In Like Flynn (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #4)

“What else do they say about him?”


She looked around nervously. “I shouldn't be gossiping like this, miss. I'd get in terrible trouble if the mistress knew. Albert Morell was before my time, thank the good Lord. It’s all over and past and they've put it behind them.” She headed for the door as rapidly as possible. “Just ring the bell by the door when you're ready for your hot water,” she said. “I'll have Cook stoke up the boiler to make sure it’s nice and hot.”

Then she curtseyed and was gone.

They obviously hadn't put it all behind them, I thought as I wandered the room, inspecting the furniture. If they had, there would be no need for tonight’s séance.

I took off my hat, unbuckled my shoes, and flopped back onto the bed. Ring when I wanted hot water, indeed. I could easily adapt to this kind of life. Maybe I should just forget about earning a living and keep Theresa company all summer.

Oh to be sure, and I'd be likely to wind up in jail as an imposter, I reminded myself. I sat up and stared at my own face in the dressing table mirror, a face slightly worse the wear from travel with a smudge of soot on my nose and my hair blown by the river crossing. “You have a job to do,” I said to the face, “or rather, two jobs. You'll need your wits about you, so no slacking off!”

I got up and rang for the hot water. When I had washed and attempted to tame my flyaway hair, I examined the dresses hanging in the wardrobe, wondering which might be suitable for a not too formal dinner. Gus had lent me one silk ball gown and a sea green formal taffeta dress that went well with my coloring and red hair. I tried it on and was pleased with the result. What a pity no eligible young men would be there to admire it. No men at all, apart from the overbearing Mr. Rimes and the fishy Mr. O'Mara. And, of course, the Senator, who was known to be one for the ladies. I wondered if my relationship would make me safe from his advances, and whether he behaved himself when his wife was present.

I could still hear the sound of voices floating up from the veranda. I managed to fasten the hooks on the back of my dress with much effort and difficulty. Clearly one needed a servant to get in and out of fashionable clothing, and also a corset too, I decided, as I tried to breathe in sufficiently to bring the waist together. Gus had also had the foresight to lend me one of those articles of torture.

“If a maid comes to dress you, Molly, she'll expect you to be wearing the correct undergarments.”

I examined it again now, having no clue how one laced such a contraption. I had never worn a corset in my life and had sworn never to do so. In my present situation, however, it might prove to be a necessity. I wrapped it around me and wrestled with the hooks and laces.

Feeling very uncomfortable and unable to breathe, I stood in my doorway listening. No sounds came from inside the house. If they were all still on the veranda, this might be a good moment to snoop on the Misses Sorensen as they prepared for tonight’s exhibition. I tiptoed down the stairs and began opening doors on the lower level. The first was a grand drawing room. The heavy red velvet drapes were drawn, but in the darkness I could make out the gilt mirrors and portraits on the walls and the plush sofas and armchairs, even a Greek bust or two on plinths. Behind it was a library, with tall mahogany bookcases covering the walls. Then came what must have been the master’s study—a large desk with a round-backed leather chair at it and the smell of cigar smoke in the air.

“May I help you, miss?”

I spun around guiltily at the sound of the voice behind me. I hadn't heard anyone approaching. A distinguished-looking man in a frock coat was eyeing me with suspicion. He had sleek gray hair and a Roman nose that made him look like a bird of prey. I wondered if he was another relative or political adviser.

“I'm sorry,” I said. “I was just trying to find my way around the house. I'm Senator Flynn’s cousin Molly Gaffney, just arrived from Ireland. May I ask who you are?”

“I am Soames, the Senator’s butler.” He inclined his head in the barest hint of a bow.

“Soames? I believe I have heard my family mention you before,” I said. “You have been with the Senator for quite a while, haven't you?”

“Ten years, miss.”

“Then you were here before the tragedy,” I blurted out before I had a chance to consider whether it was wise to do so. “We heard that Mrs. Flynn had replaced all her servants after it.”

“Maybe I wasn't considered to be an ordinary servant, miss,” Soames replied with such a withering look that I should have shriveled up on the spot. “Now what was it you were looking for?” he went on, firmly closing the master’s study door behind me.