The Housekeepers(18)

“They?” said Mrs. King. “Who are ‘they’？”

“Well,” said Alice, blinking slightly, “Miss de Vries.”

Mrs. Bone spluttered before Mrs. King could reply. “Hang your ethics, girl. If we can’t knock ’em out, can’t screw ’em over, can’t lock ’em up, can’t break a bloody window, then we’re not going to get so much as a teaspoon out of the front door.”

“Leave Miss de Vries to us, Alice,” said Mrs. King. “You watch her—that’s all. We’ll manage things with her when the time comes.” She glanced at Winnie, who gave a silent nod. It didn’t pay to reveal everything all at once. Breadcrumbs, that’s what they needed.

That was all they’d be able to manage.

Alice looked uneasy, but didn’t object.

“So, to the finances,” said Mrs. King, knowing this would keep things moving. “Every penny made goes in a ledger. Mrs. Bone, we’ll let you inspect the books and distribute the profits. An equal portion of net receipts, as discussed.”

“How much in cash?” said Hephzibah.

Mrs. King named the sum.

The Janes eyed each other, expressions ferocious, devouring this.

Mrs. King fixed them all in her sights. “It’ll be enough to give you a future. Enough to make your own rum luck, however you please.” She opened her hands to them. “It’ll be enough to be free.”

A shiver passed around the room.

“Now, wait a minute,” said Mrs. Bone. “Don’t go playing snake charmer on me. I’ve seen jobs a fraction the size of this one go right up in flames.”

Mrs. King felt a wriggle of annoyance. “I said we’d cover risks later, Mrs. Bone.”

“And I say we cover the risks now. Janes?”

Jane-one nodded, went to the cabinet. Drew out a leather-bound folder filled with sheets of paper. “We’ve done our due diligence, Mrs. King.”

Winnie frowned. “Due diligence?”

“Big jobs gone bad,” said Mrs. Bone, eyes fierce. “You lot need educating.” She grabbed the folder from Jane-one’s hand. “Look at this. Harry Jackdaw tried a rush job in Vauxhall. Commissioned a hot-air balloon to take the silverware out of the pleasure gardens. The whole place caught fire.”

Mrs. King sighed. “We discounted hot-air balloons already, Mrs. Bone.”

“We really did, Mrs. Bone,” said Winnie eagerly.

Hephzibah gave them a quizzical look. “Balloons?”

“Look at this one,” Mrs. Bone went on, shoving a typescript in Alice’s face. “Old Nanny March hired twenty men to dig a tunnel into Flatley Hall. What happened to them? Buried alive!”

“Did we look at tunneling, Winnie?”

“We did, naturally we did. London clay can be so unpredictable. Not at all suitable, Mrs. Bone—you’re quite right.”

Alice peered at the typescript. “Who’s Old Nanny March?” she asked.

“Who indeed,” exclaimed Mrs. Bone, triumphant. “Nanny’s rotting in jail, good as dead, finished.”

Mrs. King caught Winnie’s eye. They’d planned what to do at this juncture. Go on, she mouthed.

Winnie stepped into the breach. “Now, ladies,” she said. “Certain preparations and contingencies will have to be made. Some elements of the plan carry greater risks than others. I don’t doubt we may need to correct course now and again.”

Mrs. Bone leaned back in her seat. “You’re Icarus, my girl,” she said to Mrs. King. “You’re flying a good deal too close to the sun.”

“Then leave, by all means,” replied Mrs. King evenly. “Talk to Mr. Murphy. He’ll happily take over your patch.”

The women grew still.

Mrs. King looked at Alice. “Or you. Go back to making cheap dresses in a department store for the rest of your days.” A flush ran up Alice’s neck. “Or you, Hephz. Run on down to the music hall. Let’s see all your dreams come true.”

Hephzibah set down her glass. It let out a high, clear ring. “Don’t be beastly,” she said. Then she glanced at the Janes, sitting in the corner. “What do you think, you little oddities?”

They had hardly moved. “We can manage risks,” said Jane-one.

“I’ll keep a log,” said Jane-two. “Anything we need to keep an eye on.”

“Hold your horses,” said Mrs. Bone. “I want to do some preliminaries. I’d need to do a full survey on that house, from the drains to the bloody cock on the roof, if it comes to that. And I want to do it myself.”

“You want to do it, Mrs. Bone?” Winnie said gently, clearly trying to work out how they could manage this.

“’Course I do! What, d’you think I’m going to sit in here with my feet up, having a little smoke, twiddling my thumbs, while you lot eat my dinner—” she pointed at a startled-looking Hephzibah “—take my loans, run riot around town, pricing up trinkets you ain’t never even seen before, on my credit, on my account?” She took a breath. “Not on your life. You think I don’t know how to do my own due diligence?”

Mrs. King sighed again. Best to seem annoyed: it paid to give Mrs. Bone the easy wins. Naturally she’d accounted for this. “We do have an opening ready, if you’d like to take it, Mrs. Bone. As I say, I cued up all the new posts before I left. We can work up some false references for you with no trouble.”