Page 95 of Ghost in the Garden
“You think I don’t know? Was never proud? I don’t want you in this game, but if you have to be, you couldn’t do better. And before you spin me some more tales, I know what else you do.”
Girls still talked on the streets, and Juliet still knew them. Constance’s haven was not unknown.
“I’ll show these to my client tomorrow,” she managed. “What do you want for them?”
“If he’s paying, I’ll take what I spent. Otherwise you can just have ’em. To be honest, I don’t want them in my house, since the rozzers are likely to poke around at first.”
Constance took the jewels from her, dropping them into her own reticule. “This might just be the easiest fee we’ll ever earn. Whether or not they’re my client’s, thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. You’re helping me out.” Juliet struggled out of the too-comfortable chair, and Constance knew an echo of the old panic she had felt as a child whenever her mother left her.
“Do you want a bite to eat?” she blurted. “We’ll have no guests before eight, so there’s plenty of time.”
“Not today,” Juliet said, as Constance knew she would. Though her mother could still surprise her. “Got things to do if I’m to open this week. But I’ll come another day. If you like.”
“Iwouldlike,” Constance said, and meant it.
Her mother nodded, then turned away as though to hide her own pleasure. Her breath caught. “Con?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know who your father is. Never did, never cared, because whoever he was, he didn’t matter. You were always enough.”
Emotion swept up, contradictory and confused. Constance’s throat tightened unbearably.
Juliet grasped the door handle, then glanced over her shoulder. “I’m sorry I wasn’t.” She tugged open the door and stomped off, leaving Constance staring after her.
A second later, she gasped and hurried after her mother, brushing past Anthony at the door. Juliet was halfway down the steps.
“You’re daft,” Constance called after her, and her voice barely broke at all. “And stillmuchmore than enough!”
Juliet laughed, lifted an airy hand, and fled. But Constance could tell, just from her jaunty wobble, that she was glad.
And so was Constance.
*
The following day,Constance and Solomon called upon their client, who was overjoyed to identify Juliet’s jewels as his. He immediately gave them a banker’s draft for the rest of their fee and sent them away with effusive thanks, just in time to meet their next client, who had a very interesting problem of his own.
Even so, Constance found it hard to think about the new case. Her mind kept straying back to the Lamberts, to the dead, the injured, and the bereaved, and to the vileness of exploitative slum landlords.
Eventually, as she should have done from the beginning, she went into Solomon’s office and talked to him about it. After that, the decision about Lady Swan’s party was easy.
Chapter Twenty
Angela’s nerves werejumping as she journeyed from her own house to the Swans’. She would have preferred to do this in the calming company of Mrs. Silver, who would have removed any accidental hint of vulgarity from her dress and made those minor changes that made all the difference to a person’s confidence.
It was incredibly difficult to step into this superior world of wealth and respectability alone. She wasn’t sure she could have done it had not the even larger matter of grief hung over her. Walking alone into a party of hostile humans was nothing beside the hugeness of widowhood, of sole responsibility for the organization.
She forced her tense shoulders to relax and lifted her chin with pride. If she had learned anything over the last two or three years, it was that, alone, she could do anything she wished.
This was to have been Caleb’s big moment. When he, born with nothing in the lawless filth of the Devil’s Acre, stepped into the world of the truly powerful. He had paid a fortune for these tickets, and Angela was determined to put them to good purpose.
Sir Nicholas Swan’s house was nothing great. It was not in a fashionably gracious Mayfair Square but on the edges of the river, a large, old building with a kind of brooding beauty. Not so very different from her own, she told herself as she alighted and walked boldly up to the front steps in the extravagant glow of many lamps.
A liveried footman took her invitation card with a bow. Another took her wrap and she was free to follow the bright, sparkling people in front of her up a polished but not-too-grand staircase, and into a large drawing room full of people.
Angela’s heart thudded as she realized the couple just inside the door must be Sir Nicholas Swan and his wife. She had found out what she could about them, of course, and she knew Lady Swan had once been a governess. To Angela, that put them on a more even footing. She was able to look the younger woman in the eye and say, “Good evening. I know we have not met. I am Mrs. Lambert, Caleb Lambert’s widow.”
