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He saw the cook, Mrs Hanslope, who could add nothing, except that Mrs Graves was a very good mistress, never one to interfere in the kitchen, or to expect miracles at short notice, like a dinner for twelve with no warning.
The kitchen maid had nothing to offer, likewise the bootboy and the housemaid. Daniel went outside to see the two gardeners. However, they offered only that Mrs Graves appreciated their work, and knew quite a lot about flowers. Daniel had gone through all the names of the flowers he knew, and accepted their corrections when he got them wrong.
Salcombe was the elder of the two. ‘Bless you, sir, put out in the sunshine and it’ll do fine, but give you nothing but leaves. Need shade, they do. Here . . .’ He led the way to a corner of the garden where the shade was deep. ‘See! There’s the best.’
‘Quite a hidden spot,’ Daniel observed.
‘Got to walk a garden to appreciate it,’ Salcombe nodded sagely. ‘Don’t just look out the window.’
‘Did Mr Graves look out of the window?’
Salcombe shook his head. ‘Walked through the garden without seeing it.’
That was disapproval. Daniel could not get him to express any further opinion. He thanked him and went back inside. Now he must face speaking to Ebony’s daughter. That was going to be difficult, and even though he had thought about it for some time, he had no ideas in his mind. What do you say to a young woman whose mother has been murdered, and whose father is to be hanged for it in a matter of days?
For propriety’s sake, Miss Purbright, the lady’s maid, sat silently in the corner. She was the one member of staff Daniel had yet to speak with. She must know Ebony better than anyone else. Just as no man was a hero to his valet, no woman had secrets from her lady’s maid. His mother had grown up in a house where there were valets and lady’s maids. Aunt Emily had always had one. Daniel was familiar with the custom, even if he had never experienced it himself. His father was first a policeman, in the days when the police were of a social standing with the bailiff or the rat catcher. His mother had married for love, and love only. She had given up her social status and the money that went with it. In return, she had received comparative poverty but endless interest, admiration, and a deepening love.
What had Ebony Graves received? Only an early and scandalous death.
Miss Purbright remained in the chair nearest the door, sitting uncomfortably. Daniel presumed she sat at all only because to stand would have drawn attention to her, and perhaps make Sarah even more tense.
Sarah Graves was a handsome young woman, in a very quiet way. She had nondescript fair colouring, and regular features. She was of average height and a pleasing enough figure. The only things remarkable about her were the grace of her composure, and her unusually dark blue eyes, dark-lashed, and very direct. It was her gracefulness that reminded him in some way of his sister, Jemima. She was now a mother, and lived in New York, and he missed her.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Pitt,’ Sarah said calmly, coming into the room, glancing at the maid, and then at Daniel. ‘I don’t know what I can tell you, but I would like to lay to rest some of the spiteful things that are being said about my mother.’ She sat down in the chair opposite him.
Miss Purbright had risen when Sarah entered, then she resumed her seat in the corner and sat silent guard. Daniel made no comment to Sarah on the fact that it was Ebony’s reputation she was here to protect from ill-informed gossip, not her fathe
r’s from the charge of murder. He drew in his breath to say so, then changed his mind. There were far more subtle ways to draw out explanations. His instinct was to be gentle, both personally and professionally.
‘I cannot imagine how distressing it must be for you to hear irresponsible things said about her, and you cannot defend her,’ he said gravely. ‘I have heard my own mother criticised unjustly, and it was horrible.’
She looked surprised. ‘Did they say she was strident, malicious, wanting to have roles that rightly belonged to men?’ she asked with a hard edge to her voice.
He heard the tension as she sought to control it.
‘That she was unnatural? And suggest all kinds of . . . disgusting things?’ she went on.
‘People say that when they are frightened . . .’
‘Of what? What is frightening about women having the right to vote for the Government?’ she demanded. ‘We have to obey the laws, just like men. Shouldn’t we have a say in what they are?’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘But it is a change. For women, it is a responsibility some of them don’t want. For men, it is a loss of control, and people always hate giving up control, going into a new situation they can’t predict, losing power, status . . .’
‘Would you like it if your mother did that?’ she asked, raising her eyebrows a little.
He smiled. ‘She didn’t ask me if I minded or not. And, honestly, I don’t think it would have made any difference.’
Sarah was silent for a moment, surprised. It was obviously an answer she had not foreseen.
‘Did it frighten you?’ he asked.
‘No! Well . . . a bit. But I think she was right! And brave . . .’
‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘I understand women’s suffrage was not the only cause she fought for.’
‘No.’ Her cheeks flooded with colour. ‘There were other things, to do with having child after child, with no way of . . . stopping . . .’
He realised she was terribly embarrassed, discussing such things with a young man she barely knew, yet she was proud of her mother for fighting so controversial a battle, and she would not back down from defending her.
