The Sleeping Partner by Madeleine E. Robins Page A

Brown. She wished, as she did so, that the lady had been more forthcoming. As things were situated it would be nearly impossible to speak with servants in the Brown household (or whatever their name was). It would be difficult to speak to the girl’s friends without alerting them to the possibility of scandal, and that was a real loss. What sixteen year old girl ever nourished a secret passion without confessing it to a friend? There was the governess, turned off before she could be of any help. She wrote a line to ask for the governess’s direction. It was clear to her that her lover’s identity was the key to finding the girl. She finished her note and consigned it to the care of Steen, another of Tarsio’s porters, then fell to her beef and pudding with a sharp appetite.
    When she finished her dinner she remained at Tarsio’s for a while, thinking that perhaps someone she had spoken to earlier in the day might seek her out in this more private setting. Miss Tolerance disliked waiting; she ventured from the withdrawing room to the book room to find something to read. An hour spent in the company of A Letter to the Women of England, on the Injustices of Mental Subjugation, convinced her (had she required convincing) that the life and concerns of a bluestocking would not have suited her. The hour was drawing on for ten o’clock and she was tired. She left the club, hired a chair, and was returned to Manchester Square.
    Miss Tolerance did not intend to enter her aunt’s establishment that evening. When possible she avoided those hours when trade was most brisk, as she had on more than one occasion been mistaken for one of her aunt’s employees. She directed the chair to leave her in Spanish Place, went in through the gate there, and made for her cottage. There she found a note from her aunt requesting her to call. She was reluctant—the hour, the rigors of the day, and her lack of success had left her tired and irritable—but affection and duty won out. Miss Tolerance took off her bonnet and crossed the garden to Mrs. Brereton’s house.
    She found her aunt at her desk, two branches of candles melting down as she pored over the pages of a ledger. Mrs. Brereton must have sensed a presence behind her; her back stiffened and she slammed the ledger closed as if to prevent its secrets leaping out to take refuge with her enemies. When she saw who her visitor was Mrs. Brereton unbent a little.
    “You ought not sneak about in that fashion.”
    “I am sorry, Aunt Thea. Habits of stealth are a hazard of my occupation.”
    Mrs. Brereton sniffed. “Where are you off to now?”
    “My bed, ma’am. I am just returned home, but you left word you wished to see me.”
    “I wanted you to sup with me, but I see you have been jaunting bout town with your tame magistrate again.”
    Miss Tolerance blinked. “I rarely jaunt, Aunt. And I wish you would not call Sir Walter such a name. He is neither tame nor mine, and would dislike it very much.”
    “Were you not out with him last night?”
    “We went to the theatre, yes. I have also gone to the theatre with you, and with Marianne. Do you have a sudden objection to Covent Garden, ma’am?”
    Mrs. Brereton pursed her lips. “It seems to me that you are hardly at home.”
    “Another hazard of my occupation, aunt, but not Sir Walter’s fault.”
    “You were not with him tonight?”
    “No, ma’am, I was not. I was at Tarsio’s, waiting for an informant who never arrived. I should have been far better entertained had I been supping with you. As to Sir Walter, do you so dislike my friendship with him?”
    “You might be making money from it,” Mrs. Brereton suggested.
    “Not in the way you mean, ma’am. Sir Walter and I are colleagues. We discuss our work and politics, just as you and I do.”
    Mrs. Brereton opened her ledger and stared fixedly at it. “Don’t be stupid, Sarah. There is no such thing as friendship between men and women. You may not mean to attach Sir Walter,