“I’m sure you can,” he agreed. “I know my daughter is extremely fond of you, girl, and since I can say with certainty that Miss Tamar is going to be both bored and unhappy over the next several months, I would hesitate to add to her distress by obliging her to train a new servant. Do I make myself clear?”

The girl whispered, “Yes, sorr. But I never forged nuthin’, nor told her to keep no letters—”

“It’s just a story my daughter made up?”

“Yes, sorr.”

“Like other stories she makes up?” His face was mottled crimson with anger, but he kept his voice quiet, more terrifying than a shout.

“Yes, sorr. She—”

“I’m going to ask you to do a favor for me, Oonaugh.” He reached into the pocket of his sober gray vest. “Several favors, in fact. I trust you know our conversation is not to be shared with Miss Tamar?”

“Yes, sorr. I mean, no, sorr.”

He pitched a coin onto the desk. The maid identified its size and weight in an instant and her black eyes widened. “For a year now I’ve been paying your wages. I want you to remember, from now on, that you are working for me. You tell my daughter that you forgive her for lying about you—”

Oonaugh’s mouth popped open in protest.

“—and whatever she tells me, I expect you to come to me with the truth. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sorr.”

“Now you may go.”

The girl’s short little fingers nipped up the coin, and she bobbed a curtsey. As she turned to go, Abigail said, “Just a moment, please. Mr. Malvern?”

He glanced at her, raised one heavy brow, tufted like a bobcat’s.

“May I have a word with the girl, please?”

He nodded. “As many as you like. You may cut off her hair and knit stockings out of it—”

Oonaugh clutched at her cap in alarm.

“Mistress Oonaugh,” said Abigail. “What is your surname?”

“Connelley, m’am.”

“Miss Connelley. Are you acquainted with the maid who worked for Perdita Pentyre?”

“Oh, that was a horror, m’am! I’ve heard she was—”

“I know what you’ve heard,” said Abigail grimly. “Do you know her?”

“We’ve spoke at parties. Down the rooms, you know, when the quality are all up flirtin’ an’ playin’ cards an’ carryin’ on. Thinks the sun shines out her backside, she does, the consayted Frog, but I knows her to speak to.”

“Would you be so kind as to carry a note to her for me? I should very much like to speak with her.” The handmaid of Jezebel, that was privy to all her ways . . .

Malvern brought another coin from his pocket, and held it up for Oonaugh to see. “Please tell Miss—”

“Droux, sorr. Lisette Droux.”