A Lasting Impression

then.” She took two steps and paused, then turned back. “I’m wondering, sir, if . . . I might pose a question.” She lowered her voice. “One I prefer be held in strictest confidence.”
    “Of course, Mrs. Routh.”
    She gestured for him to follow her into the grand salon. Sutton was accustomed to Mrs. Routh’s careful nature. A widow, the woman had been Adelicia’s friend—and social equal—before the untimely death of Mrs. Routh’s husband, Francis, several years ago. Since then she had been a faithful employee to Mrs. Acklen.
    He’d questioned the arrangement at first. Having a good friend as an employee often spelled disaster. But the woman performed her head-housekeeper duties with excellence and kept the mansion in tip-top condition. She held a loyalty for Adelicia as well—and with good reason. But sometimes that loyalty led her to suspect trouble where there was none. Like now, he guessed.
    Mrs. Routh stopped by the staircase, looked around, and leaned close. “It’s about—” she glanced back toward the entrance hall—“the new hire.”
    His interest piqued. “Miss Laurent?”
    She nodded, reluctance etching the lines of her face. “I don’t wish to overstep my bounds, sir, but . . . I’m simply wondering what we know about her.”
    Had he not known better, Sutton would have thought she was fishing for gossip. But not Mrs. Routh. Honest and upright, she expected everyone else to toe the same line. “Has Miss Laurent acted in such a way that causes you to question her intentions?”
    A stricken look crossed her face. “No, sir. And please don’t hear me insinuating that the young woman has done anything improper. It’s just that, well . . . Take this morning, for instance. I found her in the central parlor looking at one of Mrs. Acklen’s statues. Just standing there, staring at it.” She raised an eyebrow.
    “You found her staring at a statue?” Sutton curbed a grin.
    “The one of the little girl.”
    Sans Souci. Adelicia had purchased it in Rome on their trip. “Perhaps she was simply admiring it.”
    “That’s what I thought too. At first. Then she crouched low and started searching around the base.” She leaned closer. “When I questioned her, she said she was looking to see who had sculpted it.”
    Sutton smiled, able to imagine the scene between the two women quite well. “Maybe that’s what she was doing.”
    Mrs. Routh eyed him as though he were naive, and then it occurred to him what she might be insinuating.
    “Are you suggesting, Mrs. Routh, that you believe Miss Laurent has . . . less than honorable motives in being here at Belmont?” He couldn’t begin to estimate the worth of Adelicia’s art collection. Not only the statues and paintings, but the jewelry, the century-old books, and family heirlooms, the gifts from foreign dignitaries. He’d been after her for years to catalog everything, which would take weeks to do properly.
    But Claire Laurent, an art thief? The thought was laughable.
    Mrs. Routh suddenly looked away, guilt shading her expression. “I’m sorry, sir, for even broaching the subject. It was wrong of me to do so without a firm—”
    Sutton touched her arm. “Mrs. Routh . . . it’s never wrong of you to bring a concern to me when it involves Mrs. Acklen’s welfare. I appreciate your care and concern, as does Mrs. Acklen. And rest assured, we closely evaluate every person who’s hired to work at Belmont.”
    With an acquiescent nod, Mrs. Routh bid him good night, yet Sutton felt a twinge of unease walking back to the entrance hall, knowing he hadn’t “closely evaluated” their most recent hire as thoroughly as he usually would have. At least not before she’d begun working there. Mrs. Acklen’s hasty decision had seen to that.
    He’d mailed the letter to his colleague in New Orleans, as requested, but it would be at least a couple of weeks before he could expect to hear anything. He’d considered sending a telegram. But the last time they’d done that with potentially delicate news, the findings had ended up as fodder for gossip. So until he received his colleague’s reply, he would simply watch Claire more closely. And if he discovered her hauling statues out the front door in the middle of the night, he would confront her about it straightaway.
    The thought made him grin.
    Muffled voices came from within the study, and he drew closer.
    “So tell me in greater detail about the pastries, please. Do you know how to make