Page 58 of A Little Bit Dangerous
“Were any of the women Spanish or Italian?”
Winthrop shrugged and read out the English-sounding names—none named Sarah and one being Nancy Jones. The latter went to work for him in February.
Isabella described the woman in the mortuary and the maid who owned the pewter pendant. “Are they at all familiar to you?”
Winthrop relaxed back in the chair and splayed his hands over his paunch. “Hundreds of people pass through here.”
Christian had grown tired of Winthrop’s waffling. “Pike said you interview all the maids. Are you telling me you don’t remember the pretty ones?” He described Sarah again. “Think, man! It’s important. Has Oldman hired a woman of that description?”
“No! As you said, I’d remember.”
Christian showed him the pendant, but it failed to jog his memory. “Are you aware Lord Oldman mistreats his staff?”
The twitch of Winthrop’s cheek confirmed Christian’s theory. “I thinkmistreatis too harsh a word.”
“Then how would you describe it?”
“Men of his ilk are hard taskmasters, too stern for some girls.” He scoffed. “There’s silly talk about his house being haunted by the ghosts of previous maids. Some are too scared to accept a position there.”
Christian sat back in the chair. This was supposed to be an enquiry into Oldman’s character to prove he was capable of fraud. They were being led down a different path, one that had little to do with historical artefacts. One involving missing maids and ghosts.
He should return to the matter at hand, but he knew Isabella cared more about saving the innocent than uncovering fake artefacts. Moreover, this was a murder enquiry. “I need to speak to a maid who’s refused to work for Lord Oldman. You must have her direction. It will save us remaining here to question all who walk through the front door.”
Aware his back was to the wall, Winthrop huffed and puffed and crossed the room to rifle in the cabinet.
“Ethel Cartwright.” He mumbled a curse and moaned like the woman was the bane of his existence. “She’s the one who rallied the others. Said Oldman only hires meek girls because he enjoys frightening them to death.”
“And where is Miss Cartwright now?” Isabella asked.
“The workhouse, most likely.” He pulled out a piece of paper. “Try St Margaret’s on Dean Street. That was her last known abode.”
They left Winthrop quaking in his boots, Christian threatening to bind the man naked and let the injured maids wallop him with sticks.
Isabella decided on a more respectable approach. “I shall write a piece for theWeekly Times, warning all young women to avoid the agency.”
He smiled as he helped her into the carriage.
They complemented each other in many ways. She was the calm to his storm. The light to his darkness. The order to his chaos. But he’d been wrong to warn her away. Whenever their lips met, he realisedhewas out of his depth, andshewas more than a little dangerous.
“Prevention is better than a cure, my mother used to say.” Christian glanced at Gibbs. “St Margaret’s Workhouse. We’re chasing a lead.” He climbed inside the vehicle and slammed the door shut. “There are more than enough agencies in town. Women seeking employment should not have to deal with the likes of Winthrop.”
She narrowed her gaze. “Your mother must have been a sensible woman. It’s nice you can recall her wise sayings after all these years.”
Every muscle in his body stiffened. The day his mother died was a pivotal point in the family’s downward spiral.
“Only a fool would have married my father. She paid a heavy price for trusting a man with a devil’s smooth tongue.”
Isabella shifted nervously in the seat. “Are the rumours true?”
Few dared to ask such a question.
She referred to the fact his father’s first two wives had died in the same manner. Both were found with twisted necks at the bottom of a dark staircase. No one dared speak of it at Fortune’s Den. No one dared remind Aaron they did not all share the same mother.
“Murder is a difficult thing to prove,” he said.
Isabella did not appear shocked. Gossip was rife. Lawton must have mentioned it on numerous occasions. “It’s hard to imagine your father could be guilty of such a heinous crime.”
“I prefer not to think about it.” His father was the sort of man who forced his eldest son to fight in a tavern basement just to settle a debt. He was the sort who moved his mistress into the house while his wife’s body was still warm. “If you heard the gossip, then you know there’s another theory.”
