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“You just said you wanted us to work together,” Mad Dog pointed out.

“It may not be the best plan,” Enid said defensively, “but it’s better than no plan at all.”

John gave her a withering glance and began to pace around the table.

“I think,” Tuppence ventured, “Mr. Pembroke expected us to say we’d try to behave well and do our jobs properly, so the supervising officer would write a good report.”

A short silence.

“Knackerin’s easier,” Mad Dog commented.

“Bring the supervisor upstairs,” Enid offered, “and I’ll push him out a window. He won’t be expecting that from me.”

“But he might shout on the way down,” Norman said regretfully, “and bother Miss Martin while she’s working.”

“Enough.” John stopped in his tracks, scowling. “Listen, all of you. When I said no murder, I meant it. None. Zero murder. Mention it again, and I’ll be taking you back to Millbank myself.” He glanced at the cook, who was standing at the counter next to the range. “June, is Miss Martin’s dinner ready?”

“It is, Mr. Pembroke.” Promptly the cook fetched the tray and brought it to him. “She’ll be working in the library,” she said. “I’ll set this lot straight while you’re upstairs.”

The set of John’s shoulders eased as he realized June had decided to become an ally. “Thank you,” he muttered. “I hope to hell they listen.”

“They will,” June said. “Also, Mr. Pembroke—after you’ve given Miss Martin the tray, don’t leave until she starts eating, or she’ll forget it’s there.”

He gave her a dubious glance. “She’ll eat if she feels hungry, aye?”

“No. People with genius brains don’t pay no attention to what their body says. To Miss Martin, a body’s only something to keep her head off the floor.”

Perplexed, John nodded slowly and left with the tray.

As he started up the stairs, he could hear June begin to scold the other servants. “You pack of lazy, pucker-sniffing goblins—you’d rather murder someone than do a proper day’s work? I’m bloody embarrassed, livin’ with the likes of such offal.”

“Awful what?” came Norman’s voice.

“Not awful ‘terrible,’ ” June snapped. “Offal like sheep guts. And don’t even think about poisoning my tarts, Norman, or I’ll use my rolling pin to flatten you into a shitbiscuit. As for you, Mad, you pestiferous gomph, if another new idea ever rattles inside your empty gourd, keep it to yourself. And you, Enid—”

There was no way, John reflected, that any of these people would ever function as peaceful and respectable members of society. Not one of them, with the exception of Tuppence, should have been granted remission from their prison sentences. It was only a matter of time until some violent crime was committed, whether individually or collectively.

A woman as smart as Reina Martin had to be aware of that. Furthermore, it must have become clear to her that they were never going to be marginally competent servants, much less good ones. She had to have hired them with an ulterior motive. She was planning to use them in some way.

And he was going to find out what it was.

Chapter Eleven

A Remarkably Inconvenient Woman

John carried the dinner tray to the library, where the door had been left ajar. Pausing at the threshold, he saw Reina working at the end of a long library table. The spray of light from a nearby oil lamp gilded her profile. He was fascinated by her look of concentration, the sharp and focused intelligence.

Seeming dissatisfied with what she’d just written, Reina held up her gold propelling pencil and made a project of twisting out a new tip.

Seeing an opportunity to interrupt, John asked quietly, “Ma’am?”

Reina glanced at the doorway, and a smile flashed across her face. “Pembroke. Come in. If you’ll set the tray down, I’ll eat in a little while.”

“You may enjoy it more while it’s hot, ma’am,” he said, entering the room.

“Did you have dinner with the rest of the staff?”

“Aye, ma’am.”