The girl fled the room while Winthrop tried his best to disguise his guilt by being efficient. He gestured to the chairs flanking his cluttered desk and invited them to sit as he rustled a few papers.
Christian introduced himself and flashed the letter bearing the Home Secretary’s signature and seal. “And this is Miss Lawton. She’s here to question the female servants, those hoping to secure positions.”
Winthrop gulped, his wobbling jowls revealing an inner panic. “I don’t know who made the complaint, but I can assure you, everything that happens on these premises is above board.”
Isabella snorted. “The poor woman forced to sit on your lap didn’t seem to think so.”
Winthrop hardened his gaze. “Madam, these girls may have to work in households where disreputable men are regular visitors. The meek ones won’t survive. I provide a valuable service.”
Was that what Lord Oldman meant when he said this fellow would weed out the weak ones?
“So what we witnessed is a means of ensuring the women are fit for work?” Christian mocked. “And you were acting a role, playing a rakish bounder as part of the interview process?”
“Indeed.” Winthrop slapped his hand on the desk. “I place the right servant in the right household. I have a reputation to uphold. It’s bad for business if they last no more than a week.”
Deciding to stretch the truth to his advantage, Christian said, “A maid was murdered, Mr Winthrop. A maid carrying your card. She left a note detailing your unconventional practices. We may be forced to arrest you if you cannot provide an alibi.”
Winthrop’s eyes widened, and he leaned on the desk for support. “Murder! But that’s outrageous! I’m trying to help these girls, not hurt them. Do you know what life is like for homeless women on the streets?”
Christian shook off a host of horrid images. “Terrifying.”
“I toughen them up,” he said as if proud he’d been caught groping the girl. “It’s that, or they end up as fodder in a bawdy house.” He looked at Isabella. “Forgive my crudeness, madam, but the truth is not all sunshine and roses.”
“You do not have to tell me, sir, but you make light of the horrors women in wealthy homes face. You should be striving for the better treatment of the working classes, not encouraging lewd behaviour.”
While Christian found her comment inspiring, Winthrop looked at her as if she had lost her marbles. “I’d be out of business within the week, and be forced to sell brick dust from a barrow.”
“Someone has to make a stand, sir.”
“Well, it won’t be me.”
“Then let us return to the topic of murder,” Christian said, keen to make this fellow squirm. “You keep a record of all the servants on your books and which households employ them.”
“Yes, though the files are listed under the employers’ names. Servants often use an alias. Some are running from a bad situation. Some were tossed out without a reference.”
Winthrop spoke like he was a disciple of God, out to help the meek and needy. In truth, he was guilty of abusing his position. When the case was solved, Christian would return to make him see the error of his ways.
“We want to see the records relating to Lord Oldman.” Christian fixed the man with a hard stare. “If you can’t find them, we will take you into custody and rip this office apart.”
Winthrop froze. “Lord Oldman? You suspect he is involved?”
“Fetch the file, Winthrop.”
The man hauled himself out of the seat and waddled across the room. His hands shook as he searched a drawer in the oak cabinet. He returned with a portfolio of papers and flicked through them until he found the relevant document.
“What is it you want to know?”
“Start with the maids he’s employed via the agency this year.”
Winthrop cast his beady eyes over the paper. “I’ve received commission for two maids and a footman. He hired two maids last year.”
Christian met Isabella’s confused gaze.
It was hardly the number Nancy Jones mentioned.
“Does he hire staff elsewhere?” Isabella said.
“Not that I’m aware.”
