“Even though we have advised you there is likely nothing to investigate?”
“Find the answer to the matter of the roses. Look into the household, the doctor, the violinist and any other lover you come across, and if you find nothing suspicious and no other inquiries to follow, then so be it. I am happy to pay for your time.”
“Good,” Constance said. “Because that is how we avoid—for the most part—frivolous cases. People prepared to pay have genuine concerns.”
That formula didn’t work so well with the poorest in society, but even there, the proffered mite made a point.
“I have,” Kellar said, “genuine concerns.”
“What we discover may tarnish Mrs. Montague’s reputation,” Solomon warned. “You may not like what we uncover.”
“I believe I already know her flaws. They do not change my affection for her. Do you have some kind of contract for me to sign?”
“Yes,” Constance said. “And we are not cheap.”
*
“I wonder,” Constancemurmured, as they finally waved off Sebastian Kellar in his carriage and closed Silver and Grey’s black-painted door, “if we will regret this.”
“We never have before,” Solomon pointed out.
“We never worked for anyone who knows my mother before. He didn’t mention her once.”
Solomon raised his eyebrows. “Are you outraged on her behalf?”
“No,” she said crossly. “Well, yes, perhaps. I’m not sure he’s telling the truth about his relationship with Caterina. It would explain why he helped her come to England, and why he’s so antagonistic toward her husband. But in fact, I’m relieved—or I should be—that he didn’t askabout Juliet.”
Her relationship with her mother was always complicated and often seemed contradictory. In this case, mostly, she was probably thinking of her mother’s pride. The no doubt beautiful and pure young woman of Kellar’s memory had been badly ravaged by life. What Juliet’s happiness depended on was anyone’s guess, though Constance seemed to think it was staying away from men altogether.
“You’ve never had that conversation with her?” he asked.
“She’s never brought him up, so neither did I after the first time. But I suppose having him as a client is no reason why they should ever meet. Unless she chooses to. Are we wasting our time and his money, Solomon?”
“Probably,” he said, strolling into his office. “But with luck, we can quickly put his mind to rest. I’ll write the report about the child, and then, I think, we can go home for the day.”
“Excellent plan,” she agreed.
She followed him across to his desk and picked up the piece of paper on which Kellar had written down the name and address of the violinist he believed to have been Caterina’s lover.
“Carl Darrow,” she read aloud, slowly raising her eyes to Solomon’s. “We know him. He played at one of our charity evenings at the establishment.”
“And I thought we could invite him to play at our soiree,” Solomon said ruefully.
Her eyes narrowed. “What soiree?”
“The one you are considering.”
“The one I have considered and rejected,” she said.
He reached across the desk to kiss her full on the mouth. “Keep considering for a little while longer.”
*
Mary Webb hadnothing to do, nothing to prepare for her mistress. In fact, she no longer had a position. Tomorrow she would have to begin looking for another. For now, late in the afternoon, when she often helped Mrs. Montague to dress for the theatre, there was no reason why she should not sit in the bedchamber with the body of her beautiful, turbulent, flawed mistress.
She opened the bedchamber door, and the instant scent of roses immediately reminded her of the people asking questions. A lot of questions, which she had been too stunned not to answer—though looking back, they were insolent and not anyone’s business but hers. She was the keeper of Mrs. Montague’s secrets.
She would pray beside her, pray for peace for them both.
