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There were few men in the sitting room during afternoon tea. A small number accompanied their wives or mothers, but aside from the waiters, Mr. Chapman was sometimes the only one. He usually relished in his role of steward. He could be very charming. The middle-aged women in particular liked him. Like Mr. Hobart, he kept notes about the more important guests so that when he made conversation, he got the names of children and pets correct, and was able to ask how their renovations were proceeding, or how their elderly mother was feeling.
He wasn’t so agreeable today, however. He didn’t engage in conversation or smile, and he had the waiters show the important guests to their tables, instead of doing it himself. He remained near the door and studied the reservations book, or seemed to.
“Does Mr. Chapman seem pre-occupied to you?” I asked Flossy once we were alone.
“A little. I don’t know. I don’t take much notice of him. He’s always just…there.”
As if he knew we were talking about him, he suddenly looked in our direction.
Flossy and I dipped our heads and pretended to be deep in conversation.
She soon forgot about Mr. Chapman as other guests came and went from our table, but I watched him from time to time. He was certainly distracted, and not his usual self. Something was bothering him.
Lady Quorne’smaid’s favorite tipple was beer, which she claimed she drank “for her health”. She sat with three men in a corner of the Hound and Fox but agreed to move to another table when we offered to buy her a beer.
It was a respectable pub, located in the well-to-do area of London. Its patrons were the servants of the big houses, however, not their owners. Most were men, but there were maids too. Women weren’t a common sight at pubs, and I thought I’d feel conspicuous, but no one paid me any notice when I entered with Harry.
“What’s this about then, eh?” Miss Docherty asked in a northern accent. She was a similar age to her mistress, but with a sagging jawline and the ruddy complexion of a heavy drinker. Her gaze wandered over us both then drifted off to a point in the distance. She was already three sheets to the wind and it was only ten-thirty.
“We work for a duchess,” Harry said. “She wants to employ you, if you’re free to leave Lady Quorne.”
Miss Docherty’s attention snapped back. “Course I’m free. I can do as I please.” She put down her beer mug with athunkon the table. “How did you find me?”
“The butler informed us you’d be here.”
She snorted. “Course he did.” She called the butler a few colorful names under her breath then took a long sip of beer.
While I didn’t like to judge a book by its cover, my first impression of Miss Docherty was that she wasn’t the sort of woman who’d be employed as a lady’s maid. The ones I’d met were proper, sometimes more proper than their mistresses. Miss Docherty was uncouth. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and sat hunched over. She looked as though she’d spent hardly any time fixing her hair, a skill that many lady’s maids prided themselves on. Perhaps she took more care with her mistress’s than her own.
Miss Docherty’s accent gave me hope that she’d known Lady Quorne before her marriage. Lord Quorne had met his future wife up north, so perhaps the women had known each other then. They might even have been close. That would explain why Lady Quorne continued to employ a woman who didn’t seem suited to the position of lady’s maid.
“Where are you from originally?” I asked.
“Manchester.”
“Did you begin working for Lady Quorne up there or down here?”
She’d been about to take another sip but paused with the mug halfway to her mouth. Her lips tilted into a sardonic smile. “You ain’t the first to ask me that.”
“Oh?”
“I got into trouble from his lordship for speaking to him.”
“Him? Who asked you about Lady Quorne?”
She sucked on her teeth as she thought. “I can’t remember his name. But he’s been in the papers recently on account of getting murdered.”
Chapter9
Harry sat back, as if Miss Docherty’s words had pushed him. “Murdered? That’s…unfortunate.”
She shrugged a shoulder and downed more of her beer. “Sorry you wasted your time, but I can’t tell you anything or his lordship will whip me. He threatened to, after the last time, but didn’t do it. Her ladyship wouldn’t let him, on account of us being close, once.”
“In Manchester,” I said, not posing it as a question.
She didn’t correct me.
“You’ve known her a long time. You knew her from before she married.”
