Crimson Snow by Jeanne Dams

room, if you would like to sit here for a moment until she returns.”
    â€œThank you, Hilda, but I know my way.” She touched her husband’s arm for a moment and looked him in the eye. The look said much, but Hilda was unable to interpret it. Then Mrs. Barrett gave Anton her velvet cloak and made her way, slowly, up the stairs that wound around the elevator.
    Mr. Barrett, leaning heavily on his cane, allowed himself to be divested of his coat and hat and then tried to smile at Hilda. He didn’t quite succeed. “My dear, I need to have a private word with the colonel for a moment, and my leg is not so well this evening. Do you think you could find him for me?”
    â€œOf course, sir. Sit down, and I will bring him to you.” She raised her eyebrows at Anton, who shrugged and tacitly agreed to cope with new arrivals until she came back.
    It wasn’t easy to find Colonel George among the swirl of guests, but Hilda finally tracked him down in the library, where he was enjoying a preprandial cigar with several of the gentlemen. Hilda murmured in his ear. He excused himself and followed her, and after a word with Mr. Barrett, the two men disappeared into Colonel George’s office and shut the door. Hilda looked at the door, her mind full of questions, but a large party of guests arrived just then and she resumed her duties.
    The dinner went well enough, she supposed. The hired butler was competent but slow, because he didn’t know the routines of the house nor the layout of the pantry. Hilda, Anton, and Janecska all helped Maggie and the butler serve. Few ate all of their tarts, Hilda noticed. Evidently Mrs. Sullivan’s light hand at pastry had, indeed, failed her.
    The evening dragged on. After the meal was over, Hilda and the butler served coffee for the ladies in the drawing room and the gentlemen in the library. In this teetotal household there was no lingering over brandy or port for the men, but they did enjoy their cigars and even the occasional cigarette.
    The ladies had finished their coffee and bonbons, and Hilda was ready to go downstairs and tackle the mountain of tasks that awaited her there, when the butler slipped into the drawing room and beckoned to her.
    â€œMr. Studebaker would like to speak to you,” he whispered.
    â€œHis name is Colonel Studebaker,” she corrected impatiently. “What does he want?”
    â€œHow would I know? He asked me to find you. No, not that way,” as Hilda turned toward the library. “He’s in his office waiting for you.”
    â€œHis office? When there are guests?” Hilda’s eyebrows rose, but she went as directed to the office.
    Colonel George was sitting at his desk, Mr. Barrett once more closeted with him. Hilda tapped on the open door and went in.
    â€œSit down, Hilda,” said the colonel, gesturing to a chair.
    Hilda did as she was bidden, but uneasily. This was not at all the correct thing. She looked from one face to the other. Neither was informative, though her employer shifted restlessly in his chair. Neither spoke.
    â€œSir,” said Hilda at last, “there is much work in the kitchen. I must—”
    â€œYes,” said the colonel. He sighed and toyed with a pen, then tossed it back on the desk. “Hilda, I—that is, Mr. Barrett—we have—oh, the fact is, Hilda, Robert here finds himself in a bit of a mess, and wants your help.” He spread his hands in a gesture of impatience.
    â€œMine, sir?”
    Mr. Barrett spoke. “You see, Hilda, your reputation has spread.”
    â€œMy reputation, sir? I am a respectable woman, sir!”
    â€œYes, yes,” said the colonel. “We don’t mean that kind of reputation. It’s this confounded habit you have of nosing into criminal matters. I’m not at all sure it’s becoming to a housemaid, but my wife doesn’t seem to mind, and the household is her affair, after all.” He sighed