Page 59 of Ghost in the Garden
“Bert already is. We all watch her when we can.”
“Good.” Duggin let him go and scowled at the giggling maids as they went about their business.
He wasn’t sure that Denise was a good influence on his daughter. Goldie could certainly aim higher than Robin, who had Denise eating out of his hand, but he didn’t like the idea of Goldie entertaining men at all. He’d caught her looking at Lambert himself once or twice, and he definitely didn’t like that. She was still his little girl, although her mother, may she rest in peace, had been no older when he’d first taken her. Lambert had been a catch once, but he’d never leave Angela—who was worth two of him anyway.
Duggin sat back down beside Ida, who was pouring a splash more gin into her empty teacup. “What’s your view on Angela’s girl?” he asked abruptly.
Ida shrugged. “No harm in her. Angela likes her.”
“Do you?”
“I do, as it happens. I gather you don’t.”
“She ain’t one of us. I don’t like strangers in the house. And she must have Angela wrapped around her little finger to get hours off every bleeding day.”
“You don’t know that she’s been off duty,” Ida pointed out. “She might be doing stuff for Angela. She don’t have to go through you all the time, Alfie. Content yourself with Caleb.”
Duggin grunted, and Ida splashed the dregs of her flask into his cup. It was enough for a swallow. “I don’t trust her. She talks too hoity-toity and she’s too damned nosy.”
“Course she’s nosy. So would you be in a new house with new master and mistress. You want to know how everything and everyone works. Besides, she ain’t so different from you and me.”
“How d’you work that out?”
“I can tell. She’s had her share of knocks. Dragged herself up by her bootstraps, same as Angela and Caleb and you and me.”
“You telling me she lived in the Acre?”
“Maybe not the Acre, but there’s other places just as miserable.”
Duggin sniffed and got up again. “I hope you’re right about her. ’Cause I think she’s got Angela just where she wants her. And that ain’t good for us.”
“You underestimate women, Alfie,” she said vaguely. “You always did.”
That Ida had no misgivings about the lady’s maid was some comfort to Duggin, but he still didn’t like her. He watched as she came back down, drank half a cup of tea, then jumped up to answer the bell rung from the bedchamber.
Duggin didn’t put it past Lambert to have rung that bell. Which was another worry. Lambert had noticed her. The little Fraser tart from St. Giles wouldn’t keep him occupied forever, and if he took up with Silver instead…well, that would hurt Angela more. What was she thinking about, hiring a maid with looks like that? She must have known Lambert would look twice.
Well, who was Duggin to judge? His own marriage hadn’t lasted long enough for him to get the hang of wives. There were other important things in life.
Just before the Lamberts went in to dine, Silver slipped out again through the kitchen door.
Duggin caught Pat’s eye as he came in from the dining room, and jerked his head toward the door. Pat nodded and went out after her.
*
Constance wasn’t surethat Solomon would come this evening, when they had spent most of the afternoon together. But she wanted to know what Janey had reported about Angela’s doings, and if Solomon had learned anything useful from the hackney drivers.
And then she also wanted to discuss how to catch their “ghost,” and how much to tell Angela of their plans.
So while everyone was busy preparing the dinner, she simply took her shawl and walked out into the garden.
It looked very different without the mist. The light from windows and stars and the streetlights on the main road all penetrated the darkness so that it took only a few moments for her eyes to adjust and make out the path to the garden door.
“Constance.” Solomon stepped out of the shadows beneath the wall, and she took his arm without thought. She could not believe how close they had come to severing their partnership, ending their friendship.
He said at once, “She’s up to her neck in Lambert’s business, though she might be trying to minimize the chances of any further disasters. That’s where she goes all day.”
“She does everything to please him,” Constance said. “All the time. Even whores have time off. Did you have any luck with the hackney drivers?”
