Murphy's Law (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #1)

I paused in the hallway. The study door was half open and I got a glimpse of the alderman speaking into a telephone. "Who could find out? We are the only two who know and everything will be fine if you don't blab. ... Yes, I'm aware of the newspaper man, but, in my opinion, he was just fishing. He can't know anything ... No, that wouldn't be a wise move at this stage. Only calling attention to you, which then calls attention to me. Just sit tight and shut up, Bertie. This will all pass over and everything can go on as it was before. Of course I still plan to be the grand marshal of the St. Patrick's parade. Why shouldn't I? The people love me."

I watched the speaking part of the telephone being hung back on its hook. I was about to knock on the door when I saw him open a drawer in the top part of his desk. He pulled that drawer all the way out, then reached in and opened another drawer behind it. He removed papers from it, went through them quickly, then nodded in satisfaction and put them back again. I tiptoed back down the hall, waited a suitable amount of time, then made another approach, before tapping on the door.

"Your lunch, sir."

"What? Oh yes. Put it there." He indicated a spot on a side chest of drawers where a tray containing a whiskey decanter and soda siphon already stood. I put the tray down and made a hurried departure.

Twenty-one

We servants took our midday meal together at the big scrubbed kitchen table. I came into the kitchen to find Daisy, George, and a couple of others I hadn't seen before already seated. I pulled out a chair beside Daisy.

"Where do you think you're sitting, girl?" Mrs. Brennan demanded. "You're a newcomer. Your place is at the bottom of the table, beside Ruby."

With all those eyes on me, I moved to the bottom of the table and tried to look humble. I picked up my fork and was about to reach for the nearest plate when Ruby dug me hard in the ribs.

"We have to wait for Mr. Holmes to say grace," she whispered.

We sat and waited until Mr. Holmes made a grand entrance and took his place at the head of the table. "For what we are about to receive may the Lord make us truly thankful and ever mindful of the wants of others," he intoned. Then we all fell upon our meal.

The food was better than anything I had eaten in my life before--a joint of cold ham, cold roast beef, another large round pork pie, hot-jacket potatoes, a big slab of cheese, pickles. I wondered if we were celebrating our own special occasion until the cook said to the butler, "I'm sorry for such meager fare, Mr. Holmes, but I've been so run off my feet this morning that I didn't have time to cook for us today."

"I quite understand, Mrs. O'Leary," the butler said. "I'm sure we can all make do with leftovers for once."

Make do with leftovers? If it turned out that the alderman had nothing to do with the events on Ellis Island last Monday night, I might do well to stay here for a while--if I could ever learn to be humble and behave like a proper servant, that was. But what I had seen and heard in the upstairs study made me think that I was on the right track. The alderman had something important to hide--something that had piqued a newspaperman's interest and the Irish community shouldn't know about. What else could it be? He had obviously confided in one other person and it sounded very much as if that person--Bertie, wasn't it--had been prepared to kill on his behalf. I

was dealing with a dangerous man all right. I would have to tread very carefully indeed.

I wondered if parlor maids had any duties during dinner parties. If they were all busy cooking and serving food, I might just have time to slip up to the master's study and see what I could find. At least I'd be reasonably safe, knowing that the alderman and his wife were in the dining room, eating with guests.

As soon as lunch was over the cook and senior servants went for an afternoon rest. Holmes, it turned out, went out for a walk. I was instructed to wipe off all the best china, then place it in the little lift they called a dumbwaiter to be taken up to the storage area behind the dining room. There was an anteroom, hidden to one side of the dining room, where the plates were stacked in the correct order. Food would also be sent up in the dumbwaiter. Two footmen would carry it through and serve at table. Apparently female servants were too lowly and clumsy for such tasks. Which might mean I had some time and opportunity to do a little scouting.

I worked fast, polishing all those plates, sixteen of each, then sending them up for the footmen to lay out above. Mrs. O'Leary, the cook, sat in a rocking chair beside the kitchen range, snoring. Ruby, the scullery maid, was still out there washing up the plates from our meal and the pots that had been used that morning. No sign of Daisy--I presumed she was up helping the footmen. I was all alone. I darted out of the kitchen. If Mrs. Brennan had an office, then Mr.

Holmes must have one, too. Cautiously I opened one door after another until I came to a door that was locked. By peeking through the keyhole I saw a tidy desk, a large bunch of keys hanging on the wall ... it had to be Mr. Holmes's office, but unfortunately he seemed to be the one person in the household who locked his door when he went out.

I went back to the kitchen, just in time, as it turned out. As I stepped in through the door a bell started jangling on the far wall. Mrs. O'Leary woke with a start. "The mistress's sitting room," she said. "She must have returned from lunch, and Mr. Holmes isn't back from his walk yet. You'd better go and see what she wants, girl."