He did not rise, did not even put down his knife and fork, when Dottie came into the room. “Hello, Dottie,” he said, his voice melodic and uninflected. He put his knife to the slice of beef. “I arrived barely an hour ago. Had the cook put something together, as I’m completely ravenous. Luckily she already had something nearly ready.”
Dottie took another step into the room, so she was no longer standing in front of me. She was not wearing a hat or gloves, having dispensed with them in the car in order to work more comfortably, and now she looked lost, wishing for something convincing to fidget with. Her hands twitched on her papers. Her cigarette holder had already been slid back into her pocket. “I take it your journey was uneventful?” she asked, her gaze fixing on the man before her, then tearing away. “You were in Scotland, I believe.”
“Hunting with some fellows, yes. We were having a good time until your wire interrupted it. And the journey was a bloody nuisance.” He raised his gaze and saw me. “I beg your pardon,” he said, still not lowering his eating utensils or standing. “We have not been introduced.”
“This is Manders,” Dottie said before I could speak. “My companion.”
“Jo Manders,” I broke in, just this once not wishing to hear myself spoken of as a last name, as if I had no identity of my own. Dottie gave me A Look, her eyes glaring like a spooked horse’s, but I ignored her.
The man seemed to think over the name, going through possibilities in his head. “Alex’s wife?” he finally asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
His gaze flickered over me, up and down, his eyelids drooping carelessly, and I knew I’d just been categorized. My breasts, my hips, my waist, the length of my legs. I watched him note my unfashionably long hair, my unstylish clothes, until his gaze rested on my face, the blue eyes sharp and thoughtful. “You did not tell me you hired a companion, Dottie,” he said. “Mrs. Manders. I’m Robert Forsyth, as my wife has neglected to tell you. It’s nice to meet you. A little excitement is welcome, and we’ve always been curious here about the woman who ran Alex to ground.”
“Is the house ready for Martin’s return?” Dottie interrupted, her voice sharp, as I fumbled for a shocked reply.
Robert glanced at her and shrugged. “There’s a housekeeper somewhere.”
“When did she report? I asked her to begin work two days ago.”
“I’ve no idea, do I?” Robert asked. “I’ve just arrived. Housekeepers are your domain.”
“Martin docks tonight and takes the first train tomorrow. I told her which rooms to prepare. And there should be three maids as well.”
“Then it’s likely done,” he replied, turning back to his slice of beef. “If there’s a newspaper somewhere in this backwater, please have it brought to me. I’d like to know a little of what goes on in the world.”
Dottie stood in strangled silence. Months apart, and her husband already found his plate more palatable than his wife. I could almost feel sorry for her. But then she turned to me, her cheeks flushed, and barked, “Why are you standing here? Go find the housekeeper and make sure everything is done, for God’s sake.”
I turned on my heel without a word and retreated down the hall, to the room where I’d seen the maid. She was not there. Instead, sitting in one of the chairs was a girl. She had dark blond hair tied up neatly at the back of her head, the pins of which I could see clearly, as she was angled away from me. She wore a dark gray dress and a string of small pearls around her neck. When I approached the doorway, she turned and looked at me through calm blue eyes. Her face was long, her forehead high, but she was strangely attractive. She looked about seventeen.
“Oh,” I said in surprise. “I beg your pardon.”
“Miss?”
I turned. The maid stood in the corridor behind me, duster in hand.
“Is there something I can assist you with?” the maid asked me, tilting to look over my shoulder.
“Yes, I just—” I turned to the girl in the chair again, confused, but the girl was gone. The chair stood empty, as did the rest of the room.
“Miss?” the maid said again.
“Where did she go?” I asked. “The girl. The one who was just here.”
“I’m sorry, miss. I don’t know quite what you mean?”
The room was certainly empty. So was the corridor, when I spun on my heel to look. There was no sound of footsteps. But I had seen her.
“I don’t—” I stuttered. “I—”
“Perhaps you mean me, miss?” the maid asked. “I was dusting in that room not long ago.”
I paused. It hadn’t been the maid I’d seen—there was no question. I could still see the girl’s face, the expression in her blue eyes beneath the high forehead as she regarded me. But to insist on it would make me sound like Mother, talking of her imaginary viscount. So I said, “Perhaps that’s it. I’m sorry.”
“It’s nothing at all,” the maid said, and she gave me a smile that was tentative and curious at the same time.
I pushed what I had just seen forcefully from my mind. “I’m Jo Manders, Mrs. Forsyth’s companion,” I said. “Can you tell me where the housekeeper is?”