Page 27 of Ghost in the Garden
“You’re from my world, aren’t you? You’re no more a lady than I am.”
“Probably not,” Constance said. “I suppose it depends on your definition of ‘lady.’”
“For these purposes, it’s how you sound, and you got that perfect. I could have sworn you were a lady when we first met.”
Constance cast her eyes at the connecting door, as she had done last night, and again Angela dismissed her fears.
“He’s gone. For the day, most likely. How’d you do it, then?”
“I suppose I’m a natural mimic. And I observed and listened and learned. I was fortunate to have that opportunity.”
“I never had it. Would you teach me? When we both have time.”
“If you like. Not everyone has a good ear, though.”
“I’d like to try.” Angela looked embarrassed. “Caleb’s come up in the world. He wants a wife who don’t sound like she came out of the gutter.”
Caleb did not deserve her efforts. He was not faithful to her, judging by the way he’d looked at Constance. She wondered if Angela knew and that was why she tried so hard.
“You don’t want to sound like you’re putting it on, either,” she said.
Angela nodded quite seriously, then changed the subject. “I’ll be going out today. I’ll take Bert and I won’t need you.”
“Good. I thought I’d just lurk near the windows or in the garden, looking for ghosts.”
“Don’t blab if you find out who it is,” Angela said sharply. “I want to know first.”
“Of course.”
Angela nodded. “Then I’ll wear that gray gown.”
With both the master and mistress of the house out of the way, Constance took the opportunity to look around the place more carefully. She began with Angela’s parlor, because Angela was keeping relevant things from her, and that was neither safe nor fair. As she hoped, there was no one in the room, so she went directly to the tidy roll-top desk. Half expecting it to be locked, she lifted the top, and it slid smoothly back.
An appointment book lay in front of her, with a marker at today’s date. There were appointments listed, though frustratingly, they were merely initials with times.
9am– SD
11am– W– RG
1pm– M
3pm– CL– F
Which meant precisely nothing to her. She could not even make the initials match anyone connected to the case—except, she supposed, the “F” at three p.m. could be Fraser, the caretaker of the buildings at St. Giles. No Huxley Gregg, though. Probably, she was simply meeting friends.
The entries for other days were similar, though the initials were different. Some days displayed very little, an occasional C with a time, which could have referred to Caleb.
Giving up on the book, Constance rifled through the shelves and drawers. On the bottom shelf she found two long, slender ledgers full of figures that again meant nothing to her, although the amounts involved were large.
The smaller drawers and shelves contained only notepaper, envelopes, sealing wax, pens, and ink. It seemed that if Angela received any correspondence, she did not keep it.
The waste basket was empty. The fire in the parlor was not yet lit, presumably because Angela was out for the day, but it had been cleaned and set. The whole room was pristine and somehow clinical. Though furnished like a lady’s private sitting room or boudoir, it felt to Constance like an office. Well, Angela was a tidy person.
Emerging cautiously from the room, Constance heard the distant chatter of the maids from the top landing. Presumably they were making beds and tidying bedchambers. Pat and Robin would have gone out with Lambert. It was as good an opportunity as she was likely to have.
She crossed the hall toward the baize door that led to the kitchen. Next to it was Lambert’s office, where she had been told never to go. But Angela secretly feared the ghost was the spirit of someone her husband had wronged, probably Cathy Knox. Her more rational belief was that it was some living person he had wronged, who was out for vengeance. If Constance was to truly investigate…
Her heart beating faster, she raised her hand and lifted the latch. It gave a small click, but otherwise, the door opened smoothly. Lambert, clearly, saw no need to lock the door. Because he trusted his household? Ot because none but Angela could read? She realized she didn’t even know if Lambert could. Was Angela his clerk?
