“Didn’t see me leave, did you? I have one too. A nice trust with a good income. What would I do with myself? No point in cooking a big stew for one person.”
“Do you still get to see some of them at times?”
Two more onions awaited slicing now. Minerva blinked against the film of tears and kept her knife moving so Mrs. Fowler would keep talking.
“Most are gone from town. I’ve a few letters, but that will stop soon as they are settled. It’s like family here, but it isn’t really family, now is it?” She paused and thought. “Only one surprises me. Never wrote, and we’d served here together a long time. Of course he was all but a gentleman himself, what with being valet to the last duke. I suppose he’s living on that spot on the water that he found and is happy to be done with all of this.”
“I love the sea. I have always wanted to live in a coastal town. One with beaches, not cliffs like Dover.”
“He didn’t go to Dover, or the sea. He spoke of Sussex a lot, where the duke has his big manor. Mr. Edkins likes to fish and said there were some good places to do that near there. Mrs. Wiggins said he bought himself a cottage on a little lake near Stevening down there. Can’t say I can see him fishing, what with his coats and cravat and such.”
“Perhaps now he won’t dress so formally.”
“Can’t picture it since he always did. Nice for him to not have to stay in service though. He was young still. Too young for a pension. Kind of His Grace to leave him enough, though I expect that family thought it too much.” She sent Minerva a sideways, critical glance that indicated her feelings about the family.
“Will you stay on even with this new housekeeper you don’t like? Does the new duke suit you?”
“Suit me? What a question.” She set the last onion in front of Minerva, and dipped the corner of her apron into a water bucket. “He’s no trouble. He’ll marry now, though. That wife will be worse than the new housekeeper, what with having opinions about food and such.” She wiped her eyes. “Well, we will see. Can leave whenever I want, can’t I? I like that.”
Minerva finished her slicing. Mrs. Fowler dipped the other corner of her hem in the water and offered it. Minerva availed herself of the damp cloth, but knew leaving the kitchen would help more.
“It was nice visiting with you, Mrs. Fowler. I hope the new housekeeper appreciates the fine cook she has in you, and does not interfere too much.”
“You stop by anytime you want to work for free. Saved me crying another ten minutes, didn’t you?” She swept all the onions into that apron of hers, walked to the big hearth, and dumped them into a big cauldron.
Minerva let herself out and climbed the five stairs to the garden. That had gone better than she had hoped. She now knew the valet’s name, and the vicinity where he now lived.
Her smug satisfaction disappeared as soon as she began walking toward the garden gate. In her path, lounging with his back against the building’s stones, stood Chase Radnor.
“Are you always here?” she asked.
“Are you?”
What an exasperating man. “I visited a friend.”
“I visited my cousin. And how did Mrs. Fowler become a friend? Isn’t she the one who made you do all that laundry?”
“She is a kind soul.”
“She is also a talkative woman. What did you want from her?”
“You are so suspicious. You should find a diversion to occupy your mind on occasion.”
His hand stopped her progress along the path on the side of the house. She looked down at the hand on her arm, then up at him. He did not look suspicious. He looked annoyed.
“I was going to call, but we may as well have this out now,” he said.
She tried to appear interested instead of perplexed, but he made no sense.
“I am speaking of Mrs. Oliver.”
“Who is she?”
“Do not dissemble with me. You know very well who she is.”
“The question really is how do you know who she is?”
He folded his arms and looked down at her. “She approached me about conducting an inquiry for her.”
Oh, dear.
“We were to meet this morning. Only instead I received a letter in which she explained she had engaged another to do the inquiry instead.”
Again Minerva tried to appear interested. And innocent.
“Imagine my surprise when she wrote that she decided to hand her problem to Hepplewhite’s Office of Discreet Inquiries.”
“For a woman who desires discretion, she is not very discreet herself.”
“Then it is you.”
“Of course it is. How many Hepplewhites are qualified to conduct inquiries?”
“None.”
That was not fair. “I am eminently qualified. For her purposes, perhaps more so than you.”
“More qualified? I conducted inquiries for the army. I was trained by experts. I uncovered spies in France and in London have conducted inquiries for five lords and a half dozen members of Parliament. Other than Mrs. Oliver, for whom have you conducted them?”
“Another woman. And myself. You are only annoyed because you don’t want competition.”
“You are not competition.”
“Then why are you so vexed? If I am not competition, you have nothing to worry about.”
“I am worried for Mrs. Oliver. She requires a professional.”
“She requires someone who can walk into shops that cater to women and learn information that requires a woman’s sensibility and knowledge of fashion. That does not sound like you. As soon as you arrive the shop owner will know something is afoot. Tell me, what do you know about lace cuffs?”
He frowned harder.
“As I suspected. You know nothing about them. I am clearly the better choice for Mrs. Oliver since the path of inquiry goes right through a stack of lace cuffs. She thought so too, it appears. Now, I must ask you to move aside. I am very busy and cannot dally here chatting with you.”
He did move, but when she walked on he again fell into step with her. “Is it your intention to try and make a profession of this?”
“I don’t intend to try anything. It is now my profession. I even have cards.”
He looked to the sky in exasperation. “Other than a few women who are misguided, no one will employ you.”
She strode all the harder and turned onto Park Lane. “I think many will, especially women. If you were a wife hiring someone to do inquiries on your husband, would you want to discuss such indelicate matters with such as you? Of course not. If you were a woman who had written indiscreet letters and needed help getting them back, would you hire—”
“If I were a smart woman I would, in every case.”
“Then I will make my living serving the stupid ones. With time perhaps the stupid men will find me too. I daresay even if I limit myself to stupid clients, I will be very busy.”
Again that hold stopping her. “Minerva—”
She glared back at him. He released her arm. She faced him squarely. “Do not insult me by implying I am incapable of such simple inquiries when I have done harder ones very well in the past.”
A flicker of curiosity entered his eyes. “What ones?”
She had been careless. She pretended even more vexation with him. “Never you mind. Just believe me that I have.”