never have thought of that.”
It dawned on Olivia that she might not be interrogating the girl so much as providing her with an introductory guide to petty crime. “Never mind that,” she said hastily. “Have any of the others acquired new items of late? Or shown themselves to be in possession of unexpected funds?”
“Why . . .” Doris looked wide-eyed. “Come to think of it, Polly dropped a penny the other day, and didn’t bother to pick it up. She said it was bad luck if it landed heads down, but I never heard such a thing.”
Olivia exhaled. Patience. “Truffles,” she said, “would fetch far more than a penny, Doris. These were more than the value of all the month’s meals, combined.”
Doris sat back, visibly amazed. “And to think they look like mud! Is that a disguise, then, ma’am? That one puts on them, to keep them safe?”
Muriel came into her office next, and immediately proved herself to be more world wise. Too world wise, perhaps. “I’ve heard that they’re an . . .” She lowered her voice and leaned in across the desk. “Afro-what’s-it, ma’am. Do you follow?”
After a moment, Olivia feared she did. “An aphrodisiac, you mean?”
“Exactly. So p’raps instead of looking to us, you’d best look to Old Willy, if you know what I mean.”
Olivia did not. “Old Willy? Who is that?” She felt certain she knew the entire staff by now. “I haven’t met anyone by that name.”
Muriel rolled her eyes. “ Old Willy. You know who.”
“No,” Olivia said, bewildered. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
Muriel slammed her palms onto the desk and leaned forward. “Who’s got the oldest willy?” she hissed.
Suddenly comprehending, Olivia shot back in her seat. “Muriel! Decency, please!”
Muriel gave a one-shouldered, thoroughly unrepentant shrug. “Aphrodisiac, ma’am. You look for the willy least likely to work.” She crooked a pinky, nodding sadly at it. “ That’s where you’ll find your truffles.”
What a ribald and preposterous theory. Yet despite herself, Olivia began to mentally survey the staff. “But that would be . . .” She trailed off, appalled.
“Exactly.” Crossing her arms, Muriel gave a solemn nod. “Old Jones has done it.”
Polly alone took exception to the questioning. “I thought Mrs. Wright was bad enough, with all those coins tucked under the rug. You didn’t pick ’em up, you hadn’t swept thoroughly. You did pick ’em up, you’re a thief. But truffles! God have mercy, I’d rather be accused of stealing coin. I’m an honest, good girl. What business have I to do with the French?”
“But . . .” Olivia pressed a palm to her forehead; she was developing a headache. “What have the French to do with it?”
Polly huffed. “Truffles are French, ain’t they? Yes, they are. I know what’s what. And I have no truck with Frenchies, thank you muchly. I’ll not hear a word to the contrary!”
Later that afternoon, Olivia found herself, dazed and no better informed, in Jones’s pantry. “I don’t know who took the truffles. I have absolutely no idea.”
“Nor do I,” he said with a sigh. “Well, we must keep our ears to the ground, Mrs. Johnson.”
“Indeed.” She could barely bring herself to look at him for fear of blushing furiously. Did everybody else refer to him in private as . . . oh, she could not even bring herself to think the name.
“Rest assured,” he continued solemnly, “I have dealt with such mysteries before. Sooner or later, the truth always comes out. Oh, hello, Muriel. Did you want something?”
Olivia turned in time to see the maid shake her head. Then, with a smile for Olivia, the girl flashed a curled pinky before dashing out of sight.
“Curious,” Jones muttered. “Surely you did not ask them to pinky swear, Mrs. Johnson?”
She smothered her horrified laugh in a coughing fit, and excused herself promptly.
* * *
His Grace wanted fresh newspapers.
The gossip spread
It dawned on Olivia that she might not be interrogating the girl so much as providing her with an introductory guide to petty crime. “Never mind that,” she said hastily. “Have any of the others acquired new items of late? Or shown themselves to be in possession of unexpected funds?”
“Why . . .” Doris looked wide-eyed. “Come to think of it, Polly dropped a penny the other day, and didn’t bother to pick it up. She said it was bad luck if it landed heads down, but I never heard such a thing.”
Olivia exhaled. Patience. “Truffles,” she said, “would fetch far more than a penny, Doris. These were more than the value of all the month’s meals, combined.”
Doris sat back, visibly amazed. “And to think they look like mud! Is that a disguise, then, ma’am? That one puts on them, to keep them safe?”
Muriel came into her office next, and immediately proved herself to be more world wise. Too world wise, perhaps. “I’ve heard that they’re an . . .” She lowered her voice and leaned in across the desk. “Afro-what’s-it, ma’am. Do you follow?”
After a moment, Olivia feared she did. “An aphrodisiac, you mean?”
“Exactly. So p’raps instead of looking to us, you’d best look to Old Willy, if you know what I mean.”
Olivia did not. “Old Willy? Who is that?” She felt certain she knew the entire staff by now. “I haven’t met anyone by that name.”
Muriel rolled her eyes. “ Old Willy. You know who.”
“No,” Olivia said, bewildered. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
Muriel slammed her palms onto the desk and leaned forward. “Who’s got the oldest willy?” she hissed.
Suddenly comprehending, Olivia shot back in her seat. “Muriel! Decency, please!”
Muriel gave a one-shouldered, thoroughly unrepentant shrug. “Aphrodisiac, ma’am. You look for the willy least likely to work.” She crooked a pinky, nodding sadly at it. “ That’s where you’ll find your truffles.”
What a ribald and preposterous theory. Yet despite herself, Olivia began to mentally survey the staff. “But that would be . . .” She trailed off, appalled.
“Exactly.” Crossing her arms, Muriel gave a solemn nod. “Old Jones has done it.”
Polly alone took exception to the questioning. “I thought Mrs. Wright was bad enough, with all those coins tucked under the rug. You didn’t pick ’em up, you hadn’t swept thoroughly. You did pick ’em up, you’re a thief. But truffles! God have mercy, I’d rather be accused of stealing coin. I’m an honest, good girl. What business have I to do with the French?”
“But . . .” Olivia pressed a palm to her forehead; she was developing a headache. “What have the French to do with it?”
Polly huffed. “Truffles are French, ain’t they? Yes, they are. I know what’s what. And I have no truck with Frenchies, thank you muchly. I’ll not hear a word to the contrary!”
Later that afternoon, Olivia found herself, dazed and no better informed, in Jones’s pantry. “I don’t know who took the truffles. I have absolutely no idea.”
“Nor do I,” he said with a sigh. “Well, we must keep our ears to the ground, Mrs. Johnson.”
“Indeed.” She could barely bring herself to look at him for fear of blushing furiously. Did everybody else refer to him in private as . . . oh, she could not even bring herself to think the name.
“Rest assured,” he continued solemnly, “I have dealt with such mysteries before. Sooner or later, the truth always comes out. Oh, hello, Muriel. Did you want something?”
Olivia turned in time to see the maid shake her head. Then, with a smile for Olivia, the girl flashed a curled pinky before dashing out of sight.
“Curious,” Jones muttered. “Surely you did not ask them to pinky swear, Mrs. Johnson?”
She smothered her horrified laugh in a coughing fit, and excused herself promptly.
* * *
His Grace wanted fresh newspapers.
The gossip spread
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