“Who is talking?” said Mr. Shepherd. “There must be silence!”
I’ll silence you, thought Mrs. Bone. I’ll stick flaming pokers in your eyes.
Cook waved her hand, voice pious. “It’s them Janes, Mr. Shepherd. We was just saying they’re not here. They’re missing all the orders.”
Shepherd seemed annoyed. “But they must join us at once. Someone must fetch them.”
“I’ll go,” said Mrs. Bone, unpeeling herself from the wall. She knew exactly where the Janes were. They were sweeping the guest suites, which never had any guests, hauling the contents into packing crates. They’d suggested to Mr. Shepherd that it would be sensible to put things in safekeeping before the ball. Clever girls. Getting a nice head start on the job. Eminently sensible.
She caught William’s eye as she scuttled past. He didn’t just look gray—he looked as if he’d had the blood entirely drained out of him. He was more handsome when he was unhappy. It was almost interesting. She held his gaze for half a second and raised her eyes, just a fraction, to jolt him, to say, What’s got your goat?
He merely frowned, lost in thought.
A bell tinkled in the distance. All eyes went to the bell board, an intake of breath. They were picturing Madam, no doubt. Wispy, wreathed in black muslin, cooking up orders. Shepherd looked quite white in the face.
Lovely, thought Mrs. Bone. She wanted everyone nice and rattled.
She ignored her own nerves as they scampered all over her skin.
Sunday afternoon arrived. The Park Lane servants went off duty, meeting their sisters and cousins and gentlemen callers, and the women gathered to go over the plan together for the final time. They squeezed into a six-seater pleasure boat, two giant wheels crashing through the water, the Janes pumping hard on the pedals. Mrs. King sat in the front seat, studying the horizon. Alice had pulled her hat low over her eyes, and Hephzibah had brought a colossal parasol that threatened to decapitate someone.
It made Winnie feel unusually bad-tempered. Her fatigue and nervous energy were catching up with her. She’d been meeting foreign agents all morning on Mrs. Bone’s behalf, and her mind was spinning with Danckerts and Cuyps and Sèvres china and Joshua Reynolds. “I want the biggest sales lined up first,” Mrs. King had told her. “We can’t be managing fifty auctions. I need to know who’s going to put cash down quickly, first night we’re on the market.”
And so Winnie had sat in the parlor at Tilney Street, discussing prices, guarded by Mrs. Bone’s grim-faced cousins. She wore a veil during negotiations, and sat on one side of a screen painted with voluptuous nudes. She had to scramble, writing up all her notes, making sure she hadn’t made any errors. By the time they went out to the park to meet the others, she was feeling entirely flustered.
“Sleep,” she said now, clearing her throat for attention. “Sleep is the important thing. You’ll want to be razor-sharp tomorrow.” She leaned forward, prodded Hephzibah. “You especially.”
Hephzibah swung her parasol in Winnie’s direction. “I won’t sleep a wink,” she said. “It’s far too hot.” She pointed at Winnie. “You’re the one who needs her beauty sleep.”
I won’t rise to that, Winnie thought. “Remember, Hephzibah, you’ve got to roll in to the ball early, to keep an eye on the arrivals and get Miss de Vries moving.”
“Shall I be given supper?”
Winnie sighed. “If you make enough of a fuss, I suppose. Introduce her to Mrs. Bone’s men, make sure Miss de Vries thinks they’re Buckingham Palace policemen, and then get to work upstairs.”
Hephzibah frowned. “Can’t you make this thing go any faster, girls?”
The Janes thumped the pedals, and the boat roared ahead, churning the water. Winnie could see other boaters looking around in displeasure, rocking on the waves. The motion was making her feel queasy. She tapped Alice’s arm. “Parker. You’ll head upstairs to sew Miss de Vries into her costume. Take your time about it. You want her strained, harassed, and running late.”
Alice looked troubled, running her hand through the murky water. “I can’t force her to do anything.”
Mrs. King smiled into the distance. “You’ll be fine.”
And that was all.
How did she do it? Winnie wondered. How could she be so smooth, so certain? Winnie had to clench and unclench her hands when she spoke, consulting her notes. But Mrs. King was different. She held the vision in her head. Look in her eyes long enough and you began to see it yourself, lights glinting in the dark.
Mrs. Bone said, wrinkling her brow, “Now listen. I’ve been looking at our crates. You need to do something about them. They’re so heavy they’ll make the whole house shake when you winch them down.”
“We’ve oiled the pulley,” said Jane-one.
Jane-two nodded. “And we’ll have mats on the floor, to take the landing. We’ve measured everything, even Madam’s bed.”
“Hmm,” said Mrs. Bone. “If you say so, my Janes.”
Winnie wished she had the knack for convincing Mrs. Bone of something so easily.
“Her bed?” said Alice, looking worried. “Do you plan to take her with you, while she’s sleeping?”
Jane-one sniffed. “As long as we’re very careful with the angles, as long as we can get it hooked up nice and easy, and it doesn’t swing too much…”
Alice scrutinized Mrs. King. “You’re not serious.”
“I’m finding this very dull,” muttered Hephzibah, lowering her parasol.
“Hephzibah, please,” said Winnie.
Alice raised her voice. “Dinah…”
“Not Dinah,” Mrs. King replied. “Mrs. King. Unless you’re going to gag Madam with chloroform or tie her up or sell her to a kidnapper for ransom, that won’t work. She’ll catch us, she’ll see everything, she’ll know exactly what’s going on.”
Winnie studied Alice with concern. The girl had gone pink in the cheeks, speaking so boldly. But Mrs. King was unruffled. “Of course she’ll catch us.”
Alice paled. “What on earth do you mean?”
Mrs. King tilted her face to the sun, tipping the brim of her hat. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow,” said Mrs. Bone. “It’s all happening tomorrow, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Mrs. King mildly, “it is.”
“Tell me now, please.” Alice looked strained.
“Winnie,” said Mrs. King, very calmly. “Carry on.” She turned back to face the trees.
Alice’s voice shook slightly. “No. I refuse to go on.”
“She refuses,” said Jane-two.
“Not complying,” said Jane-one. “Throw her in the lake.”
“Girls…”
“I’ll throw you in the lake, you beasts—”
Winnie didn’t like the way the wind was blowing. “Ladies, please…”
“I’ll wring your necks, all of your necks,” exclaimed Mrs. Bone. “I’ve been up since four o’clock this morning throwing out the slops, spit-polishing the utensils, scrubbing Cook’s undies…”