Page 2 of Blackmailed (The Browns of Butcher’s Hill #2)
“What does that cost us?” he asked.
“Don’t worry about it, Phillip. My work at the dress shop is bringing in more than enough to pay it. I hate doing the laundry, and I’ll gladly pay for it to be done.”
“You shouldn’t be working at all,” Uncle Patrick said as he walked down the two stone steps near his small bedroom on the first floor and into the kitchen. “Should be marrying one of the men courting you. Setting up your own household.”
Sarah leaned over and kissed his weathered cheek. “I’d miss you too much.”
Uncle shook his head, not a man comfortable with Sarah’s affectionate pats and kisses. “Go on now. I need my coffee.”
Phillip smiled. His little family, some bonds of blood, some not, were the reason he was happy going to work and coming home to a hot meal, to this comfortable house, and the chatter in this kitchen on Wolfe Street in the Butcher’s Hill area of Baltimore.
He was lucky—and thankful too; not everyone had the conviviality at home that he did, even including the occasional argument or disagreement.
“I’ve got to catch the streetcar,” he said and took his empty coffee cup to Jenny’s wash bin.
“Where are you off to?” Uncle Patrick asked.
“Doing a little work for a friend,” he said and kissed his sister’s cheek.
Phillip took the streetcar to French Street, getting close to the Washington Monument and the area where wealthier Baltimoreans resided.
He found the address, an imposing gray stone home with six windows across.
He went down the alley behind the Everly home and found the kitchen door belonging to it.
He knocked and waited. A lock slid back, and a man opened the door a crack. “Deliveries are done for the day.”
“I’m not here to deliver anything. I’m here to speak to Mr. Jenkins. Mr. Everly sent me.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Mr. Everly did?”
Phillip nodded and noticed the uncertainty, and maybe fear, in the man’s face.
The door opened wider, and Phillip stepped inside the low-ceilinged kitchen, where a young woman was busy chopping vegetables.
He could see tear tracks on her cheeks and thought that she must be cutting a particularly pungent onion.
He followed the man, making his way through a labyrinth of hallways to a closed door near a narrow set of steps.
“Mr. Jenkins? There’s a man here to see you. Says Mr. Everly sent him.”
The door opened. “Thank you, Norris. You may go.”
He entered the comfortable office when Jenkins opened the door the whole way. Phillip closed the door behind him when the other man seated himself at a desk. “Mr. Jenkins. I’m Phillip Brown. Mr. Everly has asked me to look into some thefts that have occurred here. Has he spoken to you about this?”
“Of course he has. I’m the most senior member of the household staff. I’m privy to all such knowledge.” Jenkins looked him up and down. “I’m sure it’s one of the new housemaids. There are several just off the boat from Ireland. It’s certainly one of them.”
“I have a list of staff members here,” Phillip said and pulled the folded paper from his jacket pocket. “Can you tell me who the newest members are?”
Jenkins took the list, picked up the stub of a pencil, and made a few checkmarks. “Bridget and Ann, at the bottom of the list, are the two newest.”
“Thank you. Is there a place I can speak to the staff, privately and separately?”
“There is a small room down the hall you may use. But you must not keep them from their duties. I intend to tell them that if they are unable to keep up they will have to finish their work on their own time.”
Phillip nodded at Jenkins, knowing the man intended for him to get little cooperation.
The butler reminded him of Everly, smug and pompous, a natural extension of Everly’s behavior toward those he deemed lesser.
The room Phillip was shown to speak to the staff was small and chilly, which did not bother him at all but would undoubtedly make the women uncomfortable.
He interviewed several employees: Norris, the man who’d answered the door, two upstairs maids, a pot-scrubbing boy, and a groomsman from the stables.
They’d all heard there were missing items, some didn’t believe it, and all denied having ever stolen the smallest thing in their entire lives.
The last person he had time to speak to was the young woman who’d been chopping vegetables.
“Hello. I saw you chopping an onion when I first came in. It must have been a very strong one,” he said and smiled, trying to put the clearly terrified woman at ease.
She shook her head and whispered, “Not why I was crying, sir.”
“Oh?”
“No. Cook’s away and Mrs. Brandeis put me in the kitchen, but I’m only a tolerable cook at best. I can’t afford to lose this job. My husband can’t work.”
“Surely they must give you some lenience if you are only filling in,” he said.
“Don’t think so, sir. They aren’t a family that will put up with mistakes.”
Phillip sat back in his chair. Nearly every employee had expressed fear or at the least concern with their employer. There was no mention of the family being fair-minded or kind or appreciative. Only anxiety about continued employment.
“Have you heard that the family is concerned that there are several items of value missing from the house?”
She nodded. “I’ve heard, but I know nothing about it. I would never put my wages at risk for some ceramic trinket that may not have any value at the pawnshop.”
“Sensible. I’m glad to hear it.”
“Is that all, sir? I’m terribly afraid my soup will turn out poorly, and Mr. Everly is having company tonight.”
Phillip reached across the table and tapped his knuckles on the rough wood. “If you are ever in need of work, I believe I could get you placed with a wonderful family. My name is Phillip Brown, and I live on Wolfe Street.”
Tears welled in her eyes, and her lip trembled. “You mean that, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Of course I do. You better go tend your soup.”
Phillip watched her go and could not dismiss the feeling that there was something more to this than a few missing coins or knickknacks.