The Questioning Miss Quinton. Kasey Michaels

sheriff’s officers?” Willie interrupted brusquely, not about to be sidetracked now that she had nearly gotten her mistress to the sticking point.

      “You mean like Lord Barrymore did years ago, Willie?” Victoria asked, obviously still more than eager to digress from the distasteful subject of her current financial embarrassment. “I read somewhere in the Professor’s notes that Lord Barrymore was dunned so much that the sheriff’s officers seemed as much at home in his house as did his own servants.”

      Wilhelmina nodded impatiently. “Yes, yes. His lordship had them dress up as servants when he was throwin’ a party. I know all about it, Missy. Us that serve know everythin’. Now stop tryin’ to twist out of it and tell me—are we rolled up?”

      It was no use, Victoria decided, opening her mouth to speak. “The Professor held the purse strings entirely, of course,” she began slowly, “and I doubt even you could find anything unusual about that.”

      “Not out of the way, Missy, just stupid,” Wilhelmina answered baldly. “As if there was yet a man born who knew the real cost of things—yellin’ for fresh peas in the dead of winter like I was goin’ to take m’self off out into the back garden and find ’em hangin’ on the trees.”

      “But although he kept the household on quite a strict budget,” Victoria pressed on, wishing to get over this rough ground as smoothly as she could, “he always seemed to have funds enough to purchase his expensive books and his favorite tobaccos and, of course, his finely aged brandy. Oh dear, that sounded rather condemning, didn’t it?”

      “He knew how to live, that he did. I’ll say that much for him,” Wilhelmina put in thoughtfully. “I can’t say I liked his choice of tailors, with the dull as ditchwater browns that he fancied for everything, but the quality was always there, wasn’t it?”

      Victoria nodded her head up and down firmly, as if Willie’s confirmation of her assessment of the Professor’s finances had reinforced her own feelings. “Naturally I assumed that the Professor had some private form of income—monies invested in the Exchange, or some income from an inheritance. You know what I mean.”

      Wilhelmina sat forward at attention. “But?”

      “But his solicitor tells me he has no record of any such matters, and I have searched and searched this room without unearthing a single clue as to where the money came from. Even this house is rented.”

      Wilhelmina’s expressive brows came together as she frowned, considering what she had just heard. “Are you tryin’ to tell me that the old bas—, um, that the Professor left you without a penny to scratch with? I can’t believe it! It doesn’t make a whit of sense, Missy.”

      “Oh, there’s some money in the house,” Victoria explained hastily. “I found nearly one hundred and fifty pounds locked in a small tin box in the bottom drawer of his desk. There’s more than enough to honor the Professor’s bequests to you and Betty, and the rent for this quarter’s already been paid. If nothing else, at least I didn’t find any unpaid tradesmen’s bills.”

      “So there’s naught but a hundred pounds standin’ betwixt you and the street?” Wilhelmina pursued intently, shaking her head in mingled anger and disgust. “You keep my thirty pounds. I’ve got more than enough put away that I don’t need to be takin’ the bread out of a child’s mouth. Lucky thing for old Quennel that he’s dead, let me tell you, for I’d like to strangle him with my own bare hands, and then go off to the hangman singin’!”