Fourteen

Vivian stared at the woman, who had closed the door behind her, as stunned as if the floor had disappeared beneath her feet. "Mrs. Wilson," she said, her voice little more than a croak. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Hattie Wilson tsked again, resettling the fur stole that she wore draped around her shoulders. She was dressed for mourning, Vivian noticed, in black lace and silk, with pearls draped around her neck and hanging from her ears. It was a dress Vivian recognized. She had watched the seamstress who sewed it after Mrs. Wilson's husband had died. Her hat was perched stylishly on one side of her head, and the netted veil that draped across its brim hid half her face, making it nearly impossible to read her expression.

China-doll pretty, wearing her long hair pinned demurely back and with just enough cosmetics on to make her look as winsome as possible without opening her up to an accusation of being fast, Hattie Wilson wasn't much older than Vivian. But she had enough poise and confidence to make Vivian feel like a child around her. It was the sort of polish that came from years of living in wealth and comfort, confident that whatever you wished to happen, could and likely would.

And in Hattie Wilson's case, it came from being at the head of the small but thriving criminal empire she had taken over after her husband's death.

"I thought you had better manners than that," Hattie continued, turning just enough to glance at Bea. "At least one of you knows when to keep your mouth shut. Though it's a pity, really. You sing so beautifully when you open it."

Bea took a step back. "How…"

"I've seen you perform, Bluebird," Hattie said with a smile, beautiful and cold as a diamond. Whatever she was thinking, she hid it well. But at least she hadn't turned them in. Not yet. "Which is why you caught my eye when I was coming upstairs. Honor Huxley's star chanteuse, sneaking around here of all places, today of all days?" Hattie drifted, unhurried or maybe just tormenting them, toward one side of the room, pulling the top book from the stack and rolling her eyes at it. "The Odyssey? Really? How predictable. And I bet he never opened it once after he bought it." She glanced toward Bea and Vivian again as she tossed the book carelessly back down. "To answer your question, I was invited, Miss Kelly. Can you say the same?" When neither of them answered, she smiled again. "I thought not."

"Invited?" Vivian asked before she thought better of the question.

"To hear my uncle's will read, of course," Hattie said. "Well, Mr. Wilson's uncle. So I don't expect there to be anything in there attached to my name." She shrugged, but in spite of her careless attitude, she was clearly staying between them and the door. And her smile hadn't faltered. "Now let me think. A little bird told me that a dressmaker, of all people, is the prime suspect in Uncle's murder. And here you are, with your friend pretending to be a maid while she helps you creep around. You have a knack for finding trouble, Miss Kelly." Her gaze grew sharp. "You may choose, girls. You tell me what you're up to, or I start shouting that someone broke into the house."

"What's to stop you doing that anyway?" Bea asked defiantly, crossing her arms. She looked cool and composed, and even though Vivian knew she must be close to panicking, her voice never wavered.

"Absolutely nothing." The careless lift of Hattie's shoulders was so delicate it could barely be called a shrug, but her eyes glittered menacingly behind her veil as she watched them. "So I suggest you give me a good reason not to."

Vivian glanced at Bea as she tried to decide what to do. But Bea, sharp as ever, got there first. "Vivian didn't have anything to do with that guy getting bumped off. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"A bad habit of yours, that," Hattie Wilson said, looking amused when Vivian glared at her. "And you're here to prove your innocence?"

"I'm here to listen in while his will is being read and see if there's a good reason someone else might've wanted him dead," Vivian bit off. "I don't expect it'll turn up anything. But when a girl's feeling desperate…" She shrugged.

"Hmm." It was impossible to tell what Hattie was thinking. "And how exactly do you plan to gather this information? Hanging out a window, perhaps?"

Bea jerked her head toward a corner that held a second door. "Through there's a staircase going down—servants' stair, I think, it's pretty darn narrow. There's another door at the bottom, and it opens into the family parlor where they—" She gave Hattie a suspicious glance. "—you, I suppose, are meeting with the lawyer."

"And you know it's the right spot?" Vivian asked when Hattie said nothing.

"It had better be," Bea said with a scowl. "I had to spend over an hour dusting it this morning."

"All right." They both turned back to Hattie to find her smiling. "I'll agree not to tell anyone you're here because, to be quite honest, I'm curious to see what you make of our little gathering. Whether anyone surprises you… or not."

"More of a surprise than just seeing you here?" Vivian asked nervously. Hattie Wilson never did anything without a reason. This time Vivian didn't have any idea what that reason might be, but she couldn't imagine it was good.

Hattie's expression grew sly, almost smug, and Vivian wished she could see her eyes more clearly. But that delicate little veil was still in the way. "You might be surprised by who else you know here today, Miss Kelly. You aren't the only one who turns up in unexpected places."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Vivian demanded. Hattie Wilson terrified her, and she knew she didn't have a hope of hiding it. But she refused to be played with.

But Hattie shook her head. "I'd hate to spoil it for you." She gestured toward the stairs, and when she spoke again, there was a taunting edge to her voice. "Time passes, Miss Kelly. Will you take me up on my offer, or shall I summon Uncle Huxley's dreadful wife and tell her she has rats creeping about?"

Vivian knew the offer to stay quiet wasn't out of the goodness of her heart. Hattie Wilson had said it herself, more than once—she didn't have a heart.

Though that wasn't entirely true. Vivian had met Mrs. Wilson's sister, and she knew the woman had a son. Hattie was fiercely protective of both of them. But otherwise, she made her choices based on a very simple logic: what was going to be best for her and her business. In some ways that made her more reliable than most people. And if she was willing to help…

Vivian glanced at Bea, who grimaced but nodded. "All right," Vivian said. "Though it's not like we have much of a choice."

"There's always a choice, Miss Kelly," Hattie said. She turned to Bea, giving her maid's uniform a dismissive look. "Get along, Bluebird—I'm sure you have work to do. You can fetch your friend once the lawyer is gone."

Bea didn't look happy about it, but she wasn't in a position to protest. She gave Vivian a smile that would have been encouraging if her worry hadn't been so plain. Bea knew what she was risking here, too. "Remember, not a peep on the stairs, okay? You don't want anyone in that room hearing you."

"Got it," Vivian said, trying to sound confident. "Now get going before you get canned on your first day."

That made Bea roll her eyes. "Good luck, Viv." She gave Hattie Wilson a wary look as she slipped past her and out the door, closing it silently behind her.

As soon as she was gone, Hattie gestured toward the staircase. "Head on down, then."

But Vivian was frowning at her, something Hattie had said just moments before sticking in her mind. "What did you say your uncle's name was?"

"Not my uncle," Hattie reminded her.

"Sure, okay, but what did you call him? Did you say Uncle Huxley?"

"Uncle Huxley?" Hattie raised her brows, though her look of surprise seemed almost deliberate. "Don't tell me you found his bloody corpse but didn't know his given name."

"Why would I?" Vivian snapped. It was a stupid thought anyway. She pushed it out of her mind. "It isn't as if people like you introduce themselves to the folks doing their deliveries."

"I suppose not." Hattie shrugged again. "Are you going to stand there all day? I have to get downstairs myself."

Vivian still hesitated. "You're planning to double-cross me."

"Likely someday, but not just yet." Hattie held up one hand, though Vivian knew better than to trust her solemn expression. "On my honor. I'll even sit in front of the door so you can open it a crack if you'd like to risk it." She turned to leave, calling softly over her shoulder, "Enjoy the show."

Vivian stayed rooted to the spot after the door closed. For a moment, she thought about locking the door or putting something in front of it so that no one could come into the room behind her. But locking it might attract attention from someone who knew it was supposed to be open. And any sort of ruckus wouldn't just tell her someone was up there. It would probably carry to the Buchanans and their lawyer, and what if they came barreling up the staircase to investigate? Besides which, anything she did was as likely to get in Bea's way as it was anyone else's.

No, she'd just have to take her chances that someone might come into the room, or that Hattie Wilson might give her away in spite of her promise. She'd have to be quiet, was all. Quiet and careful. She could do that.

The staircase was as narrow as Bea had promised, and with no windows it was nearly dark. From the top, Vivian could see a single electric bulb hanging above the steps. But if she turned it on, someone might see the light where it shouldn't be. No sense taking that risk.

The still air made her shiver as she eased the door closed behind her and crept down. The passage had plunged into darkness when she pulled the door shut, and she had to feel her way carefully down each step, one hand outstretched so she wouldn't run into the door. When she reached it, she hesitated, then pressed her ear against the wood. There was no sound from the other side. Taking a deep breath, she turned the knob, opening the door just a bare crack and praying it wouldn't swing any wider. She didn't want to risk poking her head in; all she could do was hope that no one had been in there early to see the door move.

Settling down a few steps from the bottom, Vivian drew her legs under her chin, wrapped her arms around herself, and waited.

Her legs had just started to go numb from being in one position too long when she heard the sound of a door opening. Startled, Vivian just managed to catch herself before she sprang up. The sound had come from the next room, and it was immediately followed by a hushed babble of voices.

Vivian sat up straighter, breathing as quietly as possible while she strained toward the door without actually moving. It was starting.

"Are we waiting on anyone else, Mrs. Buchanan?" a man's voice asked, accompanied by the quick tapping sound of papers being shuffled into order. The lawyer, maybe?

"No." The woman's voice was trembling, with a hint of tears. Vivian could picture her dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "I believe this is… everyone." There was a hint of malice in those words that caught Vivian's attention. Unhappiness with the lawyer? Or dislike of someone else there?

"Very well." The lawyer's voice was businesslike and solemn, with just the right hint of kindness for a grieving family. "Shall we all take our seats? Mr. Whitcomb, Mr. Morris, there are places over here. Mrs. Buchanan, you and your…" He trailed off, sounding uncertain.

"Sister-in-law," said a brisk voice that reminded Vivian of the nuns who had raised her in the orphan home. It was the sort of voice that was not used to being argued with. "Miss Edith Rokesby, how do you do, I'm Mr. Rokesby's aunt as well. I'm here to support them in this trying time. And to see that their interests are protected."

There was silence in the room except for several clearing throats, as though no one was sure how to respond. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Rokesby," the lawyer replied at last.

"Mrs. Wilson, may I offer you this seat?" That was Corny Rokesby, and the sound of his voice made Vivian shiver. She wrapped her arms more tightly around herself.

"No, thank you. I believe I'll be comfortable right where I am." Hattie Wilson's voice was cool as always, no grief or even a pretense of it for her audience. It was also the closest one to Vivian yet. Apparently, Hattie was making good on her promise to place herself in front of the door. "Ms. Huxley, would you care to sit?"

Vivian had just started to relax a little, but Hattie's question—asked with too-obvious innocence—made her sit up sharply, eyes wide in the darkness of the staircase. There was no chance—she'd have known—

"I'm fine where I am, thanks. Don't draw things out on my account; I'm sure everyone wants to get this over with."

For a moment, Vivian felt like she couldn't breathe. She started to her feet without realizing what she was doing, her whole body shaking.

That had been Honor Huxley's voice.