The butler appeared in the doorway. “It’s being brought around now, my lady. Would you like Cordelia to accompany you? She is bringing your gloves.”
“Yes, please. I will need an escort on my way back.”
Lewis stepped closer to her, his voice low. “I must insist that you not—”
She lowered her head, peering at him, her voice low and brusque. “Constable, I have spent the last two days talking to people connected to Campion’s Emporium, including their brothel. I am both driven and desperate to find Lord Timothy. You are working your investigation. I am working mine. Do you understand that this is something Iwilldo? I need to know if this young man you found is, in fact, Lord Timothy. I will deal with the consequences later. Is this clear?”
He stared at her, his eyes narrowed. “You have been to Campion’s.”
Cordelia appeared in the doorway, bearing a pair of puce leather gloves. Eloise stepped away from the constable and toward the door. “We can discuss this on the way.” She took the gloves and headed for the front entrance as she tugged them on, not checking to see if the constable followed her. But as she headed down the front steps, she heard his boots behind her. As the carriage pulled up, she glanced at him. “Please give the direction to the driver.”
The footman helped her enter, and she thanked him as he turned to help Cordelia. His eyes widened at her words, and he nodded. When Cordelia turned a quizzical look on her, Eloise gave a quick shrug. “I have a greater appreciation for his presence than I used to.”
As Constable Lewis settled in across from Eloise and Cordelia, he glanced at the maid. Eloise sighed. “I have no secrets from my maid, Constable. None. And if you have not yet learned this, you should realize that in a house like this—any household of the aristocracy—the servants know everything. If you wish to know the darkest of the secrets, do not go into the front door, which is covered with a thick veil of silence and propriety. Go to the kitchens.”
He nodded. “So. Campion’s.”
“My closest friend is an upstanding and respectable modiste who caters to the elite. One of her former seamstresses, however, now works at Campion’s.”
“As a lightskirt.”
“Yes. And my friend arranged a meeting.”More or less the truth.Eloise was not in the mood to explain anything more intricate.
“And what did she tell you?”
“As you have said, Lord Timothy was last seen on their gambling floor. Apparently, he had crossed paths with a man named Morgan.”
His face was placid. “The man who shot Bill Campion.”
Eloise nodded. “I’ve also heard that Morgan was in a particularly nasty line of business.”
His expression remained impassive. “They tell you what that line of work was?”
“Enough to know that my brother could be in a great deal of... trouble.”
“Anything else?”
Time to drop bait. “Apparently, my inquiries lit a spark under the floor manager there, a man named Robbie Green.”
Again, no physical response. “How so?”
Eloise almost smiled. “Constable Lewis, do you gamble? Play cards?”
This time his eyes widened. “Not my vice, no.”
“Good. Because you would be a lousy player.” She folded her hands in her lap.
“Why would you think so?”
“Because when you do not know something, your expressions move through a wide series of twitches and shifts. When you know something with a certainty, you turn somber and stolid. Your face turns to stone. If you were dealt a great hand of cards, you would look like a statue.”
After a moment, he smiled. “Very astute, my lady.”
“So you will forgive me if I also hold back a few details as well.”
“I hold back what cannot possibly help you at this time.”
“Yes.”
