Page 11

J aney was right. Bibby Barton would never last on the streets.

Clearly undernourished, she shivered constantly in her thin, ragged clothes and torn shoes that were too big for her.

She looked and sounded as if she were just recovering from one illness, for her chest still wheezed, and was about to come down with another that might just carry her off.

She was too thin and too sharp of feature to be either pretty or popular with potential customers.

On top of all that, she looked utterly morose.

On the other hand, she had quite a sweet, shy smile and seemed overwhelmed that Constance had deigned to visit her dingy room.

“Janey’s told me all about you, ma’am. She said she’d ask you about the locket—I’m so grateful for your help.”

“Actually, it’s Janey who will be looking,” Constance said. “And I have to warn you, the chances of finding your locket are not high. But she will do her best. I’ve come about something else entirely…”

Half an hour later, they left the dingy room together with Bibby’s pitifully few belongings in a bundle—a comb with several broken teeth, her shabby working dress, and a battered, shapeless hat for Sundays.

They caught up with Constance’s carriage at the Haymarket Theatre, and Bibby’s mouth fell open when she realized she was to ride in it.

“Cor lummy,” she muttered, clambering in. A hint of cynicism had entered her eyes. “What I got to do for this, ma’am?”

“What did Janey tell you about my establishment?”

“That she don’t whore no more. I can’t make up my mind whether you’s a reformer or a real madam. If you’re the madam that can afford this, then I don’t know what you’re doing with me. I never been anything special.”

“You are,” Constance said firmly. “As for me, I am both and neither. Our trade is as old as man or woman and nothing will shut it down. I don’t judge and I don’t blame, but I do believe in choice.

My establishment is safe and our clients are wealthy and generous and know what behavior is acceptable.

If you choose to entertain them, you contribute to the running of the business with a percentage of your earnings.

You keep the rest. If you’d rather do something else, we can help educate and train you, either inside the establishment or out. ”

“What sort of something else?”

“Domestic service, dressmaking, millinery, teaching, bookkeeping, baking… We have former residents of the establishment in all of these positions and more.”

Bibby was frowning. “What d’you get out it, then?”

“The membership fee of our clients.” Constance shrugged. “Also, friendship, as a rule, and the guilty feeling of perhaps doing some good in the world.”

Bibby laughed, which lightened her sharp face and lent her a moment’s appeal. “You’re funny. Not like any reformer I ever met.”

“Well, we avoid those, too.”

Bibby’s eyes began to widen as they moved through Mayfair toward Grosvenor Square. “Lummy… Look, ma’am, I don’t know what to do. I never lived anywhere like this, never thought I’d… Well.”

“What do you dream of, Bibby?” Constance asked softly. “What do you long for when times are bad?”

“My locket.”

Reprehensibly, Constance almost laughed. “Nothing else?”

“Lots of things,” the girl whispered. “But none of it’s real.”

“Look, stay with us a few days and see how things suit you. You needn’t decide right away. When you’re well enough, you can just muck in with the housework. Here we are…”

Having deposited Bibby with Sarah, who was her lieutenant of the establishment, and ordered a square meal for their newest recruit, Constance went to her own private rooms to change into something more suitable for a morning call on the Devine household.

At times like these, she missed Janey, who had been her lady’s maid, because she had to shout for one of the other girls to close the fastenings of her gown.

Aware she was early for a morning call, she prepared to be turned away at the door, while leaving her card.

What she did not want was to be intercepted by Ben Devine’s mama, for she had no intention of inflicting her scandalous person on the unwary.

She had already done so on the Lloyds, of course, but still…

The maid who opened the door of the Devines’ modest townhouse curtseyed but said at once, “Mrs. Devine is not at home, ma’am.”

“Actually, it is Mr. Benjamin Devine I am hoping to see.” Constance presented her card and walked inside before the maid got over the surprise and shut the door in her face. The girl bridled, but Constance’s cool assumption that she would be obeyed—entirely assumed—appeared to work.

“Please wait here, ma’am,” the maid said, indicating the hard chair in the hallway.

Constance did not have long to wait.

Benjamin Devine came clattering down the stairs less than a minute later. “Mrs. Silver! Please, come inside and tell me how I might help you.”

He led her into a pleasant room where the fire burned and the low sun shone through the window to give an impression of welcome. He did not close the door, but conducted her to a chair far enough away from it that they would not be overheard by lurking servants. Or parents.

He looked a trifle anxious as he brought a chair over to join her.

“I’m sure you know,” Constance said, “that Mr. Grey and I are inquiring into the disappearance of property from Mr. Lloyd’s strong room. At the moment, I am merely collecting observations from those who were in or around the house that evening.”

His expression of polite, slightly worried interest never changed. He was a better actor than he looked.

Constance sighed. “Perhaps it will save us some time if I tell you that I am already aware of your assignation in the garden with Miss Jemimah.”

Devine’s shoulders relaxed. “Not the sort of thing a gentleman wants to bandy about.”

“Certainly not in front of her father.”

“I assure you, my relationship with Miss Lloyd is everything that is proper and respectful.”

“Aside from clandestine meetings.”

“That was only the once,” Devine said hastily. “Because of her father’s return that day, everyone thought it best that I should not call at the house. But we wanted to meet, so…”

He trailed off and Constance left it there, hoping she had made her point.

“As I said, I am only interested in your observations. While you were in the garden, did you see anything at all unusual? Anyone lurking in the mews lane beyond the garden? Strange sounds? Any lights on in the house that should not be?”

“No,” Devine said. “I saw nothing unusual at all. Though, of course my attention was all on Jemim—Miss Lloyd.”

“Could you see the back door from where the two of you met?”

He frowned. “Yes, I could, most of the time.”

“Did anyone go in or out of the house while you were there?”

He shook his head. “The servants had all gone to bed. Jemimah had to unbolt and unlock the back door to get out. Most of the place was in darkness, though there was a light in Sydney’s room and in one of the others—Jemimah’s, possibly.”

“What time was this?” Constance asked.

“Midnight,” Devine said sheepishly. “It was her idea.”

“And how long did you stay?”

“Maybe twenty minutes? Half an hour at the most. It was cold.”

“Were you aware that Mr. Lloyd had brought back a treasure chest from his travels?”

“Not until Jemimah told me.”

“Did she describe the treasure?”

“No.” Devine frowned. “Actually, that’s odd, now I think about it. I thought it would be the sort of thing girls loved to chatter about. But I expect her father’s return seemed more important than his loot.”

“Loot,” Constance repeated thoughtfully. “That is an odd word to use. It implies theft.”

“Well, we British are not above plundering the foreigners,” Devine said defiantly.

“Look at the Elgin Marbles! However, I never meant to accuse Mr. Lloyd of any such thing. I am aware this treasure was taken from somewhere else within living memory and only buried on that island. Even if it was stolen in the first place, Mr. Lloyd only took it from another thief.”

Interesting. A conscience and a backbone. Maybe. Perhaps Jemimah could do worse—in a few years when she was grown up and so was he.

“How serious are you about Jemimah, Mr. Devine?” Constance asked.

“Serious? What do you mean?”

“You appear to be courting her. Is it your plan to approach her father for her hand in marriage?”

“Not until I have some means of support,” he said, flushing slightly.

She couldn’t tell if it was shame or anger. Though it struck her that the treasure, properly disposed of, could supply a considerable means of support. “What do you know about Mr. Lloyd’s strong room? Have you ever seen it?”

“Lord, no. I’d never even heard of it until the treasure went missing.”

He looked and sounded sincere, but she had already established that he could act when he chose.

“You’ve run tame around their house since you were a boy, have you not?”

“Yes, I stayed with Sydney often over school holidays, both in Town and at their country house.”

“Did you ever play in their parents’ bedrooms? Dressing up? Tag?”

“Oh, no. The Lloyds were never as relaxed as that! Even when he was away, parents’ rooms were out of bounds. Sydney never broke that rule, or at least not when I was around.”

Constance frowned as though deep in thought, then asked suddenly, “Where did Mr. Lloyd keep his strong room key?”

“On a chain around his neck or under his pillow for all I know.”

She couldn’t work out if his flippancy was studied. In fact, there was quite a lot about him she could not quite work out. He might well require further study.

Only as she was about to rise did another question strike her. She sat back. “Mr. Devine, did you wait in the garden until Jemimah had gone back inside?”

“Of course.”

“Did she lock and bolt the door behind her?”

*