“You’re what?”
“I’m his butler,” Beeker said. “I buttle.”
The temperature at the table dropped even further.
“So you’re going to sit here at my table and try to pump me for information about Mrs. Pruet?” Her tone made it a statement rather than a question. “Look, Mr. Beeker, I don’t get much time to myself, and this is it. I don’t want to waste it playing twenty questions with some fool … or his butler.”
Beeker stared at her levelly for a moment, then stood up, gathering his coffee as he did.
“Forgive me for intruding on your privacy, Ms. Laverna,” he said. “It seems I was mistaken.”
“Don’t go away mad,” Laverna said with a sneer, and reached for her book once more.
“Not mad. Simply annoyed,” the butler corrected. “More with myself than with you.”
“How’s that?”
“I pride myself in my judgment of people, Ms. Laverna,” Beeker explained. “In fact, my effectiveness depends on it. I therefore find it annoying when it turns out I misjudged someone, particularly in a case of overestimation.”
“Mr. Beeker, I’ve been awake nearly thirty hours running now,” Laverna said. “If you’ve got something to say to me, you’ll have to say it straight out-and in plain words. I’m not tracking things too well.”
The butler paused, then drew a deep, ragged breath.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I’m rather tired myself. All I meant was, I had assumed that from what I had heard and considering your position, you would be a highly intelligent person-intelligent enough to realize that I would not expect you to divulge any information about your employer any more than I would volunteer information about mine. People in our position don’t last long if they are careless with confidences. The trust required has to be earned and maintained, so when dealing with someone of a similar standing to my own, I assumed trustworthiness and expected it would be assumed in return.”