Page 5 of A Murder on London Bridge
“You want me to handle it?” Mellie’s eagerness was breathtaking. When Emma and I hesitated, she added, “I know her. She attended my debut ball.”
“Does she have any idea who took it?” Emma asked.
“Lady Petersham. They were in the withdrawing room at the same time. Lady Dorsett removed the bracelet to wash her hands. Next thing she knew, it was gone.”
“Well, that seems to point in a certain direction,” I said.
“Lady Petersham has been known for ‘borrowing’ things,” Mellie said. “She needs to be approached in a particular way, that’s all.”
“Sounds like you have a perfect understanding of the situation.” I glanced at Emma, who nodded her consent. “Investigate away, Mellie.”
“Don’t forget to collect a retainer,” Emma reminded her.
“Shall we say fifty pounds?” Mellie asked.
“That’s rather rich,” I said, gazing at Emma. “Don’t you think?”
“Our services are worth it, Kitty. And we now have a rather dear lease to contend with.”
“It’s an heirloom bracelet,” Mellie explained. “Lady Dorsett will pay anything to get it back.”
“Very well,” I said. “I bow to your reasoning.”
“Fifty pounds it is,” Emma agreed.
“Thank you,” Mellie exclaimed, all bright eyes. “I won’t let you down.” And off she went.
Just as Emma returned to her folders, a light knock sounded at the office door.
“Come in,” I called.
Betsy stepped inside, her cheeks flushed with quiet excitement. Her red curls were pinned in their usual tidy twist, though a few stubborn ones had escaped to frame her face. She wore her brightest smile—the one that usually accompanied good news or a perfectly reconciled set of accounts.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said briskly. “I’d like to take the afternoon off, if that’s not an inconvenience. Neville and I are planning to look at a few flats—for after the wedding, of course. We’d like something close to the Underground and not too far from our new office.”
“How exciting!” I said. “Everything in order?”
“Perfectly,” she replied with unmistakable pride. “The accounts are balanced and the ledgers are up to date. Triple-checked.”
“Of course, you may take time to go flat hunting,” Emma said. “I’m only surprised you haven’t reorganized the national budget.”
Betsy grinned. “Tempting. But for now, I’ll settle for a desk that isn’t crammed into a broom cupboard.”
“You’ll have one,” I promised. “With a door that closes and—if you’re very lucky—a proper chair.”
“I’m holding you to that.” She gave us both a quick nod, then darted off with the efficiency of someone who’d already memorized the train schedule.
Emma shook her head fondly. “She needn’t worry. She’s already been assigned a proper office in the new place. Sunlight, shelving, a locking cabinet, and a door that doesn’t creak.”
“And a desk that doesn’t double as the supply shelf?” I asked.
“With drawers,” Emma added solemnly. “Several.”
“Well then,” I said, grinning, “she may never leave.”
“Only to get married,” Emma replied, returning to her notes. “And even then, I suspect she’ll have the ledger balanced before she walks down the aisle.”
As Betsy departed, I heard the click of a typewriter from down the corridor—rapid, rhythmic, and unmistakably efficient.
