“Yes,” she agreed. “What did you expect? That I would first ask everyone nicely if they’d set Hattie up to be murdered?”

“I s’pose you want me to write it all down?” he said accusingly. “Don’t blame me if they all walk out in a huff.”

Hester thought of several retorts, and bit them all off before she said them. She needed his help.

“Who was in that day?”

“You think I can remember?” he countered.

“I think you will know exactly who was here, what they did that was useful, and how much they ate,” she replied. “I shall be disappointed in my judgment of your skills if you don’t.”

He considered that a moment or two, weighing up her precise meaning. Then he decided to take it as a compliment, and dug his books out of the desk drawer, finding the appropriate pages for the day of Hattie’s disappearance.

Scuff watched him, fascinated.

“Does ’e ’ave it all there, in them little squiggles o’ writing?” Scuff whispered to her.

“Yes. Marvelous, isn’t it?” she replied.

Scuff gave her a sideways look. She had not yet persuaded him of the necessity of learning to read. He could count. He considered that to be enough.

Squeaky read out who was resident and who had arrived that morning and at what time. He also listed what duties they had performed, and if, in his opinion, they had been requisitely appreciated for their efforts.

Hester made a couple of notes on a piece of paper, borrowing his pencil for the task, then set out to question each person in turn.

To begin with the people were defensive, imagining their work was under attack, and frightened of losing the safety of food and a place to sleep.

Scuff followed Hester most of the time, as if he were protecting her, although he had no idea from what.

“She’s lyin’,” he said casually as they left one young woman in the laundry, her sleeves rolled up, her hands red from hot water and the caustic soap necessary to clean sheets that had been soiled by body waste from the sick and injured.

“We’ll check with Claudine,” Hester replied. “Mrs. Burroughs to you. She’ll know if Kitty was there or not.”

“She weren’t,” Scuff told her. “I’ll bet she were at the back door, doin’ summink as she shouldn’t. Are yer gonna throw ’er out?”

“No,” Hester said immediately. “Not unless she did something to Hattie.”

“Oh.”

She glanced at him and saw the smile on his face.

She questioned two more women—patients not well enough to leave yet but able to be of assistance in cooking and cleaning. Their accounts contradicted Kitty’s, and one of the other women’s.