“Laughable, ain’t it?” Juliet’s Cockney accent was more pronounced again.
Constance shook her head. “No.”
Juliet’s gaze fell. Constance’s hostility and rudeness never upset her mother. But apparently her kindness did.
“You called him manipulative last night,” Juliet said, brisk again. “Why? What’s he trying to get you to do?”
“Investigate the death of an opera singer whom he rescued from the revolutions in Italy.”
“And you’re doing it? Walk away, Constance.”
“I don’t think we can. Look, we don’t entirely trust him. Even in Venice we suspected he was more than a diplomat. I think he does the dirty work our government cannot be seen to be involved in. This business with Caterina di Ripoli could be some kind of elaborate plan to get us to prove he wasn’t involved in the death when he was. But we have one advantage.”
“What?” Juliet demanded.
“He doesn’t know we are investigating him too.”
*
From her mother’sshop, the lapis lazuli ring in her bag, Constance walked briskly on to the Silver and Grey office, where she summoned Janey to her room.
“I want you to go to Eagle Square,” Constance said, “just behind Fleet Street. Speak to the servants and anyone else you can find who lives there. We want to know of any odd movements, comings or goings at number eight Eagle Square, on Wednesday evening and very early Thursday morning. Also, a description of anyone seen cutting stems of red roses in the square garden.”
Janey took such instructions in her stride these days. “Anything else?”
“Yes. Find out what the neighbors say about the residents of number eight—a Mr. and Mrs. Digby Montague. Mrs. Montague was an Italian, who died on Wednesday night, also known as Caterina di Ripoli, the opera singer.”
Janey’s eyes widened, as though she had heard of her, but all she said was, “I’ll start now, will I?”
“Yes. The funeral service begins at eleven, with, I believe, baked meats afterward at the house. It might be a good time to find servants unsupervised.”
“I suppose you and himself will be at number eight?” Janey said.
“I suppose we will.”
Constance, already dressed in funereal black, occupied herself with the post on her desk, and signed a few of Janey’s letters until Solomon arrived in the carriage.
“Well?” she asked, striding along the hall to meet him. “What did you learn?”
“That Montague is putting a brave face on things but is living on a knife’s edge. One more run of bad luck, and the general opinion is that he’ll go under. I have people verifying the details, but it’s most likely true. I have another associate to speak to, but he was out of town this morning. What did you learn?”
Constance preceded him into his office. “Juliet doesn’t trust Kellar. It seems he has always done the Foreign Office’s dirty work and is good at it. He is as manipulative and underhanded as we imagined in Venice and, according to my mother, is not above extreme violence. She suspects him of killing a man even before they parted.”
“Parted?” Solomon said. “Then he really did have an understanding with her?”
“I don’t think they understood each other at all, but certainly there was an attraction and a proposal.”
Solomon’s eyes were as perceptive as ever. “What else?”
“She’s disturbed by his presence. He found her quite deliberately, and he knows all about me. And I think she’s…frightened.”
“Of Kellar?” Solomon said sharply.
“I’m not sure,” Constance said. She knew she was being evasive, but the habit of keeping her mother’s secrets was hard to break, even with him. “She seemed more worried about me.”
Solomon threw his hat on the desk. “I wish I knew someone important in the Foreign Office.”
“I do,” Constance said. “And I think we should make use of him. But first, to Eagle Square.”
