The Housekeepers(91)

Miss de Vries had rung the bell when she’d awoken. Not the usual bell, the one that sounded in the servants’ hall. The emergency bell, the brass button in her father’s bedroom, the one that rang in Mr. Shepherd’s room.

But nobody had come. The house was empty.

“I will call for the constable,” she said, because she had to say something; she had to test her voice. It had risen; it very nearly wavered. “I will call for him at once!”

But Mrs. Bone had the constable. Three of her biggest men had him pinned to the ground, ignoring his grunts and moans. She stroked his hair, whispering, “And one silver muffineer, all noted, all recorded. So if you must run and get help, you’ll run awfully slowly, won’t you?”

Winnie watched Miss de Vries treading toward her, slow as a lioness, tongue running over her teeth.

Delay her, thought Winnie. Before she kills me.

“We would like to propose an arrangement,” Winnie said.

Silence.

Then, that voice. Low, careful. “‘We’？”

Winnie said nothing more.

Miss de Vries said, heavier, “What arrangement?”

Winnie stood up straight. “The property in this house has disappeared. It’s done and cannot be undone. It can never be recovered, at least not by you.”

Miss de Vries stared up at her, face masklike. Her eyes were like a cat’s, opaque and glassy.

“We have not touched your room. Although we have monitored most carefully what is contained within it. If you comply with our wishes, we will permit you to keep the contents of your trousseau, and we will preserve confidentiality over the circumstances of your—defenestration.”

“What are your wishes?”

Winnie shifted. She had expected more resistance from Miss de Vries.

“First: demolish this house.”

Silence.

Then: “Why?”

“It causes pain. It is a blight on you. It has harmed many others. I think you sense this.” Winnie paused. Then said, making her voice stronger: “Take it down. It must not burden anyone again.”

“What else?” The same cold voice, the same expression.

“We expect your complete withdrawal from society. You understand why. We cannot take any risks.”

“What risks do you fear?”

Winnie studied her. “A repetition of the crimes committed here.”

She saw that sharp and whittled mind working hard. A flash of fear, avoiding something. It vanished as quickly as it appeared.

“Anything else?” said Miss de Vries.

Winnie shook her head. “No.”

“What do I need to do?”

“Keep your guests at bay. We’ll finish up here.” Winnie folded her hands.

Risks were everything, in games. That’s what Mrs. King said. It wasn’t like rolling a dice or flipping a coin. These odds were many-sided: they could land any number of ways. Winnie hadn’t liked that one bit. She’d reasoned with Mrs. King, argued with her: She’ll call the constable, she’ll call for the footmen, she’ll have us arrested, she’ll never permit it…

Winnie remembered that Mrs. King had shaken her head. “She will permit it,” she’d said. “She’ll look at her options. She’ll consider them all.” She added, with a grim smile, “I can predict exactly what she’ll do.”

Winnie had been nearly despairing. But she saw those lights dancing in Mrs. King’s eyes. She didn’t argue.

Miss de Vries’s silence indicated that she was conducting internal deliberations. If she recognized Winnie’s voice, if it triggered a memory, or understanding, then she didn’t show it. She showed nothing at all.

“I have a personal fund,” she said, at last. “Emergency reserves, which sit outside the household accounts.” She paused. “I will need to keep that money.”

Winnie hadn’t bargained for this. Mrs. King had not discussed it with her. How much money could there be? she wondered. Enough to form a dowry, or a new household? Enough to make a deal with the devil?

“Keep my things,” said Miss de Vries, “but give me my independence.”

It stirred Winnie, to hear those words. She couldn’t help it. “Very well,” she said. “Do we have your agreement?”

Miss de Vries remained silent. Then she said, “What have you done with my father’s portrait?”

Winnie looked around, chest contracting. Mrs. Bone, hidden at the back of the throng, shouted, “We’ve thrown it on the rubbish heap.”

Miss de Vries surveyed the ranks of silent men, her eyes passing over Mrs. Bone without even a flicker.

“I comply,” she said. She moved like a wraith, still clad in black mourning silks, making for the front porch.

“Go,” Winnie breathed, to the others. And then, louder: “Go.”

39

4:00 a.m.

Hephzibah watched it play out from the pavement. Miss de Vries emerged from the house, shoulders bare, eyes on the crowd. A cry went up: “Are you safe? The fire!”

“There is no fire,” she said to those near at hand. “And no cause for alarm. Everybody should go home.”

Disbelief and confusion rippled out across the crowd. It was strange, thought Hephzibah, watching Miss de Vries: this tiny creature, guarding the front porch. It was the men who tried to push their way in first. Shepherd. Then Lord Ashley. But she held her hands to the door frame, a small smile on her face, barring the way. Hephzibah couldn’t hear what Lord Ashley said. She only saw what everybody else witnessed, too. His betrothed didn’t bow to him, didn’t bend: she sent him on his way.