CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I am quiet for the first few minutes of the drive. Horace remains as quiet as ever, his hands stoically on either side of the wheel, his eyes fixed firmly ahead at the road.

I finally break the silence by asking, "How long has Eliza worked with Dr. Chalmers?" I'm not sure if I hope to learn anything by asking this or if I simply can't bear the quiet.

"This past year and a few weeks or so," Horace replies. "She was hired to replace Miss Minerva."

Perhaps I can learn something. "Were she and Minnie close?"

"More or less," Horace says. "Can't ever tell with these rich types. They smile at their enemies and stab their friends in the back. Different world, innit? Me? I'm just happy to keep my mouth shut and collect my paycheck."

"She seems to get on well enough with him."

"Aye, she likes him."

"It's a dreadful thing what happened to Minnie," I say. "She was so young. Ready to begin life—fall in love, start a family."

"Aye, I reckon it was awful."

"I can only imagine how hard it must be for Eliza working in the same building her friend worked, being reminded of her every day."

"Aye. But life goes on."

I watch his face carefully, but he shows no sign of an emotional reaction of any kind. I'm not sure exactly what I hope to learn from this conversation, but I noticed the way Eliza and Dr. Chalmers looked at each other, and I noticed the way he looked at Veronica. There was no fear there, but there was a great deal of longing for both women.

And there's that redacted medical record which could indicate that Minnie was pregnant when she disappeared. Dr. Chalmers hinted that Alistair was the culprit, but perhaps Eliza and Veronica are involved somehow as well. If I can get an understanding of their relationship with the doctor, maybe…

Maybe what? What then? Where do I go from there, and most importantly, how do I find concrete evidence that I can take to the police?

This whole mystery is frustrating. The more I learn, the closer I get to the truth, the further away I seem to be from acting on it.

And I must be sure. I must know who the killer is, and I must be able to prove it. A misstep with a family like the Carltons could be fatal.

I may try talking to Oliver. I can simply mention that I found letters in his room and that I wanted to know how he was feeling or if there was anything he wanted to talk about. Or I can take a softer approach and claim that I once stumbled on a shoebox of letters my mother once wrote my father. Anything to get him talking about her. Anything that could inspire him to trust me enough to reveal something… well, revealing.

And Alistair. I must talk to him, too. There are discrepancies in his story that, if uncovered, could reveal the pieces missing from this puzzle. He'll be harder, though. I get a sense of danger from him that I don't get from Oliver.

We reach home, and Horace says, "Here we are. Before you go, Miss Mary, if you don't mind me being presumptuous, I think you should try not to get too close to the Carltons. They're not a bad sort as far as wealthy people go, but they live in a different world than you and I. You might consider taking your meals downstairs or else earlier or later than they do. Best not to confuse yourself for a friend. That'll only end badly."

Yet another person advised me to stay far away from the family. Oh, Horace, if only I had your wisdom.

I head inside. I think I'll spend my afternoon seeing if I can find a more intact medical record for Minnie. I really wish I had gotten more information from Dr. Chalmers's office. Any idea who the father might be would have helped.

I head downstairs to my room, but before I can enter, I'm accosted by Hazel. I gasp and say, "Oh, Hazel! You gave me a fright!"

"Sorry about that, Mary. I didn't mean to."

I feel a touch of guilt at my reaction. The poor woman is so fragile that if I were to glare at her long enough, I really do think she'd wilt.

"Well, that's all right. No harm done."

I start to move past her, but then it occurs to me that if anyone is likely to both have information I can use and be willing to share it with me, then it would be Hazel. "Would you like to join me for some tea?"

She looks at me for a moment, an inscrutable expression on her face. Then she nods. "All right."

I smile and lead her to the kitchen. "How do you take your tea?" I ask.

"A little sugar, no cream," she says. "Thank you."

"Do you prefer Earl Grey, Darjeeling, Breakfast?"

"Breakfast, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. There's nothing like a stout English Breakfast tea to invigorate the senses. Have a seat. I'll be back in just a moment."

I set the kettle to boil, feeling a sense of excitement. Finally, my chance to talk to Hazel. As the housekeeper, she is a veritable gold mine. And with her penchant for being unseen? Who knows what she's heard!

When I return with the tea, Hazel is sitting primly in one of the upholstered seats of the tearoom. She is around my age, I believe, but with her thin face and sallow skin, she appears ten years older. That isn't a kind thought, I know, but I am looking for secrets today, and she looks like a woman who might have some.

I set the service on the small table in between the two upholstered chairs, then take the other. I take a sip of my tea—Darjeeling, in my case—and close my eyes, allowing its warmth to suffuse me. "There really is nothing like a good spot of tea," I say, "although I still do like my coffee."

Hazel doesn't respond. She doesn't exactly look uncomfortable. Just uninterested. Well, if I can't establish a rapport, I might as well get right to it and stop wasting time.

"You've worked for this family for many years, yes?"

"Thirty-five in April," she replies.

"How have you found it?"

She shrugs. "Agreeable enough. They pay me well and on time. They ask no more of me than I'm willing to do."

"I must say, I'm truly impressed by your work. You seem to have quite a talent for always being where you're needed when you're needed, but yet remaining unobtrusive at the same time. I'm afraid I'm quite clumsy in my interactions. I always end up bumbling into situations or sticking my foot in my mouth."

She shrugs again. "After a lifetime of service, you develop the skill of being present but unseen."

I control my excitement. We're getting somewhere now. "You must have heard quite a bit of juicy gossip that way."

She looks at me cautiously. "I've heard my share."

"I can imagine. The lives these wealthy people lead." I shake my head. "Well, I don't want to sound envious, but to be able to run off to Madrid at the drop of a hat! If I had that sort of wealth, I'd surround myself with handsome men and have them wait on me hand and foot!"

"Really? You don't strike me as that sort."

"Well, I suppose not," I admit, "but then, I've never had that chance. Perhaps if I had, I would be more adventurous."

"Perhaps."

I circle a little closer. "Although I suppose you lose the option of privacy in the case of wealth. It must have been horrible for the family when that girl disappeared and they were suspected of being involved."

Hazel's shoulders tense slightly. I'm getting closer, but I must be careful not to put her on her guard. "That was a trying time for all, yes."

"It's just awful what happened." I shake my head. "That poor girl. To think she was walking home from a friend's estate only to disappear. And don't you think it's odd that no sign of her was ever found?"

She chuckles, a touch of bitterness evident in her laugh. "I don't find that odd at all."

"But surely someone must know something."

She scoffs again. "I'm sure that quite a few people know everything. But no one says anything."

Time to make my move. "If only someone would. If I knew something, anything that could shed light on what happened to her, I would go to the police myself."

She looks me directly in the eye, and I can see in her expression that I've triumphed. I brace myself for the revelation.

"You're new to this life, Miss Mary. You haven't yet learned your place. If you had, you would have politely declined these dinners and teas and walks and conversations and kept yourself separate from the vicissitudes of your employers. You'd have arrived to teach Lucas his schooling and disappeared the moment that schooling ended."

I flinch slightly, taken aback by the vehemence of her speech. "I hope I haven't offended you. I assure you, I don't see myself as superior in any way."

"That's not what I mean. It's not about being superior or inferior. It's about having power or not having it. The Carltons have power. You don't."

I can't quite stifle the reaction I have to that. "Well, that power shouldn't give them the right to cover up a murder!"

"It shouldn't," she says, "but it does. I don't know if Minnie was murdered. Probably she was, but if you were hoping that I stood in the shadows and heard one of the Carltons confess to the crime, then I'm afraid I must dash that hope."

Heat climbs my cheeks. That was, in fact, exactly what I hoped.

"You are nothing to them, Mary. That's not an insult, it's a warning. If they so decide, you can disappear as surely as Minnie. You can be shipped overseas. You can be committed to a sanitarium on nothing more than the strength of their word."

I shiver at that, and Hazel decides that she's made her point. "It's best to let them keep their secrets. I've learned to be where I'm needed without being seen. I've also learned not to listen for those secrets. If it makes you feel better at all, they're far from the most evil of aristocrats. You know how the saying goes: ‘If these walls could talk…' The walls of this manor would say far less than the walls of any number of other homes. But the world goes on in spite of it. You must let this go, Mary. Minerva Montclair's death is tragic and offensive. It's also not your problem."

My disappointment with that statement must show in my face because she says, "I can see you're not satisfied with that answer, and I don't blame you. But don't let your emotions fool you. You can't help her. You can only hurt yourself."

She stands and sets her empty cup on the service. "Thank you for the tea."

She leaves me to ponder her warning, not the first I've received even this day. She's right. Horace is right. Niall is right. They're all right, but I can't just let this go. Powerful or not, someone has to be brought to justice.

But I am a lone minnow in a sea of sharks. What can I possibly hope to do?