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

Hubbard gave me a cool bow of thanks, though I swore I detected a gleam of anticipation in his eyes. Basket on his arm, he stepped across the hall to a speaking tube that hung within an elaborately carved frame. He lifted the mouthpiece, blew into it, and spoke.

“Mrs.Holloway has arrived, madam.”

I heard a muffled voice from the other end of the tube before Hubbard hung up the receiver.

“You are to proceed to the studio, Mrs.Holloway. Lady Cynthia is already there.”

“Thank you, Hubbard.”

I turned to the stairs and steeled myself to march up them to the top floor. I should be used to such exertion, as my bedchamber was in the attic of a house as large, but I puffed as I stepped off the final landing.

Miss Townsend had converted her attic rooms into one large studio, with skylights to illuminate it. I’d once wondered idly where her servants slept, and Cynthia had told me they each had a comfortable room on the house’s third floor.

While I was happy with my own place, I sometimes wished Miss Townsend’s cook wasn’t so devoted to her. I’d relish working in a house where I had a real bedroom with a window. It was small wonder that Miss Townsend’s staff all adored her.

When I entered the studio, Miss Townsend, a slim lady with very dark hair and brown eyes, sat before a canvas as tall as she was, her brush poised as she contemplated where to put her next stroke.

The canvas was at such an angle that I could not see the entire composition, but I spied colorful draperies and a very naked young woman in the middle of them.

I did not recognize the model in the picture, but she was no doubt one of Miss Townsend’s and Lady Cynthia’s rather scandalous friends.

“She’s here, Judes,” Cynthia announced from the depths of a sofa where she lounged. She wore her man’s suit this afternoon and was buried in an issue of a racing newspaper.

Miss Townsend swung around on her stool and bathed me in a warm smile. “Welcome, Mrs.Holloway. Please, sit. I have instructed Hubbard to send up a scrumptious tea.”

“I cannot stay long.” I took the indicated chair, which was soft. It felt good on my legs after the walk, but I perched on its edge, unwilling to become too comfortable. I wanted to leave as soon as I was able.

“We know.” Miss Townsend rose and went to a small chest-on-stand and opened a drawer, her every move elegant. “Here’s the letter. Have a look and see what you make of it.”

She handed me an envelope similar to the one Mrs.Bywater had received. As I studied it, the door banged open, and another young woman in a frock coat and trousers strode inside.

This was Lady Roberta Perry, Bobby to her friends. She’d shorn her brown hair close and had her suits tailor made. With her soft abdomen and square face, a person who didn’t know her wouldn’t guess she was female.

“Ah, the poisoned-pen letter is already out.” Bobby nodded a greeting to me, then moved to the sofa. “Budge up, Cyn.”

Cynthia obligingly swung her legs down to make room for Bobby to sit next to her. Both watched me intently, as did Miss Townsend, as I finished with the envelope—of the same cheap stationery as had enclosed Mrs.Bywater’s letter—and slid out the paper inside.

I grimaced as I went over the lines, which said very nasty things about the good-hearted Miss Townsend. The letter ended with the demand for cash, the details to be given in the next letter.

“This is awful,” I said as I folded the paper. “I am so sorry you had to read this, Miss Townsend. It’s foul.”

“My skin is rather thick,” Miss Townsend said easily. She resumed her stool, crossing her legs and clasping paint-stained fingers around one knee. “I’ve endured similar abuse since I was very young and decided to be an eccentric. Admittedly not so much packed into one short letter in one go.”

I was no stranger to slurs myself. Those in the working classes are perceived to be dull-witted and poorly skilled, and to have no understanding of finer feelings.

We are never clever, only crafty. Women, in particular, are expected to be willing to put aside virtue if a man of a higher class demands it, and then are punished for it.

I’d learned how to defend myself, but what had been hurled at Miss Townsend was worse than anything I’d heard directed toward myself. This was even more repugnant than the letter meant for Lady Rankin that Mrs.Bywater had received.

“They had no excuse for writing it,” I stated. “I hope we find the person so I can express my displeasure.”

Bobby barked a laugh. “I’d love to see that.”

“Two more of my friends have had similar letters,” Miss Townsend said.

“Not quite as bad as mine, but venomous enough. Viola laughed it off.” She indicated the canvas, from which I understood that the lady depicted was the said Viola.

“But Delia was very upset. I am quite annoyed on their behalf.” Her serenity slipped for a brief moment, giving me a glimpse of the steely, determined woman beneath it.

“Funny thing,” Bobby said from where she’d slumped into the sofa.

“ I haven’t had a single note. I prance about town in these rags and openly live with Judes, and yet, this poisoned pen hasn’t bothered to mention me.

I’m not even in that letter.” She waved at the one I held.

“I might grow offended, if they’re not careful. ”

I set the paper and envelope on the table beside me, no longer wishing to touch them. I was happy I was wearing gloves, though now I wanted to clean them.

“That is quite interesting, actually,” I told Bobby. “While I would not wish such a thing on anyone, please let me know the instant you receive a letter, your ladyship, if you do.”

“Right you are,” Bobby said cheerfully. “Cyn hasn’t gotten one either.”

Cynthia scowled. “No, they chose to castigate my sister.”

“No directions about where to leave the money?” I asked Miss Townsend.

“Not as yet,” Miss Townsend replied. “Neither Viola nor Delia have received such instructions either.” She sent me a humorless smile.

“The letter writer is wise to be careful. I could have a number of policemen watching over the spot where we deposit the cash, ready to snatch them when they come to collect.”

“I do wonder if they will take precautions against this,” I mused. “They might send a go-between, but the go-between could be followed, of course. Perhaps this difficulty is why no one has received specific instructions about the money.”

“Well, if they only meant to upset me, they missed their mark.” Miss Townsend gave me a decided nod. “Though they struck gold with poor Delia. She’s shut herself up in the house and will not emerge, no matter how I try to persuade her to shrug it off.”

I was not familiar with Delia or Viola, and Cynthia, realizing this, filled in the details.

“Delia is married to the Marquise of Hayfield, a stiff-necked, punctilious human being. When I had my debut, he actually made overtures in my direction, but my father didn’t like him, thank the Lord.

Delia mostly ignores him, but if he read a letter like this about her, he’d believe every word and lock her in the cellar. ”

“Which is why he will never hear of it,” Miss Townsend said firmly. “Viola’s husband pays no attention to her and already believes the worst of her, so she’s not bothered.”

“Viola’s chap, George Donnington, is a friend of my brother’s.” Bobby rolled her eyes. “Second son of a duke—his father is even a cabinet minister. Quite the catch.”

“Hm.” I longed for my notebook to record this information, but I would have to wait until later. “Lady Cynthia, I wonder if we could have Mr.Thanos look at the letter and envelope. He might be able to tell us something about the paper, ink, handwriting—those sorts of things.”

Mr.Thanos was a genius in so many areas that I could only believe he’d lend insight into this problem as well.

Cynthia pursed her lips. “I’m not certain we should show these awful things to Thanos. He becomes very upset when someone is disparaging to ladies, bless him.”

“We could show him only a part of the paper,” I suggested. “A torn-off bit with more innocuous words. The envelope, certainly.”

“What could Thanos hope to tell us?” Bobby asked in curiosity. “He’s not a stationer.”

“I do not know, in truth,” I admitted. “But I would like his opinion.”

The opinion I truly wanted was Daniel’s, but he was out of my reach at the moment. Blast Monaghan. The safety of the realm was important, of course, but so was Daniel’s safety.

“Thanos has amazing knowledge,” Cynthia said. “We’ll tear up Judith’s letter and take it to him.”

“Thank you,” I said. “And please, Miss Townsend, if you receive further instructions about delivering the payment, send word to me or to Cynthia.”

I rose, ready to depart, but at that moment, Hubbard arrived. He rolled in a cart loaded with a teapot and cups plus my star bread, laid out on a plate and cushioned by a checkered cloth.

Bobby leapt to her feet, rubbing her hands. “You can’t leave now, Mrs.H. The repast has just arrived, thanks to you. It looks magnificent.”

“It tastes even better than it looks,” Cynthia avowed. “But Mrs.Holloway needs to race away.”

“Yes, indeed.” Miss Townsend, the exemplary hostess, left her stool and came to me. “You were kind to give us these few moments of your time, Mrs.Holloway. I will do as you instruct. We will find this letter-writing fellow and rout him.”

“Or her,” Cynthia put in.

“Or her,” Miss Townsend said. She held out her hand, and I clasped it politely. “Thank you very much for coming, Mrs.Holloway. And for bringing us your lovely bread. We will enjoy consuming it.”

I hoped they didn’t intend to stand about and admire it—enriched bread spoiled quickly—but I only squeezed Miss Townsend’s hand in return and gave her and the others my farewells.

I forbade Miss Townsend accompanying me downstairs, assuring her I knew the way. The three ladies were ready to forget about nasty letters and tear into the sweet treat, and so they should. Little was more important than enjoying good food with treasured friends.

Hubbard ushered me out of the studio, but he remained to serve the tea while I trudged down the many flights of stairs. A footman awaited me on the ground floor, guiding me out the front door.

Outside, I breathed a sigh of satisfaction. I had the rest of the day free, and I would spend it with Grace. I’d give her the little gift I’d bought her, and we’d talk and laugh and be a family.

I made my way east, skirting Grosvenor Square and up North Audley Street to Oxford Street. Crowds and vehicles surged around me as I walked along that busy thoroughfare packed with shops, houses, servants, and masters.

Despite the throng, I became aware, as I passed New Bond Street, that someone followed me. They were clever and furtive, but not enough to deceive me.

I ducked into the nearest lane, pressed my back against the brick wall there, and waited.