Page 17 of Ghost in the Garden
The stranger walked past Fraser’s net-curtained window. He walked and dressed like a toff—not of the first order, perhaps, but the man had money and no lack of confidence, even in these mean streets, among the kids who’d probably already picked his pockets.
Fraser jangled the coins in his own pocket. He could take Iris to the theatre with that money. Or he could save it to get out of St. Giles, get a similar situation with a better landlord—one who wasn’t liable to land him in gaol. Perhaps he should wait and see what mood Iris was in when she got back. Where in hell was she, anyway? Spending the rest of the money he’d given her on more bloody clothes, probably. Trying to pretend she was rich, or making herself beautiful for Fraser?
Or for Lambert?
Discontentedly, he threw himself into the chair and tried to plan beyond his jealousy. He needed to get her away from here.
A thought struck him. How much would Lambert pay to know about the stranger sniffing around? How much would Gregg pay? If he wasn’t dead.
If he were honest, Fraser didn’t really want to face Lambert. And yet there was a certain justice in getting money from the man in order to leave him.
*
Constance was takinga closer look at the laundry room and the array of irons, considering the possibilities of the small, high window that looked out onto the neighboring building, when Goldie—Duggin the butler’s daughter—wandered in.
Goldie was aptly named with her bright yellow curls escaping from her white cap. She could only have been sixteen years old, though she walked like a more mature, sophisticated woman, all conscious grace and femininity. A natural coquette.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said without enthusiasm. “I hear as you outrank us all except my old dad. So the missus says.”
“And what do you say?” Constance asked amiably.
“I say we never paid no attention to rank before and I ain’t about to start.”
“Good for you,” Constance said. “I like a person who can stick to their principles.”
This seemed to throw Goldie off her stride. She peered a little suspiciously at Constance, as though suspecting her of some deeper meaning.
“We’ve all got our jobs to do,” Constance added. “And since I’m the new maid and you’ve all been here some time, I’ll need to rely on your help just for a bit.”
“Makes sense,” Goldie allowed, although the wary look remained. “But we got enough to do without taking on your duties too.”
“Of course you have,” Constance said in shocked tones. “I wouldn’t dream of offloading my jobs on to you. Might ask you where things are for a bit, though, and who to steer clear of.”
“Well you don’t want to get on the wrong side of his nibs,” Goldie said.
“Mr. Lambert?”
“That’s him. Or Duggin, me dad, neither, come to that. The others is all right.”
“And the mistress is kind?”
“Strict,” Goldie said, considering. “But fair.”
Constance edged closer. “What about the footmen?”
Goldie blinked, then laughed. “Pat and Robin? They’re fine to me ’cause of who my dad is, but you don’t want to run into one of them alone in the larder. Ask Denise.”
Constance cocked an eyebrow. “Hands?”
“And the rest. Bert’s all right, though. More respect, but then, he works for the missus, so he has to. I wouldn’t worry, bit of a lark here, and the wages is good. Honest work, too.”
“Seems very respectable,” Constance said primly, then frowned. “Though I don’t like the sound of this ghost. You seen it?”
Goldie’s eyes sparkled. “I did—twice!”
Constance gave an exaggerated shiver. “Tell me! Where’d you see it? In the garden, like Mrs. Lambert?”
“Oh yes, it’s always in the garden. First time I saw it was from the kitchen window. Just floating through the mist. Scared the life out of me.”
