Page 51 of Evidence of Evil
“Yes, for I won’t deny I was disappointed. I only applied for the job because Josh Rennie—who used to be head groom here before the family went to India—told me I’d be in luck with her. But I never was. Her eyes promised, but she never gave an inch. And if you repeat a word of that, I’ll deny I spoke to you about anything save horses. Not that Mr. John will ask, will he? Because he never sent you down here in the first place.”
“No, that is true. But I needed the answers to a few questions, and I believe you just gave me them. Thank you.” She turned away, then back again. “Oh, one more thing. I don’t suppose you ever gave her a present? Perhaps in the hope of favor?”
Godden stared at her. “What could I give someone like her? Beyond the obvious,” he added crudely.
“The night she died,” Constance said, changing tack, “did you see her return from The Willows? Did she come by the stables?”
“No. The police inspector asked me that, too.”
“And you didn’t happen to see her going anywhere else?”
“No,” Godden said with exaggerated patience.
He answered immediately, with no pause for over-careful thought. It sounded like the truth. She was about to give up when another thought struck her.
“Why did Rennie leave his post as head groom?”
Godden shrugged. “They were all let go when the colonel went to India. Only a steward for the land, old Worcester, and a maid were left behind to keep the house. The horses went to India, too.”
“Yes, but why didn’t Rennie reapply? If he found his position so…rewarding?”
“Got a better place, I reckon.”
“Do you know where?”
Godden stared at her. “No.”
“Never mind. I’ll ask Worcester. Thank you, Godden.” She swept regally away as though she had every right to be there.
Chapter Eleven
Solomon arrived inLondon feeling as if every bone in his body had been well rattled. Still, he rather enjoyed the exhilaration of speed and found himself unwilling to face the frustration of a hackney inching its way through the traffic between London Bridge Station and Dunne’s offices in the city. He walked.
Dunne and Sons was a respected firm of solicitors, with a special department for private inquiries, which was managed by the eldest son of the founder. Another son was a senior partner in the firm, yet another a barrister. But it was the eldest son Solomon asked for, and within ten minutes he found himself in that gentleman’s private office, drinking a very decent cup of tea and munching on a spicy biscuit.
“So, what can I do for you today?” Mr. Dunne inquired.
Solomon swallowed the last of his biscuit and fished out the purloined letter signed by Dunne’s underling.
The lawyer read it, his eyebrows flying up. “Might I ask how this came into your possession?”
“It was discovered among the effects of a lady recently deceased.”
“Miss Niall, in effect,” Dunne guessed. His eyes were still not friendly, although he remained polite. “May I know what your interest in the matter is?”
“I am trying to help a friend who has been accused of involvement in Miss Niall’s death. What I would like to knowis why one of your employees is sending private information to Miss Niall.”
A hint of confusion flickered in Dunne’s eyes and was veiled. “Because she asked for it, of course.”
“For such specific and delicate information concerning someone else?” Solomon retorted, not troubling to hide his disappointment.
Dunne frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand you.”
The truth dawned on Solomon. “She pretended the child you traced was hers!”
“Mr. Grey, though it is no business of yours, and I tell you only to preserve the integrity of my firm, the childwashers. There is no doubt about that.”
*
