By “us” Mrs. Drable meant those in the business of supplying servants to the better homes in London. Mrs. Drable owned one of the smaller, more discreet such offices. Minerva had come to know her as a neighbor and friend, but had stepped in when Mrs. Drable confided she needed help discerning who had pilfered money from her. The suspicion immediately fell on a housemaid recently hired, but Minerva had proven the culprit was instead Mrs. Drable’s own nephew.
It had not been information well received, but Mrs. Drable was grateful to learn the truth. She had come close to accusing the wrong person, and claimed a debt to Minerva for sparing her that.
“She has no reference from her last employer. I need to tell you that. Hollinburgh’s housekeeper only accepted her on my personal recommendation and because they are all but desperate.”
“Why has she no reference?”
Mrs. Drable’s expression turned sour. “Her last employer. . . the husband behaved badly. The poor girl was fending off the man almost every day. I had placed a cook in the household, and she came by to inform me. Tell her to leave, I said. Send her to me. She has lived here ever since while I try to find another situation. However . . .” She turned her hands up in a gesture of futility.
“Does she come here every evening after her duties at the house?”
“They are not demanding that this little itinerant army of help stay there, although they will allow it if necessary. She prefers to return here. If you visit at nine o’clock, she should be back.”
Minerva stood. “I will return then. It was very good of you to take her in.”
“It is a story too often told. A young woman leaves home and comes up to town and finds a situation in a good house, only to discover one of the men is no gentleman. I cannot tell you how often I have had to extricate some girl from the clutches of a lothario.”
Minerva opened her reticule. “I am sure you have much to do, and I have another appointment. I will leave now. Before I do I want to give you some of my cards.” She plucked out five of her newly printed calling cards. “I am going to offer my services to others as I did to you, only in a formal and professional way. If you learn of someone in need of me, I hope you will give them one of these.”
Mrs. Drable eyed the card. “Normally men do this. A woman, however, will have appeal to other women. Some inquiries are rather delicate. I will give these out if I hear of anyone looking for your aid. You may use my name as a reference if you like.”
“I appreciate that more than you can know.”
She began to leave, but a sudden thought made her pause. She considered it quickly. It would be an outrageous thing for a woman of good birth to do, but also it would be an opportunity that the owner of Hepplewhite’s Office of Discreet Inquiries would be foolish to lose.
No one notices servants. Her best chance of learning about this family was to enter the duke’s household as one.
“I have one other request,” she added on impulse. “I would like you to recommend another brief hire to Hollinburgh’s housekeeper.”
“Who might that be?”
“Me. I assure you that I am capable of housemaid duties.”
Mrs. Drable frowned at her, then peered at the card. “I expect until this new enterprise gets on its legs you can use the coin, though it is a big step down for you. However, dabbling in service is not the same as becoming a servant forever, is it?”
“That is my thinking. If you will do this, I will be grateful. And I will return to meet Miss Turner this evening.”
Minerva made her way back to the street, with her excitement building. It had been a good meeting, in more ways than she had anticipated. Not only might she have new clients with Mrs. Drable’s help, but she also might have a new employee. Both notions gave her optimism about her plan. What really interested her, however, was the information that Hollinburgh was hosting a family gathering.
Jeremy now observed the house, but she had just found a way inside it for herself. That meant not watching from a distance, but from a few feet away.
* * *
That afternoon, Minerva presented herself at the chambers of Mr. Sanders, solicitor. She had changed into one of her best dresses, and worn her favorite bonnet, a blue one with crimson lining. Even so, her confidence wobbled as she entered the office the solicitor used with clients.
He seemed a kind man, mild mannered and given to measured speech. Not too young, which reassured her he might know what he was about. Not too officious, which hopefully meant he would not be looking to cause her trouble.
After greeting her he proceeded to question her about her relationship with the duke. The lack of one did not dismay him at all.
“It is possible, of course, that an error has been made. If so, I am abjectly sorry.” He flipped through the pages of the will. “Did you once live in Dorset, and were married to one Algernon Finley?”
“I was.”
“Is there anyone who can support this?”
She told him about Beth and Jeremy. “They lived in my husband’s house, so they knew me then.”
“Do you have family in Dorset still?”
“My parents have been dead for many years. My relatives for the most part emigrated close to eight years ago. Nor did they live in Dorset, but in the county over.”
“Any others who have known you under both names?”
“I don’t think so. Although I visited London with my husband, I did not make friends or participate in society.”
“I suppose a few more notices in the papers here will confirm there are no other Minerva Hepplewhites in London who once lived in Dorset under the name Finley. I think we can go forth on the presumption that you are indeed the woman in question.” He jotted some notes. “I am curious. Is there a reason you changed your name?”
She had prepared for this. “My husband died with debts. More than his estate could pay. I chose to leave the area and change my name so creditors would not continue to hound me.”
“Understandable.”
He wrote again, then set his pen in its inkwell. “I can imagine you were surprised to receive a legacy from a man you say you never met. Actually, it is more common than you think. In all likelihood it was your husband who had known the duke. His Grace, in making his will, felt some desire or obligation to leave the money to him. Since Algernon Finley was dead, it was left to his widow instead.”
It sounded almost plausible. Only she found it hard to believe Algernon had met a duke and not told her about it, repeatedly. He was the kind of man who would hang a sign on his home announcing his connection to such a title.
“How did the duke know I now live in London?”
Mr. Sanders shrugged. “No doubt he conducted an inquiry. Not himself, of course. Now, I need to describe the details of this inheritance.”
To her amazement, that was that. Mr. Sanders seemed not the least interested in her past, her present, or how the two had connected.
Sanders explained the inheritance. The part that captured her attention was when he spoke about possible challenges. “The will has been accepted by the courts as legal and binding. However, someone may still challenge the provisions the duke made to each beneficiary. If a person is named in the will, but does not think he received his due, he may be tempted to do that. If he can claim that he had good cause to think he would receive more due to being a dependent of the duke’s largesse, he may make his case.”