Free The Color of Death by Bruce Alexander Page A

authority.
    Court clerk and surgeon looked one at the other, shrugged, and with meek goodbyes, departed the room.
    Sir John sat upon the bed, listening to their footsteps down the stairs and across the kitchen. He turned my way then and said, “Help me out of my coat and breeches, Jeremy, and tell me what you learned at the Lilley residence.”
    I did as he requested, though it pained me to inform him of Lord Lilley s actions and my consequent inability to gather further information from there. I felt myself a failure in this.
    Sir John, however, took the matter with equanimity and, as he settled down beneath the bedcovers, he said to me, “Don’t worry upon it. Lord Lilley has for some time wished the army to take part in the policing of the streets. There would be little to be gained by it — and anyone with a penny’s worth of sense knows that. I would like you to see if you can locate the butler, however. I don’t know that we need search out Pinkham, or the two others. Nasty … fellow that… Lord Lilley … don’t you think?”
    “Oh, I do, sir.”
    I am not sure, in all truth, that he heard me, for by that time his head had sunk to the pillow, and as he had concluded that last speech, his voice had grown fainter and the words slower to come. I spoke his name quietly and got no response but his heavy, rhythmic breathing. I was satisfied that he was asleep. I tiptoed from the room and met Annie on the stairs; she moved carefully, carrying the tray of food that Sir John had requested (meat had won out over broth).
    “Is he asleep?” she whispered.
    I nodded.
    “Ah, well,” said she. “I can’t say as I’m surprised. Come down, and we’ll drink the tea. I’ll just put the rest away. None of it will go to waste.”
    I followed her suggestion, and only minutes later we two were at the kitchen table sipping the tea she had brewed for Sir John. I, too, could have done with a bit of a nap, and so the tea was most welcome as a stimulant, though a cup of coffee would have been far more welcome. Nevertheless, my mind began properly to work once more, and as the cobwebs cleared, I found myself telling Annie all I had heard that morning from Burley, the porter and butler pro-tem. It seemed I had good reason to do so.
    “Annie,” said I, once I had told the tale, “Sir John wishes me to persist and find the butler to question him further.”
    “Look for the lady’s maid, as well,” said she. “Now that she’s out of their employ she may have more to say.”
    “That’s just the problem, you see. How would I go about looking for them? Where would I find them now that they’ve been cast out? I thought you might know. You were in service once yourself, after all.”
    “I thought I was still,” said she, with a curious smile.
    “Well …yes, I suppose you are — and I am, too, of course — but I mean those who work in the great houses. Where do they go once they’ve been given the sack? Where should I look?”
    At that, she threw back her head and gazed up at the ceiling, as if she hoped to find the answer to my question written there. She held that pose, thinking hard upon the matter for quite some time. Then did she take a sip of tea, still frowning, and give me a most direct sort of look. “You should go to the great houses up and down St. James Street and ask after them at the door. Those in service there keep well in contact. Remember that I worked in St. James Street myself. I remember that’s how it was there then. But you must convince them that you mean no harm to the butler — or to the maid. Only then will it be likely that they will pass you on to those you are looking for.”
    I found the butler, Mr. Collier, three houses up from Lilley’s in the residence of a Mr. Zondervan, a rich Dutch merchant. He had not found a place on the household staff (nor was he likely to), but his friends in the Zondervan kitchen beneath the stairs had gathered round him to give him their support and their