Death of a Fop (Bow Street Consultant series Book 1) (13 page)

“You question Fowler’s integrity for his comments about the silver?” asked Jane.

“No; that is merely common pessimism born of a man who has seen too many dishonest servants” said Caleb. “He does not stare with suspicion at all times. That de Bruin was continually darting glances at the leathers attached to the boards at which his underlings worked, that catch the filings of gold, to make sure handfuls did not disappear from them.”

“Perhaps that was how he saved enough to set up in business himself then” said Jane. “Dear me! I cannot say I would willingly exonerate any one of them!”

Jane rested for the afternoon while Caleb made further enquiries; she might sit at the dining room table directing Ella piecing her pasteboard pattern pieces onto the new cloths. Her own gowns were to be made full to allow for an expanding figure; and pieces laid aside to place gussets in the bodice should her milk make her heavy. Dorothy was trying hard to help; and Ella only spoke sharply to her once.

“If your mother could see you now, Dorothy, she would surely wonder that she had birthed a monkey not a girl!” said Ella. “Adone do with your fidgeting; stand still on both feet at once and pull this cloth straight and help me fit these hem pieces on without acting like something out of the menagerie at the Tower of London!”

Dorothy muttered an apology.

“Ma said I was born fidgeting” she said. “Pa said I was his quicksilver girl,” she sighed. “they’d not want to see me I suppose” she said mournfully.

“You could write,” said Jane, “and tell them that you are now overcoming the misfortunes that precipitated you into an unfortunate profession.”

“Well, Mrs Churchill, where’s the good in that?” said Dorothy. “They couldn’t afford to pay for the postage when it arrived and wouldn’t bother for who’s to read it?”

“I apologise for making assumptions” said Jane. “As you read and write I thought perhaps your parents would do so too.”

“Nah, I was learned out at Sadlers Wells; landlord at the inn wanted his barmaids and barmen literate; we was sent to the parson to be learned our letters” said Dorothy. “That way he could leave messages about what was to be done if he was away in town and we di’n’t have no excuse not to do it. Nipcheese old…..man” she amended her vituperation.

“I swear he set me up with that…fellow….who took my reputation; he sent me to the barn where the….fellow…..was waiting anywise; and then said why hadn’t I worn armour. Well I ha’n’t never even heard of it then, had I?”

“I have to ask Dorothy,” said Jane, “you are not talking about metal plates to prevent the passage of musket balls are you?”

“Well that’s what I allus fort armour was ‘til I was out Covent Garden” said Dorothy “It’s a thing you put over a man’s – you know – it’s made of sheep gut. They’re awful expensive but they say they keep out disease as well as stopping unwanted pregnancy. I ain’t never had one.”

“Well really!” said Ella.

“How enterprising” murmured Jane. “Dear me; one should be glad that some at least may try to avoid the unfortunate diseases that must be a hazard; a shame they are not more readily available at a low price. It would doubtless prevent much misery.”

They were interrupted at this point by the emergence of Miss Bates from a post-prandial nap; by mutual consent Dorothy stayed well away from controversial topics in the hearing of the sweet natured Miss Bates, whom Dorothy thought just about as kind as Mrs Churchill and one of the best people she had ever met.

Caleb arrived in time for dinner and went to change into his rather limited evening wear. Jane appreciated that he bothered; for it must have irked him.

“Mr Armitage I shall not be offended if you do not change” she said to him.

“Mrs Churchill, it is good to be out of the day’s working clothing; I hope you do not mind that I have only pantaloons not smallclothes” he said. “Having lighter shoes on too is a relief I do confess.”

“Then I am glad,” said Jane, “and I am not concerned in the least that you do not wear breeches and stockings; I must say pantaloons look vastly more comfortable.”

“Well ma’am they are” said Caleb. “My everyday buckskins are comfortable enough too; but leather needs care to keep it nice for longer and a bit of treatment over the evening prolongs the life of it no end. And bless the wench, young Molly’s taken on the task for me.” He grinned “These pantaloons were spoils of war; I acquired them from a Froggie who had obviously prigged them from a Black Brunswicker cavalry officer – they were named for their uniform. Saved our bacon at Waterloo the Brunswickers; good old Blücher! Never had a better pair of netherclothes; when they fall apart reckon it’ll be worth my while to pay out to have them copied. But I didn’t ought to discuss inexpressibles of any kind with a lady” he said suddenly aghast and blushing.

“Mr Armitage, I do not take offence” said Jane. “Alas that my education did not include tailoring; for only men may understand how to make men’s clothing set properly! Otherwise I should gladly offer to sew a new pair for you. I had always believed that most of the trousers worn by soldiers were baggier and less stylish.”

“Ah, that’s the boot cut for the cavalryman,” said Caleb, “and they looked hem ridiculous on the Frenchie with his skinny legs that were too short for them; all hung in wrinkles. Y’might say it was my sartorial duty to relieve him of them and give him a pair of slops wot looked no worse on him than on any.”

Jane laughed.

“Mr Armitage that is a casuistry” she said. “Ah, a word I have caught YOU out with? It means a sophistry to explain away less than exemplary behaviour.”

“Guilty ma’am” said Caleb.

After dinner Jane and Caleb repaired to the book room as had become customary, drinking tea there.

“The two lesser jewellers both work under the eye of well established jewellers who did not think that there was any way their men might be involved in any shady work,” said Caleb getting directly to the point, “and I took the chance of talking to the bulb importer. I decided to take the tack that his employees might use the careful packing to send out other things. Well the good news and the bad news is that he unpacks everything himself; but there’s nothing he sends across the channel except an agent with a moneybag once a year to purchase in advance those bulbs that promise well; the agent looks them over in the spring when they’re in flower, makes an advance order – seem odd to me to pay for stuff you won’t get for a while, the other is more often true – and then the bulbs are sent before the winter frosts. Mr Piet-Dirk Vandervalk has some land to plant them on but mostly he sells on immediately what he has had sent. That comes from a number of bulb growers and not sorted out by any one agent over there. So stuff coming in seems unlikely; and if you arst me, it ain’t nowise feasible to send it out once a year. No, he’s nothing to do with jewels; they’re being reset here like you said, and sent about with new dockiments, docUments I should say.”

“Back to the three unpleasant master jewellers then” said Jane.

“Well for various reasons I have my suspicions” said Caleb.

“In light of both the way he spoke and the way in which he was addressed?” asked Jane.

“Quite so” said Caleb. “I fancied he might have been looking for a reaction from you when he spoke; but you might of been unaware of anythink that was going on; I was that proud of you if it is not impudent to say so!”

“Why thank you Mr Armitage” said Jane “I confess I left most of the noticing to
your
eyes and ears that I might concentrate on playing the part of a foolish woman looking for jewellery and just dropping my name into the conversation. It did not occur to me until we had left the shop that he had actually said anything significant.”

“You are very clever, Mrs Churchill” said Caleb. “You played the part perfectly.”

Jane flushed. It had been fun playing a part; she had enjoyed that aspect of concealing her romance with Frank. Looking back the intrigue, the acting had been more of a thrill to the senses than the thought of being in love at all; it had enhanced her rosy image of Frank to enter into a conspiracy with him. But Frank had taken it as read that she would play her part; indeed had seemed to take a cruel delight in trying to make her angry enough to reveal the truth in his sly and cruel asides to Emma and others and in his obvious flirting with Emma. She should have realised then – had she not been besotted! – that he had a cruel streak that liked to humiliate. If she ever re-married she would be careful to choose a man who would be kindly and who spoke to her always as though she were important to him; someone who was always there to help and who noticed if she felt ill, and who cared enough to consider
her
feelings. Someone who was ready to give her praise – not hollow compliments, but true praise when she did anything well.

She suddenly flushed even darker!

It did not do to unfavourably compare Frank to someone who was, after all, only doing his duty. Whatever Fowler might imagine!

There was a knock on the door of the book room and Mrs Ketch came in, a sulky looking Juliet by the arm.

“Excuse me troubling you, Madam, Mr Armitage, but I should like to turn this trollop out first thing in the morning if you will give me permission” she said.

“What is the reason, Mrs Ketch?” asked Jane.

“Well, Madam, you have given permission for the girls to have followers on their day off, which is generous; but loitering and flirting
in the area
is not decent behaviour in a decent household!” said Mrs Ketch indignantly. Jane winced. Juliet was taking a chance if indeed this was what she had been doing; any of the neighbours might have seen her behaving improperly in the area; deep though the stairs and area that led to the servant’s door might be, and narrow such that one might be almost invisible in the crepuscular gloom of incipient nightfall; but one might be heard. The narrow area created echoes very often.

The door to the kitchen and half basement opened under the steps up to the front door off the sunken area railed off from the street; the kitchen and its half windows on one side of the front steps, the chute to the coal cellar on the other side. The narrow sunken area seemed quite secluded when one was in it, but the plain walls of it could act like a sounding board, and it was amazing how much might be heard up in the street from what loose chatter servants might make when taking the air or hanging up dishclouts to dry when the washing lines at the back of the house were full of family washing.

It was not unknown for the servants of adjacent houses to gossip with only slightly raised voices from one area to the next, though generally they would come up the steps at the end to meet and exchange news and views almost on street level, where they could converse more discreetly but be ready to fly down the steps to their proper subterranean regions if there was a danger of being caught by their mistress or worse, the housekeeper or cook.

“Juliet I should like to hear your side if you please” said Jane crisply. She would not be unfair.

Juliet scowled.

“Well Mrs Churchill, I don’t see as you can say nuffink when you got yore paramour livin’ in” she said nodding at Caleb.

Jane, white with anger, mastered herself before slapping the girl quite hard but not as hard as her first inclination had dictated.

“You are both impudent and inaccurate” she said coldly. “Mr Armitage is not my paramour; and you are obviously a very stupid and unobservant girl not to realise that. You are fortunate not to be turned off with your reference torn up out of hand just for such impudence! I will hear of this follower if you please. I, unlike you, do not make judgements without facts.”

Juliet put her hand to her face, scowling; then shrugged.

“Well it didn’t mean nuffink” she said sulkily “It weren’t no follower anyways; just some bloke what’s coming to ‘elp out wiv the funeral termorrer wanted ter know wot sort of employer you are, see if ‘e wanted to apply for a permanent job an’ I put ‘im right on that account of you turning some on us off. I didn’t let ‘im kiss me or nuffink.”

“You let him come halfway down the steps and put an arm around your waist and you were giggling enough, my girl, to let anyone know you wanted to be kissed” said Mrs Ketch.

“Well whaddya expect you old baggage where the Mistress looks at ‘im wot ain’t her paramour like SHE want to be kissed?” said Juliet “And her pore husband not even buried yet!”

Mrs Ketch slapped her on the other side, harder than Jane had done.

“Juliet you will apologise to Mrs Ketch and to me immediately” said Jane icily “Or you will not merely be leaving tomorrow morning but it will be without a reference at all because I will rescind it; and if any ask I will tell them that I prefer not to discuss your morals.”

Juliet went white.

Servants were plentiful; a good position was dependant on a good reference.

“I’m sorry Mrs Ketch; I’m sorry Madam” she said.

“If I hear any lying rumours about me” said Jane, sweetly “I will take out a classified advertisement in all the papers explaining that you are of a loose nature. Do I make myself quite clear?”

“Yes’m” said Juliet almost inaudibly.

“Good; you are relieved of all duties for the rest of the evening; you will want to pack. I should like you out of my house before breakfast. Fowler will give you your wages to the end of the month” said Jane.

“Thank you Madam” said Mrs Ketch. “And don’t you forget to leave your work clothes my girl; they don’t belong to you.”

She hustled the girl out.

Jane was shaking.

“First serious servant problem?” asked Caleb.

“I dislike confrontation” said Jane. “Oh
how
I wanted to slap that impudent hussy into the middle of next week! I tried to make it a judicious blow however; it could not be permitted to pass.”

“No it could not. I am sorry that my presence here has caused such a nasty little piece to make up tittle-tattle. It must be very humiliating and embarrassing that she should even think of linking your name to mine” said Caleb.