Page 82 of Ghost in the Garden
“Not stolen, Ma,” Constance said firmly.
Juliet looked at her irritably. “We all do what we have to in order to get by. You know that. What makes you so sure I’d never even try for respectability?”
“Because you’ve never known it,” Constance said bluntly. God knew that was not her mother’s fault, but though it hadn’t been meant unkindly, Juliet was frowning, the light of pride dying in her eyes. Her lips thinned.
“And you have? You run a brothel, Constance. The title of abbess is mockery and it sure as hell isn’t respectable. And you needn’t imagine you’re some high lord’s bastard, raising you above the rest of us, because you aren’t, and even if you were, it’d change nothing.”
Constance gripped the back of the nearest chair. Her knuckles were white. She didn’t even know what to be angry about first.
“Then whose child am I?” The words almost burst out of her.
“You’re mine,” Juliet snapped, glaring back at her. “There’s no bolt of thunder, no god-in-the-machine that will win your Mr. Grey for you. He’ll always be above our touch.”
Sometimes Constance forgot her mother had some smattering of education. She had taught Constance to read and write, after all. She had taught her so many things among all the confusion of drink and loneliness and despair. In spite of everything, Juliet had made her daughter’s rise possible. That made Constance ashamed of both of them, and yet it should make her proud.
Emotion clogged her throat. Maybe shewasproud. Either way, she couldn’t bear any more of this.
“Where’s the tea?” she asked aggressively.
*
Solomon sensed somekind of atmosphere between the mother and daughter as they brought in tea. They didn’t speak to each other, although there was no overt hostility between them.
“One reason we came was to talk to Lenny,” Solomon said, setting down his cup.
A cynical smile flickered on Juliet’s lips. “What d’you want with him?”
“Was he working here yesterday?” Constance asked.
“He came round in the evening. Why?”
“What time?”
“Gawd, I don’t know. Six? Just before?”
“And when did he leave?”
“After eight, by the time we had supper. He needs feeding up, poor devil.”
“And you were with him all that time?” Solomon asked.
“Pretty much. Had a lot to talk about. He made me some drawings. Clever bloke, your Lenny. I’m grateful. Now, why do you care where he was?”
“‘Pretty much’ isn’t an answer,” Constance said. “Did he go out in that time?”
“He went and got us some supper from the Crown, but he was only gone half an hour or so.”
“Could you be more exact?” Solomon pressed.
“Maybe an hour,” Juliet said grudgingly. “And the food was hot!”
Solomon exchanged glances with Constance. An hour would have given him just enough time, but he would have had to know the habits of the household.
He’d already proved adept at watching and following…
“Shall we take him a cup of tea?” Constance suggested.
“No point if you can’t get in the shop door,” Juliet pointed out, though she did pour a third cup with a spoonful of sugar, which she handed to Constance without comment.
