A Lady's Guide to Mischief and Mayhem - Manda Collins Page 0,63

shrugged. “I figured you didn’t have a way to send her away without stepping wrong. Quality ain’t the easiest to deal with. Excepting Lord Valentine, of course. He’s a good ’un and always makes sure to send a bottle at the holidays.”

Thanking whatever bit of snobbery that assumed Katherine would have nothing romantic to do with a Scotland Yard detective, Eversham gave a quick nod.

Opening the door to the parlor, he saw that only Miss Green, the sister of the murdered man, remained.

“I told the others they could go.” Her eyes were red from weeping. “They needed to be home for the evening meal.”

Perhaps remembering he’d missed his own supper, Miller said to the woman, “I’ll be going now, Miss Green. If you or the family need us, you know where to find us.”

Once the constable was gone, Eversham said, “Tell me about your father, Miss Green.”

At the mention of the man who’d served as Sebastian Philbrick’s valet, the woman’s eyes grew wary, and Eversham knew she was aware of the cache of items her father had stolen from his employer.

“What is it you wish to know?” she asked carefully.

“It’s unusual for a manservant to marry and have children, isn’t it?” Though it wasn’t unheard of for servants to marry, most households had restrictions that prohibited a person from remaining in service after marriage. Especially given that bed and board were included as part of their compensation, and marriage would mean either having the servant move out, which would inconvenience the master, who relied on round-the-clock service, or allowing the servant’s spouse and later children live in as well.

“It is, sir,” said Miss Green. “And my father didn’t do so until after Mr. Philbrick was no longer able to afford his services. He was unable to find another position, so he returned to Lewiston—Mr. Philbrick was living in London at the time—to work in his father’s shop.”

“The stationer’s?” Eversham asked. He’d thought her brother had used the funds from the first letter he’d sold to set up the shop. Could he have only taken over his grandfather’s existing one?

“No, our grandfather was a butcher.” Her nose wrinkled in distaste. “Papa loathed it. But he had little choice, given his lack of experience at anything else. And once he’d met our mother and they were set on marrying, he resigned himself to it.”

“Why didn’t he use the things he’d stolen from Philbrick to set himself up in some other business?” Eversham asked baldly. He had considered being more delicate about the way he worded the question, but he had little time for such niceties, given that there were now two murders in the space of a few days to solve.

She colored at his words. “I see you’ve found my brother’s hidden room.” She tilted her head defiantly.

“Did you always know about your father’s collection of Philbrick’s things?”

She shook her head and her tone turned bitter. “He pinned all his hopes for the future on his beloved son. A girl wasn’t worth the time or trouble. Besides, I couldn’t carry on the family name after all, so what good was I?”

“Why didn’t he sell the items himself so that he could stop working in the butcher shop?” Eversham asked, genuinely curious.

“You’d have to understand my father, Mr. Eversham,” she said. “Once he’d come back to Lewiston and taken that step back down the ladder, he put all his focus on making sure that my brother never had to work a day in the butcher’s shop. I don’t even think he cared about his own comfort once his son was born.”

She gave a twisted smile. “From the time I was little, I heard my father talk about how much better things would be for his son. I think he said it to rile my grandfather at times. Because you can believe Grandfather made sure Papa was reminded at least once a day that he wasn’t living like a gentleman anymore. But there was always a gleam in Papa’s eyes when Grandfather said it, as if he knew something Grandfather didn’t.”

“When did you learn about the stolen items?”

“When Papa died and my brother’s inheritance was the keys to a pair of sturdy trunks. I’d always seen them in the attics in our little cottage. They were engraved with Mr. Philbrick’s initials, and I always thought they were a gift to Papa when he was forced to let him go. When I said as much, Josiah called me a fool and said that they were