Page 19 of A Silence in Belgrave Square (Below Stairs #8)

“I haven’t had the chance,” I replied truthfully. Cynthia hadn’t been down to the kitchen, and I’d been plenty busy with my day-to-day duties since Miss Townsend had showed me her letter. ““You say there are more with Daniel’s handwriting?”

“Indeed,” Cynthia said. “Judes got her friends to cough them up. She has six of the awful things in hand now, all sent to women married to or related to people high up in government. Threatening them with dire fates if they don’t do what they’re told.

Probably why I haven’t been blessed with such missives.

Papa barely knows where the House of Lords meets, let alone what they do there. ”

“So I had concluded myself,” I said. “It is interesting that they have changed from demands for money to demands for influence.”

“If McAdam is writing out these envelopes, he’ll know who is sending them, won’t he?” Cynthia asked.

“Not necessarily,” Mr.Thanos broke in. “It could be part of one of these covert tasks McAdam has been thrown into for the police. He might be in on a plot to smoke out the blackmailer.” Mr.Thanos peered at me hopefully from nearsighted eyes.

I hadn’t let on to Cynthia or Miss Townsend about Daniel’s current assignment, so I only nodded. “Something like that. I am sorry I cannot tell you more.”

Mr.Thanos looked disappointed but understanding. “Please assure him that I will render any assistance I can.”

“You’ve already rendered a great deal.” Cynthia leaned around me to speak to Mr.Thanos. “Tell her about your chemical experiments.”

Mr.Thanos beamed. “I happen to be friends with one of the foremost professors of chemistry at the Normal School of Science in South Kensington. Frederick Russell. As in Russell Square and Great Russell Street. Those Russells. He’s an unassuming chap, in spite of his pedigree, and quite brilliant.

” He smiled broadly, wishing me to join with his pride in his friend.

“Go on,” Cynthia prodded. “Tell her what he said.”

“Oh, yes. Of course. Well, Russell tested the paper and envelope of the letters Miss Townsend received. He announced that they were very ordinary, full of wood pulp and not much linen. Cheaply obtained at any stationers on any street in London, sold for a ha’penny a packet.”

“That does not help us much,” I said, trying not to sound too despondent. “I had already concluded that the envelope was cheap, though I wasn’t certain about the paper.”

“Of a very similar nature. It is amazing how Russell can add droplets of colored chemicals to a scrap of paper and tell me exactly what it’s made of by observing the colors or patterns that are formed.

I am a theoretical scientist myself—all equations and diagrams—but I sometimes wish I could roll up my sleeves and swish chemicals about in beakers. ”

“It’s rather a mercy you don’t,” Cynthia said in alarm. “You’d spill something incredibly dangerous and be an invalid the rest of your life.”

“Exactly why I stick to books and papers.” Mr.Thanos chuckled. “But it’s fascinating to watch.”

“You’ve left out the best part,” Cynthia said.

“That is true. Forgive me, Mrs.Holloway. I’m apt to become interested in a thing, you know, and run off on a tangent. Russell said there was nothing remarkable about the paper. But the ink— now, that is a different story.”

“Yes?” I asked, my hopes rising again. “What about the ink?”

“It turns out it is a combination of iron-gall inks mixed with indigo. This particular recipe, which Russell deduced from separating it into its parts, is manufactured in France, by a company that makes high-quality artist inks and also those for writing,” Mr.Thanos finished, pleased.

“He means the ink can only be obtained either by a shop that imports it to London, or by traveling to Paris oneself and purchasing it,” Cynthia elucidated. “In other words, expensive. Not something one would pop into the nearest stationers and buy for a few pennies.”

“The bottles themselves are works of art,” Mr.Thanos said admiringly. “Lovely glass stoppers. Russell showed me one—he of course can afford such things.”

As could a man who lived in a luxurious house in Belgrave Square, who was visited by equally wealthy friends.

“We were thinking.” Cynthia cut through my thoughts. “It wouldn’t be difficult to find out who purchased the ink. Only a few shops in London carry it. Then we will know who wrote the letters.”

Who had possibly written the letters, I amended to myself, but I nodded.

“If you do discover who bought this particular ink, please do nothing until we discuss it,” I said. “Then we’ll decide what to do.”

“Go to the police and rout them,” Cynthia avowed.

Mr.Thanos, who knew more about Daniel’s past assignments than anyone, caught my concern. “Yes, we will proceed cautiously,” he promised. “You are thinking this blackmailer might be more dangerous than a disgruntled acquaintance, Mrs.Holloway?”

I sent him a grateful look. “That is it exactly.”

“Which is why I’d turn it all over to the police,” Cynthia said. “But Judes also says no. Too many people could be hurt and embarrassed, she reminds me. They don’t have the same stamina as Judith. Or me.”

I slid my notebook from my coat pocket. “Can you tell me who else has had letters? If they would not be upset by me knowing.”

“Don’t worry,” Cynthia said. “Judes has taken over all the letters received in her circle of friends, and they do nothing until she tells them to. In addition to Viola and Delia, there is Countess Buckenham, Lady John Langley, and Lady Edith St. Mary, whose father is a duke. She’s a widow but hostesses all her father’s dos, since her mum is gone. ”

I wrote down the names. “I will guess that their husbands, fathers, or brothers are important in government?”

“Cabinet ministers or leaders of the Tories or in some ministry or other, like Judith’s father,” Cynthia confirmed.

“And what does the letter writer want their male relatives to do?”

Cynthia drummed her fingers on her broadcloth-skirted knee.

“Harass the PM, remove restricting laws in Ireland and push for Home Rule, limit the powers of the police. The writer is a bit condescending to the ladies—they imply we women won’t understand the policies the letter writer speaks of, but he assured them it is very important.

So important that their nasty secrets will be exposed if they don’t comply. ”

“Affairs and the like?” I asked gently.

“Affairs, ruinous gambling debts, children—heirs even—fathered by someone other than the lady’s husband. One accused of causing the death of her maid, which we’ve always suspected is true, though accidentally, poor wretch.”

I hid my distress at the last revelation by firmly jotting notes. “The writer knows quite specific things. I do not wish to be indelicate, but could your sister have had the liaisons her letter implied?”

“Yes,” Cynthia said glumly. “Old Rankin was the very devil to live with. He’s being generous to my family now, but I believe the shock of Em’s death snapped something in him.

Em never confided in me, but I am certain she had an affair with a French gent for a time.

She’d have had to meet him in out-of-the-way places, because if Rankin had found out, he’d have never ceased punishing her about it. ”

“Then the writer must have been someone who knew her well,” I said. “Or followed her about. What I am coming around to is: How does this writer know everything he or she claims? They make more than vague threats about exposing indiscretions. They are quite detailed.”

“Someone who knows all of us well.” Cynthia looked a bit sickly. “That could be any of us. Me. Bobby, even.”

“Is Bobby interested in Irish Home Rule?” I asked with a touch of humor.

“I think Bobby might know where Ireland is,” Cynthia answered. “In a general sort of way. But no, she is not political, by any means. She says government is created by men for men, and until women lead the world, she wants nothing to do with such things. I can see her point.”

Mr.Thanos broke in. “Jesting aside, I believe Cyn is right. There is a spy in your midst. Is anyone particularly adamant about the Irish question?”

“Yes, of course,” Cynthia said. “Our bluestocking chats in Russell Square are about the state of the world and finding justice for everyone. Some ladies are a bit fanatic about reform—suffrage for women and rights of those crushed by the empire. At the same time, I can’t imagine them writing scurrilous letters threatening to tell tales to get their way.

They proclaim their views loudly and even walk about the streets with placards.

Besides, it would be difficult for them to discover some of these things—who fathered whose child, and so forth.

That points more to a society lady or gent who watches and collects the information. ”

“Someone with a relative in Ireland, perhaps?” Mr.Thanos suggested.

“Perhaps,” I said hesitantly. “Or perhaps the collector of information does not write the letters. He or she passes on the bits, not knowing that they are being used in an attempt to manipulate powerful men.”

“Why should they pass on the information?” Cynthia demanded. “For money? Perhaps they are up to their ears in debt.”

“Or for someone they love?” I suggested. “Perhaps not wisely.”

“Again, that could be anyone in Mayfair.” Cynthia waved her hand at London in general. “And it might be a servant. A footman, a valet, a lady’s maid. Someone intimate with a family. Speaks to other valets and manservants and gathers the particulars.”

“I have thought of the possibility of a servant,” I said.

Mr.Davis, for one, knew much gossip about what went on in the homes of the titled, as did I.

The cooks I was acquainted with liked to impart tittle-tattle, the juicier, the better.

“Or a lady who wanders from home to home, insisting on hospitality.”