Garden of Lies(30)

Mrs. Kern, what a pleasure it is to welcome you again.” Webster’s scar crinkled the side of his face when he beamed at Ursula. “Mrs. Webster will be delighted, as well. I shall inform her immediately.”

“Thank you, Webster,” Ursula said, touched by the warm greeting.

Slater looked hard at Webster. “It’s not as if Mrs. Kern has just returned from a voyage around the world. She was here only a couple days ago, if you will recall.”

“Yes, of course, sir,” Webster said. “It’s just that the staff had been afraid that she would not be returning soon. This is a delightful surprise.”

Hurried footsteps sounded in the hall. Mrs. Webster came onstage.

“Mrs. Kern, you’re back,” she exclaimed as though she was the heroine in a play who had just discovered that a long-lost relation was alive after all. “How wonderful to see you again.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Webster,” Ursula said. She smiled. “I’m afraid I won’t be staying long—”

She stopped abruptly because Slater’s powerful hand closed around her elbow. He hauled her off in the direction of the library.

“Mrs. Kern and I have work to do,” he announced over his shoulder. “Kindly see that we are not disturbed.”

Mrs. Webster gave him a steely look. “You’ll be wanting a tea tray.”

Slater groaned. “Fine. Bring us a tea tray, make sure there is coffee on it, and then see to it that we have some privacy.”

Mrs. Webster relaxed into an approving smile. “Of course, sir. I’ll just be a moment.”

Slater drew Ursula down the hall and into the library. He closed the door and turned around.

“The Websters have missed you,” he said.

“They are a very nice couple.” Ursula tucked the veil up onto the brim of her rakish little hat. “And somewhat unusual.”

“My mother offered to hire my staff two months ago because I had absolutely no idea how to go about the process, nor did I want to be bothered with learning how to do it properly.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Ursula said. “I’m quite certain that hiring the household staff is not something that a gentleman is taught. That is the work of the lady of the house.”

His expression became unusually grim, even for him, she thought. He walked behind his desk chair and gripped the back with both hands.

“There are times when living in this household with a staff composed of failed actors and other assorted theater people is like living in the middle of a melodrama,” he said. “The actors are especially unreliable. They quit on the spot if they get a hint of a bit part in a play. Then, when the play folds after two nights, they’re back, asking for their posts. But it is not as if I’ve got much choice in the matter. I can hardly toss them onto the street.”

“Why not?” Ursula asked calmly.

The question clearly stopped him for a moment.

“Well, among other things, it would be very difficult to find more traditional, more professional replacements,” he said finally. He exhaled slowly. “Very few well-trained people in service would tolerate what the press and the gossips are pleased to call my eccentricities.”

“Mmm. Perhaps. But I don’t think that is the only reason why you do not let the Websters and the others go.”

“No?” His brows rose. “I can’t think of a better reason.”

“You don’t dismiss your servants because you have some sympathy for them. If they end up here on your doorstep it is because your mother has sent them to apply for a post. If you don’t take them in and give them work until the next role comes along, some of them—particularly the women—will end up on the street. And some will not survive at all.”

“I’m a charity house for unemployed theater people?” He winced. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“That seems to be the case. As charities go, it seems a fine one. It is certainly one of the reasons I agreed to take the position with you back at the start of this arrangement.”

He pinned her with a look.

“And then you quit,” he said very softly.

“Yes, well, it was not my intention. And I did hope to return.”

“Did you?”

“May I ask what sort of . . . eccentricities you possess that you feel would likely put off potential applicants for posts here in this house?”

He released the chair, widening his hands. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a cook who will serve vegetarian fare at every meal?”

Ursula blinked, caught entirely off guard. She tried to stifle a giggle but failed.

“Good heavens,” she said in mock horror. “You’re one of those? A vegetarian?”

He seemed disgruntled by her teasing, as though not quite certain what to make of it. He took off his glasses, whipped out a pristine white handkerchief and began to polish the lenses.

“Is that really so strange?” he demanded. “There is no need to look at me as though I had grown a second head or turned green.”

She smiled. “Sorry. Your answer was not quite what I was expecting, that’s all.”

He paused in the act of polishing the spectacles. His startling eyes locked with hers. Once again she wondered why he bothered with eyeglasses.