“Thank you, but no. Actually, I came to talk to your domestic.”

“Bessie? She’s out in the kitchen. Is something wrong?”

Odd, Sam reflected—why did any question at all immediately provoke the fear that something was wrong? “Oh, a minor matter. Her son, David. Had a little trouble, that’s all.”

Gabrielle cocked her hip. “She didn’t mention it to me.” Her eyes were lively and intelligent. Sam had the sudden insight that this woman was many different women, depending on the situation, on whom she was with. He could imagine her, late at night, sitting alone by a single candle writing sentimental poetry, then weeping over it. But only in private.

“If I could just speak to her—it won’t take a minute.”

Gabrielle gazed at him. He watched her brown eyes. He hadn’t expected a white woman to be so protective of a servant, but then, he had never employed servants. Maybe they get that way, he thought. Maybe they feel responsible.

She took his arm. “Come with me,” she said softly. She led him through the garden toward the back of the house, not looking at him.

To make conversation, Sam said, “It’s so quiet back here. So peaceful.”

Gabrielle glanced up, and he glimpsed sadness in her eyes. Only for an instant—then she looked away again. She said, “Not always.”

In the kitchen, he met Mrs. Bessie King, a wiry widow who couldn’t stand still. “My David’s a good boy,” she said. “Wouldn’t steal no chickens. I tear the skin right off his hide, he steal chickens.”

“I’ll be happy to put in a word for him.”

“You a copper man?” She cocked her head and regarded Sam skeptically.

“Newspaper reporter.”

“It’s all right,” Gabrielle said. “You can talk to him.”

He wondered how she could be so sure. “I want to interview Alex Manly. I was told you might know where he is.”

“Who told you a thing like that? What Mr. Manly got to do with my boy?”

“They’re separate issues, of course—”

“My boy David got no truck with Manly.”

“Bessie,” Gabrielle said.

“What you going to do with Alex Manly when you catch him?”

Sam smiled. “I’m not trying to catch him, Mrs. King. All I want to do is interview him. For an article.”

“Uh-huh. Talk. What about when you done talking?”

Gabrielle said, “It’s all right, Bessie.”

Bessie King pursed her lips, then said, “Well, I don’t see what the big secret is. They even put up their sign.”

“Sign?”

“The Manly brothers. The Record. Over on Seventh, next to St. Luke’s.”

“Is Alex Manly there?”

“Shoot, who knows where that dandy boy is?” She leaned toward a narrow backstairs door, nudged it open with her foot, and called, “Saffron, honey! Come down here.” Then, when Sam looked puzzled, she explained, “My daughter, she help out over there.”