The Housekeepers(37)

“Mrs. King?”

She glanced up and saw the Janes peeping around the door to the inventions room. The girls were in starched collars, fierce frills on their aprons.

“They’re here,” said Jane-one.

There was a vast warehouse on one side of the yard. Jane-one dragged the door back on its runners. Jane-two handed Mrs. King a piece of paper. “Names,” she said. “Burn it after, please.”

Casting feeble light, the electric lamps sputtered as she entered the vast space. The whole warehouse smelled of sulfur. The cobblestones had been swept, scrubbed, rinsed, and swept again, and half a dozen men stood waiting underneath a gigantic set of metal beams.

“Where are the others?” she murmured to the Janes.

“Mrs. Bone says to buy the foremen,” Jane-two replied. “They’ll recruit the rest. Go on.”

Mrs. King kicked herself: she should have known that. She approached at an easy pace, felt the men examining her. One of them looked ancient: sun beaten and resplendently wrinkled. The others were enormous, brutal-looking men—built like shire horses, and lavishly perfumed.

“Let me talk about the fees,” she said, not wanting to beat about the bush.

They frowned. Their eyes flicked sideways, seeking consensus. The old man shook his head. “We know the fees.”

They took a step forward, then another. Tiny, fractional movements, so small you almost didn’t notice them.

“Risks, then?” she said.

The old man shook his head again. “We’ve looked at those, too.” He smiled, showing an enormous set of teeth. False, she guessed, and bought at tremendous expense. His breath was meaty and dry.

Mrs. King smiled back. “Then shall we discuss your credentials?”

They shifted a little at that, scratched themselves.

“Clever girl,” said the old man, nodding. “Aren’t you?”

Mrs. King sighed. “Aren’t we all?”

The old man’s eyes sparkled. They were small and depthless. “You should make more of yourself, dear,” he said. Reached out. Ran a finger down the seam of her blouse. “If you want to make your mark.”

Mrs. King didn’t flinch. “I don’t need to make my mark,” she said.

The man retracted his finger. “Do you not?” he said. “’Cause here we are, dragged down here to pay our respects and show our credentials, when we ain’t never negotiated with you in our lives before.” He tilted his head. “Where’s Mrs. Bone?”

Mrs. King spread her hands. “Mrs. Bone is otherwise engaged.”

“No, I won’t allow that. My boys run Leman Street to Tower Hill. Joey here takes anything north of the Crown and Shuttle. Walter Adlerian’s tucked up nicely in Limehouse. And so we talk to one another. We compare notes, dear. And what do we hear? Nothing but talk, dawn till dusk, of a nice young lady pottering around Mrs. Bone’s estate. A mere wisp of a thing, no meat on her, hardly any references—entirely in charge.”

Mrs. King laughed at that. She liked a negotiation. It made her nerves go away. “I have references.”

His smile widened, showing the outer edges of his dentures. “For side jobs. Skimming. Shifting ostrich feathers and cans of potted meat. Nothing wrong with that. Everybody has their level. Rich man in his castle, poor man at his gate—nice and tidy.” He studied her again. “But you coming along gets us all to wondering.”

“Wondering what?”

“Whether there’s a storm coming.”

Mrs. King considered this. “Check a barometer,” she said.

He bowed his head a little. “I do, dear. I check it every morning. I don’t like getting caught in the rain. I don’t care for nasty surprises. None of us do.”

He raised a finger.

“We can do what you need. We can do it with our eyes closed. Our boys are top notch—you know that. So don’t ask me about my credentials.” The teeth glinted at her. “But let me give you a warning. We keep our eyes on Mrs. Bone’s enemies, same as you do. We know Mr. Murphy. A proud man. A good family. Loyal. Very careful. He doesn’t move if there’s a risk. And they’re moving on Ruth Bone. I can smell it.”

Mrs. King said nothing.

“Our men are loyal, too. Been loyal to Mrs. Bone for twenty years. But we follow the wages. If there’s any risk to Mrs. Bone, we’ve got to consider our options.”

Mrs. King understood the sentiment entirely. “There’s no risk to Mrs. Bone,” she said, at last. “She’ll be here forever.”

“That’s as may be. But someone new might be putting big ideas in her head. Over-extending her. Spending on her credit.” He frowned. “It’s a finely balanced thing, this web. Delicate. We don’t need no other spiders coming along, messing it up.”

“I’m not a spider,” said Mrs. King coolly.

“Then you’re a fly,” said the old man. His eyes scurried all over her. “And that makes you somebody’s lunch.”

“Hired,” she said to the Janes when she was safely indoors.

“Were you satisfied?” said Jane-two.

“Have I got a choice?”

The Janes considered this.

Mrs. King sighed. “Never mind.”