Thursday, April 18, midday
Mrs. Giles was bustling around the Mansion House kitchen, flour on her apron and hands, while tantalizing smells rose from the covered platters she was handing to Abby Tarbox and Rose Chambers, who were serving midday dinner to customers in the dining room.
“Joe Wood, whatever are you doing in my kitchen?” she asked, pushing me aside to reach for a plate of pastries. I hadn’t been hungry before, but looking at those sweets made me feel like Trusty, his mouth open and dripping, waiting for me to give him a stew bone. “Charlie’s not around,” she added. “I haven’t seen him since breakfast.”
“I’m not looking for him,” I said.
“Then get out of my way. I’ve a job to do,” she said. “It’s mealtime.”
“Do you take a tea tray up to Nell Gramercy and the Allens?” I asked quickly, moving out of her way.
“I fix one for them,” she said. “Rose is the one takes it up. Four-fifteen every afternoon, sharp. Why should that be a concern of yours?”
“Curious.”
She stopped a moment, and eyed me. “Curious about that Miss Gramercy, I’d wager. Sweet little thing she is, even if she does have a strange way about her. Talking to the dead and all.”
I nodded slightly. Whatever it took, to learn what I needed to know. I asked very softly, “Do you know her room number?”
She almost cackled. “I knew it! Young romance!”
Abby Tarbox tittered in the corner and winked at me. My cheeks turned as red as a courting cardinal.
“Guest-room numbers are strictly confidential,” Mrs. Giles said, tossing some of her softest white rolls into a silver bowl and handing it to Abby. “Get this to table six, girl.”
As soon as Abby had left the room, she turned to me. “Her room is number twenty-three, Joe. But if you tell anyone you heard it here, I’ll box your ears, so help me. Now, get on with you. And don’t get yourself or that girl in any trouble!”
I ran out the inside back door of the kitchen, the one that led to the wing where Charlie’s room was. I could always say I was going to see him. I’d been in that corridor often enough, although those times, I’d been with Charlie. He’d once pointed out the narrow back staircase to the second and third floors—the one the maids used. I listened. Right now everyone seemed to be in the dining room.
I headed up. On the second floor a door opened to the hallway between the public rooms and the private rooms. Where room twenty-three would be.
The sound of dishes being served and people talking came from the dining room. I’d picked a good time.
Charlie had said that Nell and her family ate in her aunt and uncle’s room. They were probably there now. My only chance was to slip my note under Nell’s door and hope that she saw it before her uncle did.
Room 23, marked in large brass numbers, was on the left side of the hall.
I took the note out of my pocket, reached down, and slid it under the door—and felt a large hand grip my shoulder.