stabbed Gwinnie's chest.

Gwinnie was surprised to see Miss Southerland was at least ten years younger than Mrs. Southerland had been. Only slight gray winged her temples, her hair otherwise a rich, dark chestnut brown. She did not wear a cap, as she had never been married, but wore her hair in a severe chignon that strangely suited her features. She stood of medium height and was on the thin side, which caused her cheeks to draw in. She'd donned mourning black for her deceased sister-in-law. As she approached them, she displayed a studied, pleasant— if reserved— expression.

"The Earl of Soothcoor sent me a note this morning saying you would be coming by. He had instructed me to be wary of visitors until we can understand more about Hilda's death," she said.

"That was wise of the earl. I'm Lewis Martin, from Bow Street. Lord Soothcoor and Lady Guinevere's father, the Duke of Malmsby, have charged me with investigating her death and keeping you ladies safe."

Miss Southerland blinked at him. "That is a large expectation for one man, Mr. Martin."

He smiled at her. "Yes ma'am. You are astute. I have assistance, Lord Soothcoor insisted. You have watchers and your young women will have escorts when they go out, for the time being."

She frowned. "You work closely with Lord Soothcoor, then?" she asked.

"Yes. With Lord Soothcoor, and with His Grace, the Duke of Malmsby. They are adamant about the safety of those who come in and out of this house, in light of what happened to Mrs. Southerland."

"That is reassuring," Miss Southerland said with a strained smile. "Please won't you come in and sit down?"

"I should also introduce you to my maid, Rose. She instructs the young women on what it means to be a lady's maid."

"I am pleased to meet you, Rose. I'd wager what you tell them as the role of a lady's maid is more than they suppose," she said archly.

"Yes, miss. They assume it is the job with the least responsibilities and claim an interest in that role— at least until they get a good understanding and realize it may be more arduous, depending on the mistress one works for," Rose said drily.

They all laughed.

"Would you allow me to go downstairs to the kitchen? I wouldn't want the women to see me drinking tea with you and think they will do that as a lady's maid."

Miss Southerland looked at Rose with a different expression. One leaning toward respect. Gwinnie was happy to see that.

"Yes, Rose. That would be fine," Miss Southerland said.

Rose looked at Gwinnie.

Gwinnie nodded.

After Rose left, Gwinnie and Mr. Martin took the same seats they'd had four nights ago, the night Mrs. Southerland died.

"I assume you came to meet me, as I am taking over for Hilda," Miss Southerland said primly, folding her hands in her lap. "Do you have any particular questions you'd like to ask?"

"Yes, I do," spoke up Lewis before Gwinnie could respond. "I'd like to know some of Mrs. Southerland's past."

"Why would you need to know about her past?"

"The night she died, I'd come here to escort Lady Guinevere home. While I was here, Mrs. Southerland received a letter that made her quite happy. She said she had to go out for a short time, and would Lady Guinevere and I stay here until she returned. We agreed. We— Lady Guinevere and I— believe the letter might have been from someone in her past."

"Based on her reaction to the contents of the letter?" Miss Southerland asked.

Lewis nodded.

"What did she say about it?" Miss Southerland asked, almost anxiously.

"Only that it was wonderful news, and she had to go out for a short while and would I and Lady Guinevere stay here until she returned," Lewis told her.

Miss Southerland tapped a fingertip against her lips, frowning. "Interesting. Happy, you say?"

"Exceedingly," Gwinnie said. "She quickly grabbed a pencil and paper and dashed off a note which she took with her."

"Happy," Miss Southerland repeated softly. Then she shook her head, as if shaking off her thoughts, and looked back at Mr. Martin, smiling again. "Well, what can I tell you?" she began, sitting straighter in her chair. She folded her hands neatly in her lap.

There was a knock on the parlor door.

"Come in," Miss Southerland called out in a syrupy, singsong voice.

"Can someone open it for me," came a plaintive voice from the other side.

"Oh, no, Polly Petrie," Gwinnie said, laughing with Lewis. She stood up.

"What?" Miss Southerland protested.

"Polly has been slow to learn the proper way to do things," Gwinnie said over her shoulder to Miss Southerland as she went to open the door.

With the door open, Polly just stood there staring at Gwinnie. "You're so beautiful, Miss Knolls."

"Thank you, Polly, but don't stand there holding the tea tray; come in and set the tea service down on the table," Gwinnie instructed.

"Oh, oh, yes!" Polly stammered.

She set the tray down with more rattling of the dishes. "Would you like me to pour, Miss Southerland?" she asked on a squeaky voice, looking up at Gwinnie for confirmation if she said that right.

"No, Polly. I will pour. You may go," Miss Southerland said severely.

"Th-Thank you," Polly stuttered. She curtsied to them, then turned and scurried out of the room.

"Decorum, Polly," Gwinnie called after her.

"Oh, oh, yes," Polly said, slowing her pace and standing ramrod straight until she'd closed the parlor door behind her, then they could hear her running down the stairs.

Gwinnie laughed. "Poor Polly. She still has a lot to learn." She turned to Miss Southerland. "I promise you, Polly is not indicative of the other young women we train here."

"Perhaps a maid's job is not the proper profession for her," Miss Southerland observed frowning.

"Agreed."

Miss Southerland queried them on how they liked their tea, then leaned back in her chair, her teacup in her hand, and looked quizzically at Gwinnie and Mr. Martin.

"What can you tell us about Mrs. Southerland?" Lewis asked.

Miss Southerland tilted her head and looked off across the room as if looking at memories. "Hilda's maiden name was Milward, Hilda Milward. She met my brother Derek when he was a groom, and she was a maid at some duke's country estate. I don't remember the duke, and they weren't there long after they married. The duke didn't want married staff, so they found another position. They were at the next great house until Hilda became pregnant with their daughter, Alice."

"She has a daughter?" Gwinnie enthused.

"Y-yes," Miss Southerland said slowly, "But let me proceed. At that position, their employers didn't want pregnant servants, as the lady of the house was having difficulty conceiving and carrying the babes she did conceive to term. Seeing another pregnant woman depressed her, so she left that position."

"But not Mr. Southerland?"

"No. She got permission from the estate steward who felt sorry for her and Derek. He let them claim a rundown building, little more than a hut, on the estate. It had been used by gamekeepers at one time. They fixed it up and Hilda earned extra money for them by making lace that she sold to a linen draper in London. I don't know how she made that connection. Hilda referred to it as her heaven-sent connection."

"She was making lace that night before the letter arrived for her."

"Frankly, I think every moment she had to herself, she made lace. She said she found it relaxing. I don't know how anyone could find it relaxing as complex as it is. It takes concentration to do some of those lace patterns," Miss Southerland declared, shaking her head. She finished her tea and set her cup and saucer back on the tea tray.

"But to continue, when their daughter, Alice, was about six years old, they fostered her to a tenant farmer on the Earl of Galborough's estate."

"Galborough," Gwinnie mused.

"You know them?" Miss Southerland asked.

Gwinnie made a face. "Yes, we are related by marriage," she said. "But please continue, Miss Southerland."

"Hilda and Derek got positions in London. They worked hard. Soon, Hilda became a housekeeper. She was thrilled— but Alice was not happy being fostered to the farmer's family. She claimed they worked her hard from sunup to sundown except for the time she had to attend reading and writing classes at the vicarage. The vicar insisted all the village children should know their letters and be able to read the Bible."

"That was fortunate for her," Lewis said.

"Perhaps," Miss Southerland said with pursed lips. "It did allow her to write to her parents to ask them to come get her, as the farmer family wanted to marry her to one of their boys. Alice did not want to be a farmer's wife. She had other ambitions," Miss Southerland said.

"My dear brother brought her to London, and Hilda got her a position as a scullery maid. Unfortunately, it was in the house where Hilda was the housekeeper, and Alice did not want to do anything if her mother had the ordering of any of it. They argued and argued. Soon, Alice left to work somewhere else. This is when the real trouble began," Miss Southerland said. She sat straighter in her chair, her hands clasped together in her lap. A frown creased twin lines between her brows.

"Real trouble?" Lewis asked.

Miss Southerland's lips pursed tightly together for a moment. "Mr. Martin, as a member of Bow Street, you may remember a spate of robberies that occurred during society parties about five years ago?"

"Yes. Extra servants were brought in to help during events— society lending their servants to each other, and agencies hiring out servants. There was a ring of thieves working among the extra help. They stole items from the houses they were assigned to work in and turned them over to the ringleader who paid them for their efforts and then took the items to pawnbrokers to sell. Generally, to pawnbrokers outside of the city."

"Yes. Alice had become one of the servant-thieves, only she was caught. She wouldn't give up the names of the ringleaders, no matter how much Hilda begged her to. She told Hilda the friends she'd made in the ring cared more for her than Hilda ever did. Ultimately, as you might suppose, she was found guilty."

"And the sentence?" Gwinnie asked. She couldn't help but feel distraught on Mrs. Southerland's behalf.

Miss Southerland looked from her to Mr. Martin. "Transportation," she said heavily.

Lewis frowned. "Transportation seems rather severe for the offense."

"Yes. We all thought— including Alice— that at maximum she would get two to three years in prison. The magistrate decided to make an example of her and sentenced her to transportation. That surprised us all. Hilda wept and became so ill she couldn't rise from her bed. Derek determined he would discover who had talked his daughter into crime and make them pay. Unfortunately, he died shortly thereafter in a stable accident."

"Poor Mrs. Southerland," Gwinnie said. "How did she overcome her melancholy?"

"She had to, or she would lose her position. She told me she needed to look deep inside herself. She couldn't dwell in her sorrows. What she wanted to do with her life was to help others out of their bad situations, to help as many unfortunate women as she could, so they did not turn to thievery as her daughter had."

"And so, she went to Soothcoor with her idea," Lewis said.

"Not straightaway. She worked and saved money and wrote down her plan. Two years later, when she thought she was ready, she asked me to introduce her to him, as I worked for his stepmother. I did not know her intention. I thought she merely wanted a job as a matron in one of his charities. I was as surprised as anyone, I suppose, when he set her up here." She looked about the room, indicating the entire structure.

"What was your feeling when Lord Soothcoor asked you to take over the charity for a time?" Gwinnie asked.

Lewis looked up suddenly from his notetaking and stared at Gwinnie. She felt like he was trying to communicate some message to her.

"Surprised and flattered," Miss Southerland said. "I had been the housekeeper for several years at Soothcoor Mansion for his stepmother. Now that the earl is selling that property, I'm not sure what I will do. Lord Soothcoor has asked me to be the housekeeper for the new home he and Lady Soothcoor will purchase, but I don't know. I am accustomed to more activity, more parties and balls. I think they will live quietly as that is Lord Soothcoor's manner— except for when Lady Soothcoor's youngest daughter makes her debut."

"You like an active household."

"I confess I do. I may look for a new position that offers those opportunities."

"Harder work," Gwinnie observed.

"Yes, but rewarding."

"Thank you for the information you have shared regarding Mrs. Southerland. That helps me to understand her better and should inform my investigation. Unfortunately, it does not help us identify whom she might have been hurried out of the house to see," Lewis said.

"No. I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry, Miss Southerland. It is the nature of my business," Lewis returned. He turned to Gwinnie. "It is looking more and more that the culprit is someone Mr. Simmons stirred with his protests and complaints about the charity," he said seriously, his tone of voice different than ever Gwinnie could recall. She looked at him inquisitively, but he held his expression. Something wasn't right. Something she failed to note. She decided it was time to change the subject.

"If we are done discussing Mrs. Southerland, I'd like to see the women who are here, to explain about Sarah Knolls and me," Gwinnie said.

"The persona Lady Guinevere adopts when she is out doing her charity work is for her protection. As you might imagine, Miss Southerland, dukes, and their families, may be targets for those with grudges against the aristocracy. Just recently, the duke received a missive threatening his family," Lewis said.

"You are serious, Mr. Martin," Miss Southerland said.

Gwinnie quickly looked down at her hands lest her face betray her surprise and confusion at Mr. Martin's words. Her safety was not the reason she presented as Sarah Knolls, yet for some reason, that is what Mr. Martin wanted Miss Southerland to believe. Why?

Miss Southerland nodded and pulled the bellpull. "Mrs. Albert, can you have our young women who are here come to the parlor, please?" she asked.

"Yes, Miss Southerland." She backed out of the room, and they heard her going to the second floor.

In a few minutes, there were timid knocks on the door and the women came in.

The women slunk into the parlor, acting more timid than Gwinnie was accustomed to seeing them. In her memory, they gathered together, laughing and joking, with bright smiles on their faces. Today, they were solemn and looked down, scarcely venturing to look up through veiled lashes.

Gwinnie sighed. The death of Mrs. Southerland had taken a large toll on them. Her heart ached that she hadn't been able to stay here that first night, especially since the trouble they'd gone to to preserve Sarah Knolls's persona had been for naught because of her disposition at the inquest.

"Miss Marke and Miss Warden, how are you doing today?" Gwinnie asked kindly, calling out to the two young women who found Mrs. Southerland on the back doorstep.

They tentatively looked up at her. Georgia Marke tilted her head, her expression confused. "Miss Knolls?" she ventured.

Gwinnie smiled. "Yes."

"You look so different," she said, her voice resonating awe.

The other women looked up at her.

"What happened?" Georgia asked.

"I have not been truthful with you in my visits here, for reasons Mr. Martin can explain better than I," she said, turning her head to look at him. Since he changed the story with Miss Southerland, he would also tell it to the women here. "My name is Guinevere Nowlton."

"Lady Guinevere Nowlton," Miss Southerland said crisply, sending a glare of some meaning Gwinnie did not understand at the women.?

"Yes, I have an honorary title," Gwinnie admitted, rolling her eyes. "But my friends call me Gwinnie, and I hope you will, too."

"Lady Guinevere, if we are to teach these girls how to go on in society, we must be circumspect at all times," Miss Southerland reminded her.

Gwinnie made a face. A few of the women giggled. Miss Southerland frowned in their direction.

"I would prefer," Lewis interrupted, "for them to continue to refer to Lady Guinevere as Miss Knolls. In the future, when Lady Guinevere comes here, she will be wearing the attire of Miss Knolls." He turned to the women who stood clumped together, looking confused and fearful.

"Lady Guinevere Nowlton is the daughter of the Duke of Malmsby," Miss Southerland explained.

"A duke!" "What?" "A duke's daughter!" the words coming in all tones of voice and exclamation from the women. One woman elbowed another and curtsied. Soon, they all curtsied.

"Please! Don't!" implored Gwinnie.

"Yes, that is true," said Lewis. "The duke has received some threats against his family that the duke takes quite seriously."

"But why?" one woman asked.

"Because the duke has an avid interest in new inventions, and there are people who fear the inventions will take away jobs, just as the Luddites had fears and riots in past years about new machines in factories."

"But they do," one woman said timidly.

Gwinnie sighed. "Sometimes they do. My father is concerned about that aspect of new inventions and works with inventors and business owners to minimize the impact. Workers trained in one craft can be retrained. Unfortunately, some people have been working one way for so long they can't imagine changing. Those are the people I care the most about. What can we do for them?" Gwinnie asked.

"You're serious?" the woman asked, surprised.

"Yes. It is how I've been raised. My mother was Scottish from the Highlands. They have a culture of independence. She passed that along to her children. We, in turn, want that for everyone we interact with."

"That's not feasible," declared Miss Marke sharply.

Gwinnie sighed. "Perhaps not; however, it is worth striving for, don't you agree? And that is what I do."

The women looked from one to another as if silently communicating with each other. Gwinnie thought maybe they were.

"All right," Miss Marke said. "And are we to keep your real identity a secret?"

"It would be beneficial if you would," Lewis said.

"For whom?"

He grinned and it reached his eyes. "That's an astute question. For me, I'll admit, as I hold responsibility for her protection."

Miss Marke smiled back at him. "Thank you for your honesty. I think we can do that, what do you think?" she asked the rest of the women.

They assented.

Gwinnie smiled thankfully. "You have made me happy. I love spending time with you, teaching you about society."

"And we love your lessons. You always have such interesting stories to go with each lesson. That helps to create memories."

"Oh, good, that is what I was hoping for." Gwinnie smiled, her eyes watering. "You have made me very happy with your acceptance. I was sore afraid," she said.

Gwinnie would have walked toward them to exchange hugs, but Miss Southerland intervened.

"You may return to your studies now." Miss Southerland's voice was surprisingly harsh.

Gwinnie turned to stare at her as she noted the women immediately lowered their heads and murmured agreement. They silently filed out of the parlor.

Miss Southerland had been on the premises forty-eight hours, and she had the women acting as scared church mice. How was that possible? Maybe it was just the shock of Mrs. Southerland's passing. She liked to hope so. She would ask Rose when they left if she had learned anything from below stairs that would inform her knowledge of their strange behavior. Or maybe it wasn't them. Maybe it was her and her expectations.

Oh, her mind was in turmoil. How to settle matters between herself and the women. That was her concern. How Miss Southerland did so was not.

"You seem to have come to terms with them quickly," Gwinnie observed.

The woman raised her chin and smiled, showing more teeth than warmth. "I like to think so. It appears my sister-in-law did not suffer any fools."

So it would seem; however, that was not how she knew Mrs. Southerland. What was the truth?

"Are you aware different women come to provide lessons one or two times a month? I think Sarah Knolls is the only one who comes every week."

Miss Southerland frowned. "I heard something to that effect. Are these visits worthwhile?"

"I believe so. I know Mrs. Brogan, the doctor's wife, provides lessons on hygiene, and a friend of hers gives lessons on managing and saving money."

"These are not high society ladies come to gawk at those less fortunate?"

Gwinnie tilted her head as she looked quizzically at Miss Southerland. "Why do you suggest that?"

"Lady Guinevere," Miss Southerland said in a condescending tone, "I have served in high society longer than you've been alive. I know how society is. You may be unique. and I commend you for it."

"But—"

"Lady Guinevere, excuse me for interrupting, but we need to be going if you are to meet with the Earl and Countess of Norwalk today," Lewis interrupted.

Gwinnie turned to look at him, not understanding what he was saying. She had no appointment with Helena and Adam. By agreement yesterday, the Norwalks were leaving London today, and probably already had. By his banal expression, she realized he was telling her they should leave, most likely before she got into an argument with Miss Southerland, which she was close to doing!

"I completely forgot, Mr. Martin. My thanks." She turned toward Miss Southerland. "Please excuse me, I do have other engagements. I shall return near the end of the week as Sarah Knolls when I can stay longer and spend time with the women in lessons."

Miss Southerland bowed her head. "The women will look forward to that, I'm sure. Please be sure to notify me ahead of time."

"Thank you for stepping in for your sister-in-law," Gwinnie said, as she rose from the settee, Mr. Martin following her.

Gwinnie was surprised to find Rose waiting for her downstairs in the entrance hall. She tilted her head quizzically.

"Let me help you on with your coat, Lady Guinevere," Rose said in a deeply deferential manner.

Gwinnie knew she had things to tell her, and by her demeanor, Gwinnie judged them to be not good things. She thanked her absently, in keeping with this unknown game she seemed to be in, and went out the door; Miss Southerland watched them from the top of the stairs.

What was going on?

When she was seated in the carriage, Lewis leaned in. "I've told the coachman to take you straight home. There are to be no side trips, he said quellingly.

Gwinnie laughed but agreed.

"I'm going to check out the alley, then go to see Lord Soothcoor," Lewis continued.

"Please ask him to come by Malmsby House, I would like to speak with him."

He laughed harshly. "I'm sure you would. So would I. The story Miss Southerland told of how she came to fill Mrs. Southerland's position does not match the story Soothcoor provided to me."

"What?" Gwinnie exclaimed.

Lewis didn't answer. He closed the carriage door and then tapped the side to signal to the coachman to proceed.

When Lewis stepped away from the carriage, he looked up at the townhouse. A curtain moved, settling back into its swagged form.

Miss Southerland had watched them leave.

She was not what he expected as one of Lord Soothcoor's servants. There was something about her he could not like— And it was obvious she did not think much of the aristocracy.

He walked up the block toward The Thirsty Pig. When he came to the top of the block, he turned the corner, then turned again down the narrow alley that ran behind the houses on Green Street. There were no mews in this area, residents leaving horses, and— if they were lucky enough to afford a carriage— their equipage at a local stable for boarding.

The alley was dim, though it was nearly midday on an otherwise sunny day. The height and closeness of the buildings kept the alley in deep shadows. He noted a surprising cleanliness of the alley— compared to most alleys. The houses all had small backyards protected with gates; however, most gates were not locked, if closed, and others stood open. The gate leading to Mrs. Southerland's property was no longer locked. It would have been unlocked when they carried Mrs. Southerland to The Thirsty Pig. No one had bothered to re-lock it. He touched the gate. It swung open easily. No one had latched the gate, either. He did not like that. He went into the back courtyard, to look around in the light of day— such as it was.

It didn't look like anyone had come out the back door in the last few days. He walked over to where Mrs. Southerland had fallen. There remained traces of blood. He wondered why it hadn't been cleaned yet? He walked the perimeter of the area, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. A straggly tabby cat jumped on the wall between the properties. The creature looked down on Lewis and emitted a strident meow.

"Did you witness anything the night Mrs. Southerland was killed?" he asked the cat. He laughed when the cat turned his head and jumped down off the fence. No help there.

Lewis let himself out of the back gate and continued down the alley. This end of the alley was more cluttered with trash and household castoffs. He wondered caustically if this end of the alley was where Mr. Simmons lived. He saw the cat weaving in and out among the trash in the alley, looking for scraps the rats hadn't found yet. The cat stopped and sniffed. He clawed a white cloth out of his way to sniff further, then abandoned the area and walked on.

The cloth had dark, rusty-brown stains. Blood? Lewis bent down and picked up the crumpled, stained cloth. It was a handkerchief. He gently opened up the handkerchief. It looked to be a woman's article. The stain started as a blob, then streaked across the material as would happen if an object containing the stain was dragged across the material to clean it. Blood from a knife swiped across a handkerchief. There was a slight white-on-white pattern woven into the edges of the handkerchief, not as evident as a jacquard pattern might be, but there.

He was glad Gwinnie came to Mrs. Southerland's as Lady Guinevere, else if she'd been in Sarah Knolls' clothes she would have wanted to walk down the alley with him. The blood-stained handkerchief would have had her wanting to search every inch of the alley and speculating wildly as to the source of the handkerchief.

He partially unbuttoned his heavy greatcoat to reach into a jacket pocket to pull out his handkerchief. He unfolded it, placed the found handkerchief against it, and refolded his handkerchief. He wanted to ensure he did not inadvertently add more stains to the fabric. He tucked the pad of fabric in his greatcoat pocket just as a delivery boy with a basket of produce from a grocer turned into the alley. They nodded to each other as they passed. At the other end of the alley from where he'd started, he stopped to watch where the boy went. Two doors beyond Mrs. Southerland's.

Lewis stepped out of the deeply shaded alley to the perpendicular street and into the afternoon sunlight. In the west, gray clouds gathered, coming to strip away the welcome winter sun in an hour or so, he thought. He walked toward Covent Garden. He bought an orange from the orange girl standing outside the theater and casually looked around him to ensure he hadn't been followed. In the next street, he hailed a hackney and had the jarvey take him to White's.

He tipped the jarvey to wait while he inquired if Lord Soothcoor was still staying at his club. The doorman said he was but was not in at the moment.

"Are you Mr. Martin?" the doorman asked as Lewis started to turn away.

"Yes," he said, as a club member brushed past him.

The man nodded. "Lord Soothcoor said if you were to come by to tell you to join him at Malmsby House."

"Thank you." Lewis turned to go back to the hackney only to see it pull away. He laughed. There went the money he'd tipped the jarvey to wait. At least he wasn't in a hurry.

He hailed another hackney and gave the Malmsby House direction.