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He knew how to be circumspect when it was in his own interest. He had learned it with some difficulty, but his ambition overrode his temper, even his pride, and it had come in time.
“Good morning,” he replied agreeably. “No, nothing alarming has happened. I have a favor I wish of you, if you are willing.”
“Of me?” She was still astonished and half disbelieving.
“If you will? May I sit down?”
“Oh—of course.” They were in Mrs. Home’s parlor, and she waved to the seat nearest the thin fire.
He accepted, and began on the purpose of his visit before trivial conversation should lead him into betraying Callandra Daviot.
“I am engaged in the Queen Anne Street case, the murder of Sir Basil Moidore’s daughter.”
“I wondered if you would be,” she answered politely, her eyes bright with expectation. “The newspapers are still full of it. But I have never met any of the family, nor do I know anything about them. Have they any connection with the Crimea?”
“Only peripheral.”
“Then what can I—” She stopped, waiting for him to answer.
“It was someone in the house who killed her,” he said. “Very probably one of the family—”
“Oh—” Understanding began in her eyes, not of her own part in the case, but of the difficulties facing him. “How can you investigate that?”
“Carefully.” He smiled with a downward turn of his lips. “Lady Moidore has taken to her bed. I am not sure how much of it is grief—she was very composed to begin with—and how much of it may be because she has learned something which points to one of the family and she cannot bear it.”
“What can I do?” He had all her attention now.
“Would you consider taking a position as nurse to Lady Moidore, and observing the family, and if possible learning what she fears so much?”
She looked uncomfortable. “They may require better references than I could supply.”
“Would not Miss Nightingale speak well of you?”
“Oh, certainly—but the infirmary would not.”
“Indeed. Then we shall hope they do not ask them. I think the main thing will be if Lady Moidore finds you agreeable—”
“I imagine Lady Callandra would also speak for me.” He relaxed back into his chair. “That should surely be sufficient. Then you will do it?”
She laughed very slightly. “If they advertise for such a person, I shall surely apply—but I can hardly turn up at the door and inquire if they need a nurse!”
“Of course not. I shall do what I can to arrange it.” He did not tell her of Callandra Daviot’s cousin, and hurried on to avoid difficult explanations. “It will be done by word of mouth, as these things are in the best families. If you will permit yourself to be mentioned? Good—”
“Tell me something of the household.”
“I think it would be better if I left you to discover it yourself—and certainly your opinions would be of more use to me.” He frowned curiously. “What happened at the infirmary?”
Ruefully she told him.
Valentina Burke-Heppenstall was prevailed upon to call in person at Queen Anne Street to convey her sympathies, and when Beatrice did not receive her, she commiserated with her friend’s distress and suggested to Araminta that perhaps a nurse would be helpful in the circumstances and be able to offer assistance a busy ladies’ maid could not.
After a few moments’ consideration, Araminta was disposed to agree. It would indeed remove from the rest of the household the responsibility for a task they were not really equipped to handle.
Valentina could suggest someone, if it would not be viewed as impertinent? Miss Nightingale’s young ladies were the very best, and very rare indeed among nurses; they were well-bred, not at all the sort of person one would mind having in one’s house.
Araminta was obliged. She would interview this person at the first opportunity.
Accordingly Hester put on her bes
