He accepted, and began on the purpose of his visit before trivial conversation should lead him into betraying Callandra Daviot.

"I am engaged in the Queen Anne Street case, the murder of Sir Basil Moidore's daughter."

"I wondered if you would be," she answered politely, her eyes bright with expectation. "The newspapers are still full of it. But I have never met any of the family, nor do I know anything about them. Have they any connection with the Crimea?"

"Only peripheral.''

"Then what can I-" She stopped, waiting for him to answer.

"It was someone in the house who killed her," he said. "Very probably one of the family-"

"Oh-" Understanding began in her eyes, not of her own part in the case, but of the difficulties facing him. "How can you investigate that?"

"Carefully." He smiled with a downward turn of his lips. "Lady Moidore has taken to her bed. I am not sure how much of it is grief-she was very composed to begin with-and how much of it may be because she has learned something which points to one of the family and she cannot bear it."

"What can I do?" He had all her attention now.

"Would you consider taking a position as nurse to Lady Moidore, and observing the family, and if possible learning what she fears so much?"

She looked uncomfortable. "They may require better references than I could supply."

"Would not Miss Nightingale speak well of you?"

"Oh, certainly-but the infirmary would not."

"Indeed. Then we shall hope they do not ask them. I think the main thing will be if Lady Moidore finds you agreeable-''

"I imagine Lady Callandra would also speak for me."

He relaxed back into his chair. "That should surely be sufficient. Then you will do it?"

She laughed very slightly. "If they advertise for such a person, I shall surely apply-but I can hardly turn up at the door and inquire if they need a nurse!"

"Of course not. I shall do what I can to arrange it.'' He did not tell her of Callandra Daviot's cousin, and hurried on to avoid difficult explanations. "It will be done by word of mouth, as these things are in the best families. If you will permit yourself to be mentioned? Good-"

"Tell me something of the household."

"I think it would be better if I left you to discover it yourself-and certainly your opinions would be of more use to me." He frowned curiously. "What happened at the infirmary?"

Ruefully she told him.

Valentina Burke-Heppenstall was prevailed upon to call in person at Queen Anne Street to convey her sympathies, and when Beatrice did not receive her, she commiserated with her friend's distress and suggested to Araminta that perhaps a nurse would be helpful in the circ.u.mstances and be able to offer a.s.sistance a busy ladies' maid could not.

After a few moments' consideration, Araminta was disposed to agree. It would indeed remove from the rest of the household the responsibility for a task they were not really equipped to handle.

Valentina could suggest someone, if it would not be viewed as impertinent? Miss Nightingale's young ladies were the very best, and very rare indeed among nurses; they were well-bred, not at all the sort of person one would mind having in one's house.

Araminta was obliged. She would interview this person at the first opportunity.

Accordingly Hester put on her best uniform and rode in a hansom cab to Queen Anne Street, where she presented herself for Araminta's inspection.

"I have Lady Burke-Heppenstall's recommendation of your work,'' Araminta said gravely. She was dressed in black taffeta which rustled with every movement, and the enormous skirt kept touching table legs and corners of sofas and chairs as Araminta walked in the overfurnished room. The sombemess of the gown and the black crepes set over pictures and doors in recognition of death made her hair by contrast seem like a pool of light, hotter and more vivid than gold.

She looked at Hester's gray stuff dress and severe appearance with satisfaction.

"Why are you currently seeking employment, Miss Latterly?" She made no attempt at courtesy. This was a business interview, not a social one.

Hester had already prepared her excuse, with Callandra's help. It was frequently the desire of an ambitious servant to work for someone of t.i.tle. They were greater sn.o.bs than many of their mistresses, and the manners and grammar of other servants were of intense importance to them.

"Now that I am home in England, Mrs. Kellard, I should prefer nursing in a private house of well-bred people to working in a public hospital."

"That is quite understandable,'' Araminta accepted without a flicker. "My mother is not ill, Miss Latterly; she has had a bereavement under most distressing circ.u.mstances. We do not wish her to fall into a melancholy. It would be easy enough. She will require agreeable company-and care that she sleeps well and eats sufficiently to maintain her health. Is this a position you would be willing to fill, Miss Latterly?"

"Yes, Mrs. Kellard, I should be happy to, if you feel I would suit?" Hester forced herself to be appropriately humble only by remembering Monk's face-and her real purpose here.

"Very well, you may consider yourself engaged. You may bring such belongings as are necessary, and begin tomorrow. Good day to you."

"Good day, ma'am-thank you."

Accordingly, the following day Hester arrived at Queen Anne Street with her few belongings in a trunk and presented herself at the back door to be shown her room and her duties. It was an extraordinary position, rather more than a servant, but a great deal less than a guest. She was considered skilled, but she was not part of the ordinary staff, nor yet a professional person such as a doctor. She was a member of the household, therefore she must come and go as she was ordered and conduct herself in all ways as was acceptable to her mistress. Mistress-the word set her teeth on edge.

But why should it? She had no possessions and no prospects, and since she took it upon herself to administer to John Airdrie without Pomeroy's permission, she had no other employment either. And of course there was not only caring for Lady Moidore to consider and do well, there was the subtler and more interesting and dangerous job to do for Monk.

She was given an agreeable room on the floor immediately above the main family bedrooms and with a connecting bell so she could come at a moment's notice should she be required. In her time off duty, if there should be any, she might read or write letters in the ladies' maids' sitting room. She was told quite unequivocally what her duties would be, and what would remain those of the ladies' maid, Mary, a dark, slender girl in her twenties with a face full of character and a ready tongue. She was also told the province of the upstairs maid, Annie, who was about sixteen and full of curiosity, quick-witted and far too opinionated for her own good.

She was shown the kitchen and introduced to the cook, Mrs. Boden, the kitchen maid Sal, the scullery maid May, the boot-boy Willie, and then to the laundrymaids Lizzie and Rose, who would attend to her linens. The other ladies' maid, Gladys, she only saw on the landing; she looked after Mrs. Cyprian Moidore and Miss Araminta. Similarly the upstairs maid Maggie, the between maid Nellie, and the handsome parlormaid Dinah were outside her responsibility. The tiny, fierce housekeeper, Mrs. Willis, did not have jurisdiction over nurses, and that was a bad beginning to their relationship. She was used to power and resented a female servant who was not answerable to her. Her small, neat face showed it in instant disapproval. She reminded Hester of a particularly efficient hospital matron, and the comparison was not a fortunate one.

"You will eat in the servants' hall with everyone else,"

Mrs. Willis informed her tartly. "Unless your duties make that impossible. After breakfast at eight o'clock we all," she said the word pointedly, and looked Hester in the eye, "gather for Sir Basil to lead us in prayers. I a.s.sume, Miss Latterly, that you are a member of the Church of England?''

"Oh yes, Mrs. Willis," Hester said immediately, although by inclination she was no such thing, her nature was all nonconformist.

"Good." Mrs. Willis nodded. "Quite so. We take dinner between twelve and one, while the family takes luncheon. There will be supper at whatever time the evening suits. When there are large dinnerparties that may be very late." Her eyebrows rose very high. "We give some of the largest dinner parties in London here, and very fine cuisine indeed. But since we are in mourning at present there will be no entertaining, and by the time we resume I imagine your duties will be long past. I expect you will have half a day off a fortnight, like everyone else. But if that does not suit her ladyship, then you won't."

Since it was not a permanent position Hester was not yet concerned with time off, so long as she had opportunity to see Monk when necessary, to report to him any knowledge she had gained.

"Yes, Mrs. Willis," she replied, since a reply seemed to be awaited.

"You will have little or no occasion to go into the withdrawing room, but if you do I presume you know better than to knock?" Her eyes were sharp on Hester's face. "It is extremely vulgar ever to knock on a withdrawing room door."

"Of course, Mrs. Willis," Hester said hastily. Shehadnever given the matter any thought, but it would not do to admit it.

"The maid will care for your room, of course,'' the housekeeper went on, looking at Hester critically. "But you will iron your own ap.r.o.ns. The laundrymaids have enough to do, and the ladies' maids are certainly not waiting on you! If anyone sends you letters-you have a family?" This last was something in the nature of a challenge. People without families lacked respectability; they might be anyone.

"Yes, Mrs. Willis, I do," Hester said firmly. "Unfortunately my parents died recently, and one of my brothers was killed in the Crimea, but I have a surviving brother, and I am very fond both of him and of his wife."

Mrs. Willis was satisfied. "Good. I am sorry about your brother who died in the Crimea, but many fine young men were lost in that conflict. To die for one's Queen and country is an honorable thing and to be bome with such fort.i.tude as one can. My own rather was a soldier-a very fine man, a man to look up to. Family is very important, Miss Latterly. All the staff here are most respectable.''

With great difficulty Hester bit her tongue and forbore from saying what she felt about the Crimean War and its political motives or the utter incompetence of its conduct. She controlled herself with merely lowering her eyes as if in modest consent.

"Mary will show you the female servants' staircase." Mrs. Willis had finished the subject of personal lives and was back to business.

"I beg your pardon?" Hester was momentarily confused.

"The female servants' staircase," Mrs. Willis said sharply. "You will have to go up and down stairs, girl! This is a decent household-you don't imagine you are going to use the male servants' stairs, do you? Whatever next? I hope you don't have any ideas of that sort.''

"Certainly not, ma'am.'' Hester collected her wits quickly and invented an explanation. "I am just unused to such s.p.a.ciousness. I am not long returned from the Crimea." This in case Mrs. Willis had heard only the reputation of nurses in England, which was far from savory."We had no menservants where I was."

"Indeed." Mrs. Willis was totally ignorant in the matter, but unwilling to say so. "Well, we have five outside menservants here, whom you are unlikely to meet, and inside we have Mr. Phillips, the butler; Rhodes, Sir Basil's valet; Harold and Percival, the footmen; and Willie, the bootboy. You will have no occasion to have dealings with any of them."

"No ma'am."

Mrs. Willis sniffed. "Very well. You had best go and present yourself to Lady Moidore and see if there is anything you can do for her, poor creature." She smoothed her ap.r.o.n fiercely and her keys jangled. "As if it wasn't enough to be bereaved of a daughter, without police creeping all over the house and pestering people with questions. I don't know what the world is coming to! If they were doing their job in the first place all this would never have happened."

Since she was not supposed to know it, Hester refrained from saying it was a bit unreasonable to expect police, no matter how diligent, to prevent a domestic murder.

"Thank you, Mrs. Willis," she said in compromise, and turned to go upstairs and meet Beatrice Moidore.

She tapped on the bedroom door, and when there was no answer, went in anyway. It was a charming room, very feminine, full of flowered brocades, oval framed pictures and mirrors, and three light, comfortable dressing chairs set about to be both ornamental and useful. The curtains were wide open and the room full of cold sunlight.

Beatrice herself was lying on the bed in a satin peignoir, her ankles crossed and her arms behind her head, her eyes wide, staring at the ceiling. She took no notice when Hester came in.

Hester was an army nurse used to caring for men sorely wounded or desperately ill, but she had a small experience of the shock and then deep depression and fear following an amputation, and the feeling of utter helplessness that overwhelms every other emotion. What she thought she saw in Beatrice Moidore was fear, and the frozen att.i.tude of an animal that dares not move in case it draws attention to itself and does not know which way to run.

"Lady Moidore," she said quietly.

Beatrice realized it was a voice she did not know, and an unaccustomed tone, firmer and not tentative like a maid's. She turned her head and stared.

"Lady Moidore, I am Hester Latterly. I am a nurse, and I have come to look after you until you feel better.''

Beatrice sat up slowly on her elbows. "A nurse?" she said with a faint, slightly twisted smile. "I'm not-" Then she changed her mind and lay back again. "There has been a murder in my family-that is not an illness."

So Araminta had not even told her of the arrangements, let alone consulted her-unless, of course, she had forgotten?

"No," Hester agreed aloud. "I would consider it more in the nature of an injury. But I learned most of my nursing in the Crimea, so I am used to injury and the shock and distress it causes. One can take some time even to desire to recover."

"In the Crimea? How useful."

Hester was surprised. It was an odd comment to make. She looked more carefully at Beatrice's sensitive, intelligent face with its wide eyes, jutting nose and fine lips. She was far from a cla.s.sic beauty, nor did she have the rather heavy, sulky look that was currently much admired. She appeared far too spirited to appeal to many men, who might care for something a great deal more domestic seeming. And yet today her aspect completely denied the nature implicit in her features.

"Yes," Hester agreed. "And now that my family are dead and were not able to leave me provided for, I require to remain useful."

Beatrice sat up again. "It must be very satisfying to be useful. My children are adult and married themselves. We do a great deal of entertaining-at least we did-but my daughter Araminta is highly skilled at preparing guest lists that will be interesting and amusing, my cook is the envy of half of London, and my butler knows where to hire any extra help we might need. All my staff are highly trained, and I have an extremely efficient housekeeper who does not appreciate my meddling in her affairs.''

Hester smiled. "Yes, I can imagine. I have met her. Have you taken luncheon today?''

"lam not hungry."

"Then you should take a little soup, and some fruit. It can give you very unpleasant effects if you do not drink. Internal distress will not help you at all."

Beatrice looked as surprised as her indifference would allow. ."You are very blunt.''

"I do not wish to be misunderstood."

Beatrice smiled in spite of herself. "I doubt you very often are."

Hester kept her composure. She must not forget that her primary duty was to care for a woman suffering deeply.

"May I bring you a little soup., and some fruit tart, or a custard?"

"I imagine you will bring it anyway-and I daresay you are hungry yourself?"

Hester smiled, glanced around the room once more, and went to begin her duties in the kitchen.

It was that evening that Hester made her next acquaintance with Araminta. She had come downstairs to the library to fetch a book which she thought would interest Beatrice and possibly help her to sleep, and she was searching along the shelves past weighty histories, and even weightier philosophies, until she should come to poetries and novels. She was bent over on her knees with her skirts around her when Araminta came in.

"Have you mislaid something, Miss Latterly?" she asked with feint disapproval. It was an undignified position, and too much at home for someone who was more or less a servant.

Hester rose to her feet and straightened her clothes. They were much of a height and looked at each other across a small reading table. Araminta was dressed in black silk trimmed with velvet with tiny silk ribbons on the bodice and her hair was as vivid as marigolds in the sun. Hester was dressed in blue-gray with a white ap.r.o.n, and her hair was a very ordinary brown with faint touches of honey or auburn in it in the sun, but excessively dull compared with Araminta's.

"No, Mrs. Kellard," she replied gravely. "I came to find something for Lady Moidore to read before she retires, so it might help her to sleep.''

"Indeed? I would think a little laudanum would serve better?"

"It is a last resort, ma'am," Hester said levelly. "It tends to form a dependency, and can make one feel unwell afterwards."

"I imagine you know that my sister was murdered in this house less than three weeks ago?" Araminta stood very straight, her eyes unwavering. Hester admired her moral courage to be so blunt on a subject many would consider too shocking to speak of at all.

"Yes I am,'' she said gravely."It is not surprising that your mother is extremely distressed, especially since I understand the police are still here quite often asking questions. I thought a book might take her mind off present grief, at least long enough to fall asleep, without causing the heaviness of drugs. It will not serve her to evade the pain forever. I don't mean to sound harsh. I have lost my own parents and a brother; I am acquainted with bereavement."

"Presumably that is why Lady Burke-Heppenstall recommended you. I think it will be most beneficial if you can keep my mother's mind from dwelling upon Octavia, my sister, or upon who might have been responsible for her death." Ara-minta's eyes did not flinch or evade in the slightest. "I am glad you are not afraid to be in the house. You have no need to be." She raised her shoulders very slightly. It was a cold gesture. "It is highly possible it was some mistaken relationship which ended in tragedy. If you conduct yourself with propriety, and do not encourage any attentions whatever, nor give the appearance of meddling or being inquisitive-"

The door opened and Myles Kellard came in. Hester's first thought was that he was an extraordinarily handsome man with a quite individual air to him, a man who might laugh or sing, or tell wild and entertaining stories. If his mouth was a trifle self-indulgent, perhaps it was only that of a dreamer.

"-you will find no trouble at all." Araminta finished without turning to look at him or acknowledge his presence.

"Are you warning Miss Latterly about our intrusive and rather arrogant policeman?'' Myles asked curiously. He turned and smiled at Hester, an easy and charming expression. "Ignore him, Miss Latterly. And if he is overpersistent, report him to me, and I shall be glad to dispatch him for you forthwith. Whomever else he suspects-" His eyes surveyed her with mild interest, and she felt a sudden pang of regret that she was so ungenerously endowed and dressed so very plainly. It would have been most agreeable to see a spark of interest light in such a man's eyes as he looked at her.

"He will not suspect Miss Latterly," Araminta said for him. "Princ.i.p.ally because she was not here at the time."

"Of course not," he agreed, putting out his arm towards his wife. With a delicate, almost imperceptible gesture she moved away from him so he did not touch her.

He froze, changed direction and reached instead to straighten a picture which was sitting on the desk.