Page 22 of Ghost in the Garden
“Is Angela frightened of him?” he asked.
“Yes, I think so, but it’s as if she’s used to it. I get the impression she’s not scared into doing what he wants. She’s just being a good wife to him. But she doesn’t want him to know about me, and now that I’ve met him, I’m in full agreement.”
“Where do you sleep?”
“A dressing room off their bedchamber. There’s a key in the lock.”
With his most immediate worries addressed, if not exactly resolved, he tried to concentrate on the case. “What signs of our ghost?”
“None so far. Angela saw it moving erratically away from the house toward the back wall around five or six o’clock. So did Goldie the maid, who also saw it in the middle of the night—after midnight, she thinks. I haven’t spoken to the footmen yet. What have you found out?”
“Nothing helpful, though I’m fairly sure Lambertisinvolved with Gregg in the ownership of the collapsed building. There’s a greedy rent collector and so-called caretaker by the name of Fraser who’s too frightened to say much. And a lot of injured people crammed next door with no help or medical attention except what they can offer each other. Dragan Tizsa has gone to help. I find…”
“You find what?”
“I don’t really care about the damned ghost,” Solomon said frankly. “I want Gregg and Lambert to pay for what they did. And didn’t do.”
“Whoever the ghost is might well shed some light on that…”
“Ask Angela about a troublemaker called Lenny Knox,” he said impulsively. “He was organizing the tenants into some kind of revolt against their conditions. His wife and baby daughter died in the collapse and now he would appear to have lost heart. In fact, ask her about Fraser the caretaker too.” He frowned. “Fraser hasn’t seen Gregg since the collapse, but he still takes the weekly rents to the office. There, they claim to have no idea where Gregg is, and they’ve never, apparently, had anything to do with any Lambert. But the rent money’s going intosomeone’spocket.”
“Is this what Angela really wants us to find out about?” Constance wondered aloud. “Is the ghost just an excuse because her conscience bothers her?” She shivered. “I have to go back. Can you come at seven tomorrow?”
“I can.” She drew her arm free of his, but he held it a moment longer. “Constance.”
She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. Her eyes were once more clear and damnably lovely. Quite suddenly he was plagued, as he often was, by the memory of lying in bed beside her, untouching, aroused and damnably frustrated. And one precious night when he had simply held her…
He swallowed. “Take no chances. Leave if there is any threat to your safety whatsoever.”
“I will, but there won’t be,” she said, slipping away with a quick, cocky smile that was pure Constance.
*
As had becometheir habit since moving to this house, Caleb Lambert escorted his wife from the dining room to the drawing room, where they sat by the fire and talked about business.
Caleb had always been in the habit of discussing such matters with her. She was a useful sounding board and, besides, she had a good brain behind her once-lovely face. Not so beautiful now, of course, but she was still a handsome woman and important to him in a way his many affairs were not. She knew that. She was, in fact, the perfect wife for him… If only she weren’t so damned common.
So was he, of course, but he had mixed for a long time with the upper echelons of Society as well as the lowest of the low, and he could adjust enough not to be despised. Angela, however, carried her origins in her voice. She could never mix with the wives of the people he was cultivating now. Unless she kept her mouth shut. Perhaps she could just smile…
In a quiet moment, he said, “How do you like your new maid, then?”
“She’s very polite and willing,” Angela said. “And I like how she talks.”
“So do I,” Lambert said, pleased. “Maybe you can copy her. Then I can take you to Sir Nicholas Swan’s charity ball.”
“Maybe,” Angela said. “When were you talking to her?”
Was that suspicion in her eyes? Jealousy? “Just for a moment before dinner,” he said easily. “I knocked on your door to see if you were ready and she told me you’d just gone down. Pretty little thing. The lads will be fighting over her.”
“I don’t fancy any of their chances,” Angela said with a curl of her lip. “She’s stepping out with a much classier gent.”
“Then what’s she working for you for?”
“Saving up for marriage? How do I know? I took a shine to her.”
“Then you don’t want a proper footman after all?”
“Not right now,” Angela said, much to his relief.
