Page 24 of A Silence in Belgrave Square (Below Stairs #8)

I had lifted my tea to sip, but I set it quickly back down. ““Why are you so certain?”

Hannah’s eyes glittered with adamance. “They’re villains in that house, mark my words—his lordship, his manservant, and his pals what come to see him.

They shut themselves into his study for hours.

They pore over maps and papers and go instantly quiet when the helpful maid comes in to refresh the brandy or bring tea for the lady.

They don’t bother hiding the papers, because they think I can’t read,” she finished with some amusement.

“Are the maps and papers damning enough?” I asked in hope. “Can Daniel call in Scotland Yard to come in and seize them?”

Hannah’s smile deserted her. “I don’t know. When his lordship’s mates leave, the papers are all gone, every bit of them. I’ve looked. If I could smuggle out one scrap, I’m certain the whole lot of them would be arrested, but they’re too careful, and I haven’t found nothing.”

“Please don’t snoop,” I said quickly. “I don’t want your body ending up in the Thames.”

“Two people from the same house murdered would set the police’s sights on them though, wouldn’t it?” Hannah’s eyes narrowed in thought, increasing my alarm.

“And please don’t get yourself killed to bring the constables there,” I begged her. “Such a sacrifice is not worth it.”

Hannah went off in peals of merriment. The laugh became the cackles of an elderly woman just as the barmaid returned. Hannah began to cough, the reedy hack of someone in the first stages of consumption, and she rubbed her eyes with a rough-gloved hand.

The barmaid crossed the room to us, set a cloudy half-pint of ale in a glass next to Hannah’s elbow, and waited. Hannah glared up at her with damp, bloodshot eyes.

“That’s only a half.”

“Half is what we give ladies,” the barmaid said. “Landlord says drink it and clear off.”

Hannah growled something inaudible, then fumbled in a pocket and counted out a few grimy pennies.

“It’s a shilling,” the barmaid informed her.

“What? Highway robbery, that is.”

I’d already pulled out my small coin purse. “There you are. A bit extra for you too.” I dropped a shilling and tuppence into the barmaid’s palm.

“You shouldn’t pay for the likes of her,” the barmaid advised, though she slid the coins into her apron pocket readily enough. “If she’s troubling you, I’ll have her slung out.”

“I’m simply practicing Christian charity,” I said, a bit primly. “When you are old and lonely, perhaps someone will stand you an ale and a chat.”

The barmaid scoffed, rolled her eyes, and tramped away, her pockets clinking.

“Such lies you tell,” Hannah said to me with glee. “Christian charity, indeed.” I noted that her cough had magically vanished, and her eyes had dried.

“I do give to those who are less fortunate.” I lifted my teacup again while Hannah sipped her ale. “I would like to think someone would do the same for me if I were on the streets with an empty belly.”

“You always were unnaturally kind.” Hannah took another sip of ale and made a face. “I’m not wrong about it tasting like piss.”

“You were also right about the tea not being much better.” I pushed aside my cup. “What does Daniel do during these meetings? Is he in the room with the conspirators?”

“Not always.” Hannah shook her head. “He has his own chamber next to the master’s study.

It’s not a very big room, only enough space for a desk and a bookcase.

He’s made to wait there when all the people come.

Sometimes his lordship will send for him to bring in a book or another map or to take away some papers.

Those papers must not reveal anything, or your man would hand ’em to Scotland Yard quick, wouldn’t he? ”

“They are careful.” I traced the knob on the teapot’s lid. The pot needed a good wash, but at least the water was scalding hot. “Do they suspect Daniel of being not what he purports?”

“Don’t seem to. They ignore him, mostly.

His lordship calls to him to write letters or take down dictation and send messages to his cronies, but those have nothing to do with villainy that I can tell.

I hear sometimes what his lordship dictates, and it’s dull tripe.

Like wishing a man’s corns heal up, or how many shirts to order from his tailor, or recommending a restaurant for a mate’s wife’s birthday. ”

“If any of that is code, Daniel will crack it,” I said with conviction. “Is Daniel given envelopes to address? Even if he doesn’t write the letter inside?”

“All the time. No one in that house can be bothered to write a direction themselves. His lordship’s sister—Lady Fontaine, you remember I told you about her—always hands your man things to post and bids him write out all her envelopes.

Also thrusts her shopping lists at him to give to the housekeeper, as though she can’t do that herself.

Lady Fontaine don’t like anything that comes from a pen done by any but Daniel.

Either she’s a clever crook and wants nothing in her own handwriting, or she’s sweet on him. ”

I shrugged. “Both could be true.”

Hannah laughed again. “He has a way with him, don’t he? Don’t bother to hide it none either. He’ll use it to charm his way safe, mark my words.”

“As long as it keeps him well, I won’t object.” I could hardly be jealous of a sharp-tongued, penny-pinching ladyship if she wanted to make sheep’s eyes at Daniel.

“Well, ain’t you the one?” Hannah chuckled. “He never mentions you, of course, and he pretends no woman has ever entered his life—he being a skint gentleman what has to take small pay in a rich house. But I see the wistfulness in his eyes sometimes. He misses ya.”

“You are kind to say so.”

Daniel, that master of deception, would never let on, even with a flicker in his gaze, that he was anyone other than he appeared. Hannah was only trying to make me feel better. Daniel would never betray any sort of yearning—would he? I hoped not, for his sake.

“I ain’t being kind,” Hannah said. “The sooner he’s out of that house and back courting you, the better.”

“Do you know what sorts of letters Lady Fontaine writes?” I asked, pretending to ignore her last statement.

“I’ve had a good peek, so yes. More inane things, like ordering gloves or nattering on to a friend how annoying her brother is.

Then she walks downstairs and fawns all over his lordship until he gives her more cash for what she’s just sent me off to buy.

She likes me to do her shopping for her, lazy old bat. ”

“Perhaps she fears to leave the house, in case her creditors are lurking,” I suggested.

“Could very well be. Lady Fontaine got herself into some terrible debt. Part of it wasn’t her fault—her husband left her destitute and owed many people on top of that.

But she don’t cease purchasing stockings, ribbons, hats—oh, so many hats—handmade shoes, shawls, and whatnot.

I think Lady Fontaine sends me because she knows she’ll be tempted to pinch a few odds and sods if she goes into a shop. She knows she can’t help herself.”

“Daniel addressed a batch of envelopes that turned out to contain blackmail letters,” I said, as though this were nothing remarkable. “Could Lady Fontaine have written them?”

Hannah’s eyes widened. “Blackmail letters?” She stared at me in astonishment. “Doesn’t your Daniel know who wrote them?”

“Possibly not,” I said. “If they were handed to him already sealed.”

Hannah contemplated this a moment, then she shook her head.

“I don’t think Lady Fontaine would have anything to do with that.

She’s happy to criticize other ladies, great and small, and gossips like mad, but I can’t picture her sitting down and organizing something as intricate as blackmail.

Lady Fontaine’s like an impatient teakettle, steam boiling from her at any provocation.

Blackmailing takes a cool head and a calculating mind. Lady Fontaine has neither.”

“Perhaps her tempers conceal her true character?” I asked, not very optimistically.

“Not her. I can spot a villain ten yards off, like I told you. Mostly because I am one.” Hannah grinned.

“She’s desperate and angry—Lady Fontaine ought to be a great hostess, not a poor relation.

But she can’t curb herself. Do you know what I mean?

She keeps herself out of the shops, but she can’t stop herself nicking things from her own brother.

Mrs.Proctor and I are forever finding trinkets that belong elsewhere in the house in her night table.

We return them and say nothing. Lady Fontaine knows.

She’s ashamed and becomes wickedly rude to cover it. ”

“You go through her cupboards and drawers, then?”

“Mrs.Proctor and I do. Mrs.Proctor wouldn’t let me at first, but she’s come to trust me. If Lady Fontaine was secretly writing blackmail letters, I’d have found them by now. Besides, she has no money. Nothing tucked away, not a bob that don’t come from her brother.”

“Lord Peyton might be doing the blackmailing,” I said. “Or one of his pals. Mrs.Lofthouse, perhaps. She’d know which ladies of the haut ton had secrets.”

Hannah shook her head. “Not her. She’s a bluestocking and loathes society.

She’s not invited to the outings even Lady Fontaine is.

Pretends she don’t care, but she seethes.

She might blackmail to take out her hurt feelings, but she’d have to know who was doing what, and not many speak to her, from what I can tell. ”

“Hmm.” I had an idea how the scheme was being worked, but I’d need more details. “Since you were very surprised about the blackmailing, I will surmise that you haven’t seen any letters of the sort while you’ve been prying.”