Page 29 of The Cursed Writer
Harry nodded. Mrs Haverford’s Bureau of Excellence provided domestic staff to wealthy families and Harry suspected it had been involved in the robbery that had put Mildred in prison. She hadn’t been able to uncover any proof but she knew Polly Spender had been placed at Lady Finchem’s house by Mrs Haverford. It was not necessarily a bad thing that Beth was not directly involved with the agency, Harry thought, but she kept that to herself. ‘Something will turn up. You’ll see.’
Beth grunted. ‘Anyway, I didn’t invite you here to be a little ray of sunshine.’ She glanced quickly around, then lowered her voice. ‘I’ve found out where Polly Spender is. It turns out she ain’t working either – not since leaving her last place. She’s back with her old mum and dad in Southwark.’
‘That is interesting,’ Harry said. ‘I wonder why Mrs Haverford hasn’t found her a new job.’
Beth leaned closer. ‘The word is she’s not looking. Between you and me, I reckon little Polly Spender is scared of something. If someone were to make it worth her while, she might have some interesting things to say.’
Harry eyed her. ‘You’ve got her address?’
‘I have,’ Beth replied, ‘but it’s not the sort of area the likes of you should visit.’
She raised her eyebrows meaningfully and Harry knew exactly what she was getting at. The last time they had met, Beth had guessed Harry was not who she was pretending to be andhad warned her to take more care over her disguise. ‘So what are you suggesting?’ she said.
‘I’m not suggesting anything,’ Beth countered. ‘I’m reminding you to have a care. Polly Spender comes from a bad family. They don’t take kindly to outsiders.’
Harry wanted to throw up her hands in frustration. ‘Yes, I understand. So how am I supposed to find out what Polly knows?’
Beth squinted at the ceiling. ‘I could find out for you. For a small fee.’
And there it was, Harry thought, although she couldn’t really blame Beth. No job meant no money and she had younger sisters at home. ‘How small a fee?’ she asked.
‘Nothing outrageous,’ Beth said. ‘Enough to make it worth my while. I might need a bit extra to persuade Polly to talk. And I’ll pass on everything she tells me. Can’t say fairer than that.’
Harry considered the offer. She did not have time to visit Polly herself – would it actually be more effective to allow Beth to do the job on her behalf? ‘Name your price.’
Beth did. It was more than Harry had expected but not by much. And perhaps Beth thought she might haggle but Harry had no taste for that. ‘Deal,’ she said, and rummaged in her bag for the cloth purse she imagined Sarah Smith might use. She pushed three shillings across the table. ‘Here’s half now; you’ll get the rest once you’ve talked to Polly. If you keep your train tickets, I’ll pay for those too.’
‘Blimey,’ Beth said taking the money before Harry could change her mind, and perhaps before any of their fellow drinkers could observe her newfound wealth. ‘I should have asked for twice as much.’
Harry gave her a speculative look. ‘Do a good job and there might be more work for you. Let’s see what you can get out of Polly first.’
Beth raised her glass and held it out towards Harry. ‘I’ll drink to that, Sarah Smith. Cheers!’
Harry did not see Danny at the entrance to the bank when she arrived at her usual time on Thursday morning, but that was not a surprise. She hadn’t seen him on Wednesday yet Patrick had assured he was fully recovered when she’d asked after him, which made her think he was avoiding her. The rudimentary burglar alarm Harry placed on the top of her office door each evening had been undisturbed for two nights now but a folded square of paper had been pushed under the door that morning. She looked at it for a moment, then bent to pick it up.
44 Norland Square
Holland Park
W11
Harry considered the untidy handwriting. Holmes would be able to tell everything about the author in a trice: which hand they used to write, where they had been to school and what they had eaten for breakfast. Harry knew none of these things but it was obvious who had written it. She had not yet accepted the doorman’s desperate attempt to stave off the consequences of his actions but she had to admit the thought of discovering more about Cecily Earnshaw intrigued her.
Was it worth a visit to Norland Square? She need not admit that they shared a similarly unhappy experience and it would give her comfort to know she had something she could use against Simeon Pemberton if he ever came for her again. And Holland Park was no great distance – a mere six stopson the Underground from Oxford Circus. If she went directly from work, she would still be back in time to meet with John Archer and Oliver in the Winter Garden of the Landmark Hotel in Marylebone. She could even telephone Oliver in advance to warn him she might be a little delayed, to allow for an extended conversation with Cecily, if the young woman was at home. And then there was the small matter of offering a plausible enough reason to ask to see her, something that would not arouse suspicion in such a delicate situation. Harry would have to give it some thought.
Norland Square was a pleasant collection of Victorian terraced houses overlooking a private garden. Their white stucco-fronted walls stretched along all four sides, rising up over four storeys with cast-iron balconies punctuating the first floor over columned porches and identical black front doors. Harry rang the bell of number 44 and prepared a brisk smile. ‘Good afternoon,’ she said to the maid who opened the front door. ‘Is Miss Cecily Earnshaw at home? I am Miss Foster, from the Abbey Road Building Society. I have some paperwork for her to sign.’
The girl stared at her, then glanced over her shoulder, as though hoping to consult someone else. Finally, she stepped back and opened the door wider. ‘You’d better come in.’
Harry did so and glanced around the airy hallway, taking in the fresh flowers on the gilt console table and the hushed air. ‘I assure you I won’t take up too much of Miss Earnshaw’s time.’
Once again, the maid looked uncertain. ‘Wait here.’
She disappeared along a narrow passageway to one side of the staircase and Harry presumed she was going to consultthe housekeeper; the residents of Norland Square were clearly wealthy but she did not think any of them would employ a butler. Moments later, the maid returned but she was not in the company of another servant. Unless Harry was very much mistaken, the woman who was eyeing her with cold mistrust was the lady of the house – Mrs Earnshaw herself. ‘Can I help you?’
Her tone was chilly, giving Harry the impression that help was the last thing she intended to offer. She adopted an efficient tone. ‘As I explained to your maid, my name is Miss Foster, from the Abbey Road Building Society. I’m looking for Cecily Earnshaw, who was until recently employed by the bank. Are you her mother?’
Mrs Earnshaw continued to regard Harry without warmth. ‘She left the bank months ago. What is this about?’
