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“Excellent plan,” she agreed. “We should proceed there immediately.”
“Connie, I can’t possibly expect you to put yourself at risk for this,” Ellie said.
Constance’s expression turned stormy.
“Don’t you dare try to leave me out of it,” she warned. “This is the most exciting thing that has happened to me in ages.”
“Oh, dash it!” Ellie burst out, grabbing her fern. “Come along, then!”
?
Four
The rain had letup by the time Ellie and Constance disembarked from the crowded omnibus. Ellie juggled her briefcase and fern as they hurried up the street.
Her home stood on a tidy little enclave in Canonbury lined with three-story semi-detached houses that were set comfortably back from the road. Most of Ellie’s neighbors were reasonably well-to-do clerks of some sort or another. Her father, David Mallory, was an insurance actuary. He earned a high enough salary for the family to employ both a housemaid and a cook, which gave Ellie’s stepmother, Florence, less things to be loudly overwhelmed about.
Everything looked quite ordinary as Ellie and Constance approached the house. Florence hadn’t yet drawn the curtains for the evening. The train Ellie’s father took home every day wouldn’t arrive for another twenty minutes.
Ellie slowed as she approached the front steps, regarding the door warily. With its tidy front hedge and white trim, the house did not look at all like a dangerous villain was already wreaking havoc inside of it.
“Well?” Constance prompted. “Are we going in or not?”
“I suppose we had better,” Ellie agreed.
Her front hallway was just as unremarkable as the steps. The brass hat stand and potted philodendron gave no indication that any criminals were lurking about.
“Is that you, Eleanora?” her stepmother called from the parlor.
“Yes, Florence,” Ellie called back as she divested herself of her hat and umbrella.
Florence popped into the doorway. She was a pretty woman with a generously curved figure, her brown hair accented by streaks of silver. Florence loudly bewailed the presence of those streaks, but Ellie thought they looked nice. They might even have appeared distinguished, if Florence wasn’t… well, Florence. It was hard for a person to appear distinguished when they were endlessly complaining about their nerves.
Not that Ellie had any real fears for her stepmother’s nerves. Despite all the hand-waving she did, Florence possessed an exceptionally robust constitution.
“I am glad to see you are back at a reasonable hourtoday,” Florence said loudly. “How that office of yours can think it appropriate to keep a young lady of good breeding working past eight on a Tuesday evening is utterly beyond my comprehension...”
Constance raised an eloquent eyebrow at Ellie. They both knew perfectly well that it was not the PRO but the Metropolitan Police that had made Ellie late for supper the night before.
Thankfully, she kept quiet about it. Constance was nothing if not a reliable co-conspirator.
Florence was still talking.
“…never mind exposing you to all manner of hazards, like that dreadful bookshelf that fell on you…”
“Yes, well,” Ellie hedged, resisting the urge to put her fingers to the bruise that still marked her cheek. “I don’t imagine we’ll have to worry about rogue bookshelves for the foreseeable future.”
“Hello, Constance, darling,” Florence said, shifting her attention to Ellie’s companion. “I don’t supposeyouwould tell her that she can hardly expect to find herself a husband if she spends all her hours poring over musty old papers.”
“Florence!” Ellie protested.
“It’s only because I care so very much, darling,” Florence replied, looking a little emotional.
Beside Ellie, Constance cleared her throat meaningfully.
“Ah—did anyone happen to call by this afternoon?” Ellie asked, taking the hint.
“Why?” Florence demanded cannily. Her eyes sharpened like a hawk sighting marriageable prey. “Are you expecting a caller?”
