Page 31 of Ghost in the Garden
“I would if I could find him. He is never at home, and he no longer attends his office.”
“Keeping low till the inquiry blows over.”
“I daresay that is wise. You, being his partner, wouldn’t know where I can reach him?”
“We were never that close,” Lambert said.
“Then you could not advise me on the business of…lesser properties?”
Lambert didn’t bat an eyelid. “You’d get Gregg’s buildings for a song right now. On the other hand, I couldn’t advise it.”
Clever. Did he know Solomon was not serious about entering the business of slum landlords? Or was he just testing the waters?
“Who could?” Solomon asked. “Whom would I approach about the possibility of purchase?”
“Mr. Gregg, of course. Or his office.”
“How odd,” Solomon said, holding the man’s steady gaze. “I had the impressionyouwere the important partner.”
Lambert was considering him very carefully, greed no doubt warring with risk. “Perhaps you should come and see me again,” he said at last, rising to his feet. “After the inquiry.”
“You know, I don’t think that will be necessary,” Solomon said, standing unhurriedly. “Good day, Mr. Lambert.”
“Mr. Grey.”
It had been a long time since his neck had prickled in quite such an alarming fashion, or for quite so long. Within five minutes of stepping into the street, he was sure he was being followed.
Lambert was suspicious. Interesting. And it was rather too dangerous to return to the Silver and Grey offices. Instead, Solomon took a hackney to St. Catherine’s, where his largest warehouse resided.
Chapter Seven
Constance went downto the kitchen about half an hour before a break was due to be decreed. The maids’ voices drifted out of the drawing room, so clearly it was not the time to catch Denise alone.
Ida, however,wasalone, just taking a batch of delicious-smelling scones out of the oven.
“Want a cup of tea, dearie?” she asked amiably.
“I’d love one,” Constance admitted, deciding to keep her stories consistent. “I spent all morning chasing my tail, looking for a shawl I’d already put away in its own drawer! I don’t know where my mind goes sometimes.” She put cups onto a tray by way of helping, and sloshed a little cream into each. She had already noticed how the cook liked hers. “Must be my nerves. I’m always like this when I start a new position.”
“Are you, duckie?” Ida poured boiling water from the kettle into the teapot, covered it, and waddled over to the table. Constance brought the tray with the cups. “How many positions you had, then?”
“Just enough to know the signs.”
“How’d you learn to be a lady’s maid, then? Who taught you?”
“I suppose I followed in my mother’s footsteps,” Constance said, although those footsteps had nothing of domestic service about them. “Up to a point. I’ve never been in a house like this before, though. She seems kind, Mrs. Lambert.”
“None kinder,” Ida said with unexpected fervor.
“Have you been with her a long time?”
“Five years. But I knew her since she was a girl.” Ida lifted the lid of the teapot, gave the tea a quick swirl with a spoon, and replaced the lid. “Off and on.”
Constance waited for more, but Ida said nothing, merely hefted the pot in an absent kind of a way and poured out the tea.
Constance tried again. “She’s not a slave driver, either. Very light on the things she wants me to do for her. She says she hasn’t had a lady’s maid before.”
“Make sure you don’t take advantage,” Ida said. For once, her eyes were focused and serious.
