Page 4 of Ghost in the Garden
Angela Lambert walkedsmartly along Chandos Street, wondering if she’d done the right thing. Silver and Grey weren’t exactly who and what she’d expected them to be. For one thing, one of them was a woman, although now she thought about it, she rather liked the idea. A woman going her own way, making her own decisions.
But both of them were too refined, and too liable to stand out. Mrs. Silver was too pretty not to cause trouble in the house. And Grey… She didn’t know if he was dark-skinned European or African, though he talked the Queen’s English better than most people Angela had ever met. He wasn’t exactly the seedy, unnoticeable type. He wouldn’t blend easily into any background. In fact, he was the sort of man people always noticed.
Angela had certainly noticed him. And it had been a long time since she’d noticed men other than her husband.What would Caleb do if I indulged the attraction?
Kill us both, probably.
No, perhaps Silver was better, on the whole, to have in the house. But Angela would need to be careful now. Damned careful.
*
Janey breezed injust over an hour later, bearing hot pies she’d bought from a street seller on the way.
“What d’you want me to do, then?” she asked Constance, who had just let her into the hall. “And where’s this gorgeous man of yours?”
Solomon’s tall, elegant figure filled the parlor doorway. Janey stared at him with frank appreciation.
“Cor. No wonder she don’t talk about you. They’d be fighting over you in our establishment.”
“Not if they wanted to remain there,” Constance said. “This is Janey, my maid. Janey, Mr. Grey.”
“Wotcha, Mr. Grey,” Janey said cheerfully. “Want a pie?”
“Thank you,” Solomon said gravely, accepting the parcel.
Constance hauled Janey to the office and showed her the appointment book. “Don’t make any appointments for me this week or next, and try not to make it sound that Mr. Grey istooavailable, even though he is from tomorrow morning. Don’t swear at anyone—unless they deserve it—and help yourself to tea in the kitchen. You can leave when Mr. Grey returns.”
“Do I have to?” Janey asked.
“I thought men revolted you these days.”
“I ain’t touching ’em again, bastards, but I could just look at him for a bit.”
“No you couldn’t,” Constance said firmly. “He’s not an exhibit.”
“He’s a gentleman, ain’t he? With an edge.”
There was definitely an edge to Solomon. Cool, self-contained, observant, with just that hint of danger that lurked in men who could always take care of themselves.
“Are you clear what you have to do?” Constance asked hastily.
“Of course I am. I ain’t stupid. You and him bugger off. I’ll be fine.”
“Just don’t tell clients to bugger off,” Constance said as they emerged from the office to find Solomon looking amused. Already wearing his overcoat, he assisted Constance into hers and picked up his hat.
“Thank you, Miss Janey,” he said, and opened the door, quite unaware that he’d made a rare conquest with four words.
*
The hackney setthem down in Victoria Street, within sight of the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey. Constance, however, paused to gaze in the other direction.
“Over there,” she said, nodding across the road, “is Devil’s Acre. A maze of slums built on marshland, all muck, rookeries, poverty, and thieves.”
Even Solomon, it seemed, had heard of Devil’s Acre. Well, Mr. Dickens had written an alarming article about it a year or so ago, which had raised its level of notoriety.
“You are telling me that the Lamberts live in Devil’s Acre?”
“Lord, no,” Constance said. “Their address is in the opposite direction. Interesting, though, that they live so close. I wonder if they came from there?” She took Solomon’s proffered arm and they began to walk. “I found her an odd mixture, didn’t you? Uncertain to the point of shyness one moment, and very sure of herself the next.”
