Page 1 of The Trick of the Treasure
Chapter One
Constance Silver approachedthe black-painted door, her stomach in knots. The shining brass plate beside the door, which proclaimedSilver & Grey, took on a massive new significance in her mind.
Several of the people who had crossed this threshold since the sign went up must have felt similar nervous attacks—wondering if their problems would be believed or accepted, cringing at the personal and family secrets they would have to reveal in order for their inquiries to be carried out. Constance had no such excuse. She was one of the firm’s two partners and did half of the inquiring.
Since the last thing she wanted was to be seen hovering coyly by the door, she fished out her keys from her businesslike bag and let herself in. It was foolish, of course, but she no longer had any idea how to greet her partner and friend Solomon Grey. Because last night, he had asked her to marry him.
Or at least to contemplate the possibility. At any rate, they had agreed to consider themselves engaged.
It was utter madness on his part, of course. He was a wealthy, respected businessman while she was not respectable at all. Her personal wealth was founded on immoral earnings, her most notorious and successful venture being the discreet and hideously expensive house of ill repute nestling among the mansions of Mayfair.
She was acquainted with dukes and government ministers and bishops, but none of them acknowledged her in front of their wives.
And yet the trivial problem exercising her mind was how to greet her betrothed. Should she kiss his cheek in public or in private? Or merely say good morning?
The low murmur of a male voice came from the first office on her left—Solomon’s. Their expected client must have been early. Relieved to have her decision put off by the closed door, she began to take off her hat as she walked on toward her own office.
“Good morning, ma’am,” Janey said, bustling up from her cubbyhole where she kept the appointment book and managed the post.
Constance raised one eyebrow, for she could tell from the girl’s unusual politeness of manner that they were not alone. Janey jerked her head in the direction of the waiting room and grinned.
This really was excellent—a client with Solomon and another waiting in line.
Janey followed her into the office. “Got some water heating for fresh tea. And a fine gent in the waiting room—name of Mr. Lloyd. His card’s on your desk.”
Having hung up her hat and coat, Constance glanced at the good-quality card.Barnabas J. Lloyd, Esquire, with a good address on the edges of Mayfair.
“He didn’t have an appointment, just dropped in. Thought you wouldn’t be long, so I asked him to wait. Very civil, he is, with a twinkle in his eye.”
Janey noticed such things. Even when Constance had first taken her in, an excessively foul-mouthed prostitute, she had been observant. Her ambition then had been to give up the old life that was killing her and become a lady’s maid. She had begunby practicing on Constance, but since Silver and Grey had begun, she had found this position suited her much better.
Which left Constance without a maid, though Janey still appeared to bring her coffee in the morning and to unhook her at night.
“I’ll bring him in here,” Constance decided, “and you can bring us both tea. Tell Mr. Grey when he is free.”
“Right you are,” Janey said cheerfully.
Constance followed her from the room and crossed the hall to the waiting room, where a gentleman sat in one of the two armchairs, calmly reading a newspaper.
He was a healthy-looking man perhaps in his early forties, with chiseled features, sun-bronzed skin, and a very silky-looking moustache. He glanced up as Constance entered and rose at once to his feet.
He did indeed have a twinkle in his eye.
Well, Constance was used to dealing with those.
“Mr. Lloyd, good morning,” she said cheerfully, walking toward him with her hand held out. “I am Mrs. Silver. Would you care to come through to the office?”
He took her hand and bowed over it, undisguised admiration on his face. “How do you do? Thank you.” He released her hand, folded the newspaper, and laid it on the table before following her across the hall.
Leaving the door ajar—a concession to respectability that amused her—Constance chose to bypass the comfortable armchairs grouped by the fireplace and go straight to her desk. “Please, sit down and tell me how we can help you.”
He looked startled as she sat behind the desk, though at least he did lower himself into the visitor’s chair. “Is Mr. Silver about to join us?”
It was not the first time she had encountered this mistake. “There is no Mr. Silver, sir. I am the Silver half of the partnership.”
His eyes widened, though with more amusement than outrage. “Really? How very intriguing! I apologize for my misunderstanding. In the circumstances, I believe I shall wait until Mr. Grey is free.”
Janey entered with the tea tray, giving Constance time to smooth her hackles.
