“Mrs. L. took it and shot poor Mr. Day to death,” Margaret said, with great satisfaction. “I’m sart’n of it!”

Pru, who did not seem to share Margaret’s deep animosity toward their employer, disagreed. “Might not’ve been Mrs. L. wot took it,” she said. She dropped her voice to a sinister whisper. “ ’Er friend Spider was in the drawing room yestiddy afternoon, see, waiting fer ’er. When I comes in wiv a vase of roses, ’e’s standing by the table, ’is hand in the drawer. When ’e sees me, ’e shuts it quick like. ’E could’ve took it.”

“Spider?” Amelia asked with a shudder. “Wot a name fer a man! ’Oo is ’e?”

“Spider is all she ever calls ’im,” Pru said with a shrug. “A friend of Mrs. L.’s, up from London. ’E comes every so often. Sometimes ’e stays for a day er two.”

“ ’E gives ’er money to put on ’er plays,” Margaret explained to Amelia. “It’s the on’y reason she puts up wiv ’im. ’E don’t have a title or nothin’. Just money.”

“Just money, huh?” Pru giggled. “Well, ye won’t see me turnin’ me nose up at money. ’Oo cares about a musty ol’ title? Ye can’t trade a title for beef at the butcher’s.”

There was a heavy footstep behind them and Amelia started nervously. “What do you girls think you’re doing, gossiping in the hallway?” Mr. Williams demanded in a stern voice. “Margaret and Pru, get on with your duties. Miss Amelia, I should think her ladyship might wish you to find something more profitable than gossip to occupy your time.”

The three of them had scattered guiltily, Margaret and Pru to their respective tasks and Amelia to her mistress’s room in the hope of sharing what she had just learned. But her ladyship was apparently detained in the drawing room downstairs, and the servants’ lunch bell sounded before she returned.

At lunch in the servants’ hall, Mr. Williams was once more absent, serving luncheon upstairs, and the gossip flowed freely. To her surprise, Amelia learned that Lord Charles had called that morning and that Mrs. L. had been much perturbed by his lordship’s visit. Shortly after his departure, Miss Jeanne-Marie had arrived unexpectedly from London, unescorted and visibly distressed, and loud weeping had been heard through the drawing room door. There was a good deal of whispering about her visit, as well as about Mrs. L.’s planned rendezvous with the murdered bookmaker and the silver-handled derringer that had gone missing from the drawer in the drawing room.

After lunch, Amelia volunteered to help Rose, the other upstairs maid, iron the freshly laundered sheets and pillowcases for Miss Jeanne-Marie’s bed, which had not yet been freshly made up. As they worked over their ironing tables with irons heated on the kitchen range, Amelia turned the conversation to the girl.

“Is she as pretty as ’er auntie?” she asked, deliberately innocent.

“Auntie!” Rose snorted. “Don’t be a goose. Mrs. L. is ’er mother. Lady Ragsdale told ’er the truth so Mrs. L. ’ad to admit it at last. The girl’s upstairs just this minute, cryin’ ’er eyes out. Refused to come down fer luncheon, though she was sent fer twice.”

“Oh, the poor thing!” Amelia exclaimed in genuine sympathy.

Rose, a flat-faced, sallow-cheeked girl with a worldly air about her, seemed to share Margaret’s judgmental view of her employer. “Pore thing is right,” she said sharply, spitting on a flatiron to test the heat. “I’d cry too, if I’d jest found out I wuz Mrs. L.’s daughter. Nobody respect’ble will marry ’er now, only one o’ them turrible rogues and wastrels ’oo ’ang ’round ’er mother.”

“Really?” Amelia asked. She hadn’t considered Jeanne’s dilemma from the perspective of her opportunities for marriage.

“Really,” Rose said, mocking. She pushed the iron over a pilllowcase with swift, hard strokes. “If ye wuz a mother er father with a good fam’ly name to pertect, would ye let yer son marry Lillie Langtry’s daughter-even if she was a Royal bastard?”

“Well, I-”

“ ’Course ye wouldn’t. Like mother, like daughter, is wot ye’d say.” Rose folded the pillowcase neatly and pushed the iron across it again, setting a crease. “She can be persented in court a dozen times and it won’t do ’er a shillin’s worth of good. Mark my words, that girl’ll end up jest like ’er mother, on the stage er worse.” She folded the pillowcase once more and whacked it again with the iron. “Worse, most likely.”

And that had to settle it, for the ironing was finished, Rose sailed off upstairs with the linens, and there was no more opportunity to talk.

But the conversation had given Amelia even more to think about, and she was still thinking when she went back upstairs to lay out her ladyship’s tea gown. In fact, she was so deeply engrossed in her thoughts that when she put her hand into her apron pocket and her fingers touched the rough edges of a crumpled paper, she did not at first remember what it was. It wasn’t until she drew out the small, wine-stained ball of paper that she recalled retrieving it from the fireplace in Mrs. Langtry’s bedroom, where it had obviously been intended to burn. When Amelia smoothed it out and read it, she understood why:

Monday, 5 June

My dear Mrs. Langtry,

I write because I find myself in a difficult financial situation and no longer able to carry large overdue accounts. According to my records, you owe me some ten thousand pounds. If you are disinclined to find this money, I must remind you of what I know about the theft of your jewels and about Mr. Langtry’s death. I expect payment in full as soon as possible. If I do not receive it, I shall be forced to go to the elder Lord de Bathe and tell him what I know. I’m sure he will be most interested in the information.

I shall look forward to hearing when you will honor your obligation.

Yrs faithfully,

Alfred S. Day

Amelia had scarcely finished reading this revealing missive when the door opened and Lady Charles entered, carrying her notebook and pen.

“Oh, Amelia,” she said breathlessly, “I’m glad you’re here, my dear. I must write a note to Lord Charles, and I shall want you to carry it to him as quickly as possible. I do hope you won’t mind walking into Newmarket. I particularly don’t want Mrs. Langtry to know that I’ve written to his lordship.” She stopped, seeing the note Amelia was holding out to her. “What is this?”

“I found it in the grate in Mrs. Langtry’s bedroom,” Amelia said, very seriously. “I think ye should read it, m’lady. And I’ve learned some things belowstairs that ye’ll likely want to ’ear.”

Lady Charles scanned the wine-stained, slightly-charred note, pulling in her breath sharply. Then she went back to the beginning and read it again, more slowly, her lips silently forming the words.

“I think I’m beginning to see,” she whispered, as if she were speaking only to herself. “Is it sufficient proof? I doubt it. But of course Charles must decide. And he may have found out more that will help him.” Then she looked up, starting, as if she had forgotten Amelia’s presence. “You have something else to tell me, Amelia?”

Carefully, trying to recall exactly what had been said, Amelia sketched out what she had learned from Margaret, Mr. Bowchard, Rose, and Pru. Lady Charles listened carefully, seeming most interested in Pru’s report.

“You say the parlormaid saw this man, Spider, take the gun out of the drawer?”

“Not ’xactly, ma’am.” Amelia shook her head. “She said ’e might’ve took it, ’cause she saw ’im standing at the table with his ’and in the drawer.”

“That fits with what I know,” her ladyship murmured. “But I wonder why Lillie lied to protect him.” She looked up. “None of the servants know this man’s real name?”

“They don’t seem to, ma’am. Just that ’e’s from London, and ’e comes ’ere ev’ry so often.”

Lady Charles glanced down at the paper in her hand. After a moment’s hesitation, she went to the small writing desk that stood beside the window. She took out a piece of paper and her pen and sat down to write, giving careful thought to some of the sentences, as though she were telling a complicated story. Once, apparently having forgotten some detail, she went back to insert a phrase in the margin. Then she folded the note Amelia had given her into the paper she herself had written, and thrust both into an envelope. On the desk was a candle, with a stick of red sealing wax and a metal embosser beside it. She lit the candle and melted a blob of wax onto the envelope, embossing it carefully. She gave it to Amelia.