Page 1 of Ghost in the Garden
Chapter One
On a bright,cold November morning, Constance Silver left her discreet establishment just off Grosvenor Square and walked smartly through the gracious streets. It was a long enough walk to justify going by carriage, but she preferred the fresh air and exercise to clarify her mind concerning the problems of one business before facing the other.
She was aware as she did so of the eager excitement curling in her stomach. She chose to believe this was due to the possibilities of her new venture into the world of private investigations, and nothing to do with her partner. It could certainly not be the investigations themselves that occupied her, for despite their being open for consultations yesterday and three days the previous week, they had none.
Crossing St. Martin’s Lane with the aid of the same sweeper who had cleared her way yesterday, she dropped a generous coin into the boy’s chapped fingers and resolved to buy him decent gloves and a scarf for Christmas. She turned into Chandos Street and, at the corner of a narrow lane, paused to admire the polished brass plaque beside a newly painted black door. It bore the legendSilver & Grey.
Smiling, she let herself in with a key. The welcoming entrance hall might have been to a home rather than to an office. Constance took off her hat and bonnet and hung them on the coat stand beside a fur-trimmed, heavy wool overcoat. A tall silk hat adorned the shelf.
A small, empty waiting room opened to the right of the hall. To the left were two parlors that doubled as offices, furnished with comfortable chairs as well as desks. In the hope that her partner was with a client, she knocked before she entered the first parlor.
Solomon Grey was alone. He sat at the desk, reading through a pile of papers that she knew had nothing to do with this business, but with one of his many other ventures in the worlds of shipping, industry, and banking. He glanced up and rose as he always did, a dark, elegant man with a presence one could not ignore. Constance, who had been reading men with invariable accuracy for most of her life, had only ever begun to scratch the surface with Solomon, a walking puzzle that she could only enjoy.
“A cup of tea before we are besieged by clients?” she offered.
“Thank you,” he said politely.
Already, they had fallen into the habit that he lit the fire and the stove in the morning, and she made the tea. He went out at midday to buy their luncheon, while she completed what little cleaning was necessary. They had talked about taking on one of Constance’s girls to do the cleaning and the tea, and showing in clients, but since none of those had been forthcoming, there appeared to be no rush.
Ten minutes later, they sat drinking tea companionably by the fireside and talking about plays they had seen at Drury Lane. She had come to value those times of quiet companionship. It made up for their lack of clients.
A sharp knock brought about a sudden silence. They gazed at each other in surprise and hope.
“It will be the postman,” Constance said, trying not to bounce too eagerly to her feet. “Or Mrs. Higgs from the flat upstairs.”
While she walked to the door withouttoomuch hurry, Solomon swept the teacups and saucers from the small table to place them on the desk instead. Along with his pile of papers, it created an impression of industry.
Constance opened the front door to find an expensively dressed lady on the step. She held out a card between her gloved fingers. “Angela Lambert. I would like to see Mr. Silver or Mr. Grey,” she said in a surprisingly strong London accent, “if either is available. If not, I’ll make an appointment.”
“Please come in,” Constance said, her heart beating with excitement at this, their first prospective client. “May I take your coat?”
“I can see someone now?” the woman asked eagerly. She must have been around forty years old, a handsome woman who had probably been a beauty in her youth. Inclined now to stoutness, she was nevertheless attractive. Her station in life was harder to fix, since her wide crinoline and expensive garments contradicted her rough accents. She seemed a little shy, a little unsure of herself.
“It so happens we are both in the office at this moment,” Constance said, taking the woman’s fur-lined coat and hanging it on the third hook. She glanced at the card she had been given:Mrs. C. Lamberthad been inscribed, above a Westminster address. “Please come this way, Mrs. Lambert, and tell us how we may help you.”
She opened the first parlor door, ushering her visitor inside, where, once again, Solomon arose from his desk and walked toward them.
“This is Mrs. Lambert,” Constance said. “Ma’am, allow me to introduce my partner, Mr. Grey. I am Mrs. Silver.”
Mrs. Lambert inclined her head in response to Solomon’s bow and cast a rather sharp look at Constance. However, she sat on the edge of the chair offered to her, her back straight and stiff.
“How might we help you, Mrs. Lambert?” Solomon asked, and sat down beside Constance.
“I don’t know if you can,” Mrs. Lambert said nervously. “I don’t know if you’ll even believe me, let alone be able to do anything about it.”
“We will tell you honestly if we think it beyond our skills,” Solomon assured her.
Mrs. Lambert regarded him with a shrewd glance. “You look like a man who has traveled. You must have seen a lot of unlikely things in your life.”
“A few,” Solomon admitted.
“Ever seen a ghost?”
Constance almost groaned. Just what they didn’t need to start off their new venture—a superstitious crank. She hoped she retained her expression of neutral interest. Solomon certainly did.
“Not to my knowledge,” he said smoothly.
“Well, I seen one.”
