Page 26 of Their Master

Smith smiled. “I didn’t think you had, Cecile.” Indeed, the madam was kinder to her employees than anyone else he’d met in the business.

“I told her she could stay—we just had a kitchen helper get married, so she could have earned her keep, which is what she was concerned about. But she wanted to go.”

“Where?”

“I have no idea.”

“Do you know what made her ill?”

“She said it was a return of some sickness she’d had before.”

“Could she be pregnant?” Now wouldn’t that be ironic?

“It did not look like morning sickness to me.” Cecile shook her head. “I’ll be honest, she looked like hell, Smith. She was waxy, gray, and sweaty, walking in a hunched over sort of fashion. I wish she’d stayed, but the girl is stubborn and secretive to a fault.”

“I want to talk to the woman she shared quarters with,” Smith said.

“I’ll send for her, although I doubt that she’ll have much to tell you.” Cecile pulled the velvet servant cord. “Julia and Moira were not friends.” She hesitated and added, “Julia is—to be honest—a pain in my arse. She sets the whole house on edge, but—as I’m sure you’ll agree, having taken Julia several times yourself—she’s a lovely piece of tail.” She snorted. “Provided you gag her.”

Smith had to smile at the madam’s apt description. Hehadgagged the wench and she indeed had a lovely tail. She was a voluptuous brunette—whereas he typically favored skinny and fair—but he’d enjoyed himself quite thoroughly, although he’d mainly taken her because he’d known she shared quarters with Moira. Yes, he was a bastard that way.

“Fetch Julia,” Cecile told the footman who opened her study door.

The young man hesitated. “She’s still sleeping, ma’am.”

“Wake her,” Cecile said in a chilly voice.

“Yes, ma’am.”

When the door shut, Cecile turned to Smith. “Are you sure I can’t pour you a glass?” She lifted her own one-third filled crystal tumbler.

“No thank you.” His weekly partner meeting was later that night and he never drank before talking business.

“Do you want me to stay when Julia comes?”

“I think she’ll be more forthcoming without you here.”

“Then if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and see to some business.” She gave him a peck on the cheek and left him in her private study.

He liked Cecile—enough that he’d loaned her money to purchase this building and start anew after she’d been arrested and bled dry by solicitors and barristers to defend herself against a multitude of indecency charges. It had been a difficult time for her and Cecile had been forced to assume the identity of the person on her birth certificate, which was Henry James Brinks.

They’d been partners for almost eight years and she’d always dealt honestly with him, never giving Smith any reason to regret his decision. She took care of her employees and was fair.

His thoughts turned from Cecile, back to Moira. What the hell had happened? Why wouldn’t she have remained at Bernina’s and taken Cecile’s offer?

Smith had worked himself into a grim mood by the time the door opened a quarter of an hour later and Julia sauntered into the room, her pretty face sporting a very sulky expression. He could see by the state of her plaited hair and dressing gown that she must have been dragged from her bed.

As ever, Smith stood when a woman entered the room, a courteous gesture that eased the hostile glint in her eyes.

“Good evening, Julia.” He gestured to a chair and she lowered herself like a queen.

“You’ve been scarce,” she said, smoothing her skirt with a coy look through her lashes.

Smith ignored her impertinent prying and said, “I have a few questions for you.”

“Oh?”

“Do you know where Moira went?”

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