Clearly I would have to talk to Cousin Barrington about the Major in a very roundabout way. Feigning ignorance of the game would not work after my catch, and the voluble admiration of the kind young men. So I must come at the cricket problem obliquely, and when we were alone. And I would speak to other people – the servants since I could not imagine cross-questioning any of the guests. Not with any success, at least. I would only be exposing myself to further insults, would I not?
What had changed in me? I could once tolerate the most humiliating behaviour from house guests I was serving. Of course, I understood it was part of my job to be diplomatic, to be selectively deaf, to toady if necessary. But lately I had learned what it was to be treated as a human being, capable of feeling and thinking, and I did not want to be returned to my box.
One person I would not mind speaking to was young Mason: I was interested in his response to Matthew’s observation about his bowler’s shoulders. For a sunny and obliging young man, he had seethed with barely suppressed resentment. Presumably that would be nothing compared to Biddlestone’s fury at the presence of one of the lower orders like me who was giving herself airs – this was the worst condemnation possible. Was it giving oneself airs to help investigate a murder? Quite probably. And it was not just Biddlestone but all the servants I had to confront at servants’ breakfast in five minutes’ time. Should I give myself more airs by requiring one of the footmen to escort me down to the kitchen? Or should I simply materialize? Whichever I chose would cause great frustration at a time when every last man and woman had urgent duties to perform.
In the end, Cousin Barrington solved the problem for me, by summoning a footman who had been scurrying past on some errand. As soon as he had completed his task, he was to return to take orders from me. The young man’s bow left me in no doubt of his disdain; I might as well add fuel to his smouldering anger by asking in front of his employer if I might go to the servants’ hall by way of Clara’s cupboard.
‘Of course, my dear. What an excellent idea! Green, go and get the key from Mrs Simpkins. Then come straight back here. And you take your orders from Mrs Rowsley, remember.’
I could not hope that that would ease the situation, but once he had returned with the key I set off in Green’s wake. His back was rigid with anger or disapproval, or possibly both.
‘Mr Green!’ I stopped in my tracks
He had to stop. ‘Ma’am?’
‘How are you all this morning? Yesterday must have been chaotic for you, with the extra guests, and then the Gräfin’s terrible death.’
His nod was grudging, but he retraced his steps. ‘Very hard, ma’am. Thank you for asking, ma’am.’
‘I ask because, as I said to Mrs Simpkiss last night, as a housekeeper myself I am probably the only guest in this house who can imagine the difficulties afflicting you all. At one point, as you may know, I was one of the very few people who doubted Clara’s guilt. And now I seem to be one of three people determined to find out who really committed the vile murder. I shall need the help, not the resentment, of everyone downstairs. Everyone. I shall respect all of you, but I need you to respect me. Do you understand?’
He had the grace to look shamefaced.
‘Excellent. Shall we start again? Good morning, Mr Green.’
‘Good morning, Mrs Rowsley.’ The poor boy’s face was scarlet, with an angry rash where his antediluvian wig met his forehead. ‘If you please, ma’am, my name isn’t Green. That’s my cousin’s name. He left to go to Coalbrookdale. Good money, they said, but – oh, ma’am, he’s been maimed for life and like to be stuck in the workhouse till he dies. So I’ve got to stick it out here.’ Perhaps he might prefer to stick out life as a servant elsewhere, but the poaching of other people’s staff was not widely approved of.
‘I’m sorry to hear that. But,’ I asked with a gentle smile, ‘you have a name of your own. Mr …?’
‘Billington, ma’am. So people confused the name with Mr Biddlestone.’
‘I see.’ I did indeed. ‘What would you like me to call you?’
‘The staff call me Billy, ma’am.’
‘And you’re happy with that? Well, Billy, let us go and see how Clara is, shall we?’
The child was far from well, and not speaking to anyone, let alone a stranger like me. She had been sick, and no one had yet emptied her chamber pot. I gathered it up myself. But carry it to the privy I would not, so I left it outside the make-do cell, where two pot-boys played guard. ‘You’ll see this is dealt with, Billy? And that she has a clean one? And fresh water? Breakfast? Imagine she’s your little sister and treat her accordingly. But now please lead me through the rest of this rabbit warren to Mrs Simpkiss.’
Mrs Dabbs, the cook, greeted me with as much enthusiasm as if I had entered the servants’ hall carrying Clara’s slops. Mrs Simpkiss was inclined to be more conciliatory, perhaps, especially when I returned the key to her safe-keeping.
‘The truth is, Mrs Rowsley, that we are very short-handed. Both Cook here and I have made repeated pleas to her ladyship for more staff, but … but to no avail, shall I say. Yet we have more and more visitors.’
‘And most of them don’t bring their own servants like they used to,’ Mrs Dabbs put in. ‘Mrs Simpkiss is so hard stretched and now – well, one more short.’
‘I would have thought,’ I said carefully, ‘that I might suggest to Colonel Rowsley, in his capacity as Justice, that Clara should be set free without a blemish on her character. Even if he does not completely agree, there must be really useful jobs she can do under supervision, though that might be more in your area, Mrs Dabbs, than in the house itself. That still leaves you one short, of course, Mrs Simpkiss. And I know what that’s like, believe me. If only I could think of something to help.’
‘Unless you’re prepared to put on a print dress and a cap and sweep a room or two, I can’t think of anything. But here are the staff, ma’am. Do you want to speak to them before or after they’ve eaten?’
I glanced at the great clock on the wall. ‘I have so much to do for the Colonel that I’d rather speak first, if you please. Though you may find it harder,’ I added with a rueful smile, ‘to enforce the rule of silence afterwards. Would you mind if little Clara took her usual place? I can’t imagine she’ll touch a morsel while she’s locked in that cupboard.’
‘Just what I was saying. A sin and a shame to lock her up.’
I scratched my earlobe. ‘Something has been puzzling me. They say she was caught red-handed. But no one says who caught her. Who went into the Gräfin’s room?’
The women stared. ‘All we know is that there was a great hoo-hah and she was dragged down to the cellar and locked in. Who were the footmen doing the dragging?’ Mrs Dabbs asked. ‘That’s what I’d like to know. Big brutes. And who told them to, more to the point?’
Nodding, I smiled at her. Exactly the questions I wanted asked.
‘That’s Mr Biddlestone’s area, of course,’ Mrs Simpkiss said. ‘Question his young men I dare not.’ She looked me straight in the eye. ‘He’s a bad man to make an enemy of.’
I nodded. ‘I am all too aware of that.’ They exchanged a glance. ‘But I don’t have to work alongside him. I can go home and work alongside an altogether more amiable butler. So while he may be rude to me, I will be the one to ask.’ At last we shared a comradely smile. ‘In fact, while everyone assembles here in the hall, I will go and beard him in his den.’
Mrs Dabbs’ eyes widened as she looked over my shoulder. ‘He’s just coming in here now, ma’am.’
He was indeed. And had the advantage of me. ‘I did not expect to see you here, Mrs er – Rowsley – though perhaps I should have done. Your proper milieu, after all,’ he added with a French pronunciation worse than my own.
‘Hardly, Mr Biddlestone: like Mrs Simpkiss I have a Room. Which is where this private conversation might take place, if Mrs Simpkiss permits? It is her domain, after all.’
‘Here is good enough for whatever you might have to say.’ There was a faint but insulting emphasis on the pronoun.
‘Indeed.’ I raised my voice very slightly. ‘Good morning, Mr Biddlestone. Might we have a word in private?’
He went white with anger. ‘I told you. I will speak to you here.’
‘Very well. Though I am sure that Colonel Rowsley would prefer all our enquiries to be confidential. Who were the footmen that brought Clara down to the cellar last night, and who summoned them? And, furthermore, who had her locked in the cellar?’
‘I will check the roster to ascertain, and report my findings to the Colonel.’
My far from amiable smile showed my anger. ‘Excellent. With answers to all of my questions, of course – in the next ten minutes, please. Cousin Barrington is extremely busy and depends on everyone’s prompt cooperation. Including yours, Mr Biddlestone.’
The three of us watched as he turned on his heel and left the hall. I closed the door behind him.
‘Even you didn’t come straight out and challenge him,’ Mrs Dabbs observed sadly. ‘So what chance do we have?’
Mrs Simpkiss shook her head. ‘You’re wrong, Annie. She told him good and proper only he chose to ignore it. You had more backbone than most of us, ma’am, and never raised your voice, either.’
‘I wanted to, believe me! But I felt I had pushed as far as I dared and truly getting the information quickly is more important than scoring over a sad and sour old man.’
Mrs Simpkiss nodded. ‘Like the Colonel says, pick your battles if you want to win the war. It seems that everyone is here: would you care to speak to them now? I will bring young Clara in. If she’s well enough.’
‘I’ll wait till then. Mrs Dabbs, you are working wonders – that breakfast you sent to the sewing room …’
We talked shop until Mrs Simpkiss returned with Clara. Her tearstains had been washed away, though her face was still wan and puffy, and her hair had been brushed. Mrs Simpkiss had found her a fresh dress and pinafore, and seated her with the other girls – why were there so few women on the staff? – to eat her breakfast. She could hardly keep herself from reaching for her spoon while I spoke. I meant in any case to use the fewest words I could – that they would need to account for their movements and also for those of the guests. This wasn’t spying or snitching: it was to pinpoint the real killer. They could talk to me or, if they preferred, to either Mrs Dabbs or Mrs Simpkiss, who would pass their message on. I ended with the simple grace we used at home on the Sabbath. They might not be able to talk, but at least they could eat. Clara fell on the porridge as if it was manna. Smiling, I curtsied my thanks to the two women, and turned to leave.
Billy leapt to his feet and held the door open for me, then, to my surprise, he fell into step with me.
‘Don’t want you getting lost in this warren, ma’am, do we, especially with a murderer on the loose.’ Was he trying to comfort or alarm me? I hoped and prayed it was the former. He continued, matter-of-factly, ‘It’s got to be a man, hasn’t it? A tall lady, the Gräfin. And it’s not as though she’d lie down and say, “Kill me,” is it?’
‘Is that what most people think? And do they think it was a guest or one of your colleagues?’
‘I reckon most of us would have been too busy!’
‘It doesn’t take very long to kill someone.’
‘It depends how you kill them, I suppose.’
Was he feigning ignorance or had no one told the servants? I could not believe that. Perhaps, however, he was simply making conversation. ‘I suppose it does. And how much you wanted them to suffer.’
He shrugged. ‘Or if you just wanted a quick get-away.’
‘True. Who do you and your colleagues think killed her? Between ourselves, for the time being at least.’
‘Some folk are saying it must be old Lord Pidgeon. Sometimes … well, we wonder if he’s right in the head. Dead moody he is. Sorry, wrong word, that. One day he can be civil, at least. Next the maids don’t like being on their own with him: although he’s frail in the head, he’s got more strength in his body than you imagine, see – and once or twice we’ve noticed bruises on Lady Pidgeon’s face.’
‘Good heavens! Are you saying he—?’
‘I’m saying nothing, ma’am. Not my place.’
‘Have any other names been mentioned?’
Sighing, he looked around. ‘Some of the maids – well, some of us footmen too, to be honest – don’t like the Major very much. Most of the time butter wouldn’t melt. Then suddenly he’s using language a navvy would blush at. It’s like a dog: won’t pick on anyone with power, but once it senses a victim …’ He hesitated. ‘Let me get this straight. We love the Colonel, because in his way he does his best for us. In his way. But it’s almost – no, I hardly like to say it.’
‘It’s almost as though the Major … It’s almost as if the junior of the two officers is giving orders to the senior?’ I suggested.
‘You said it, not me. Well, if you watched the match, you’d see, wouldn’t you?’
‘Do you think he meant to lose it?’
‘That’s what people are saying. Why would a man like that, keen on his honour as a military man, want to do that, that’s what I want to know.’
‘One last question. If I asked you why a military man of honour would do such a thing, what word would you come up with?’
He stared. ‘Money. But I never said that, ma’am.’ He looked genuinely scared.
‘Of course you didn’t. Billy, we’d best get on: they’ll be looking for you.’
He bowed. We walked in silence.
‘This way, ma’am.’ He opened a door I did not immediately recognize.
I felt a sudden frisson of fear. He was not a tried and tested Thorncroft man. He had other loyalties. Had I been naive, perhaps even foolish, to trust him so implicitly? I braced myself.
‘A short cut, ma’am. Her ladyship’s sewing room is just here on the right.’
I hoped he did not see the relief in my smile of thanks.
As he bowed himself away, on impulse I spoke again. ‘You mentioned dogs a moment ago, Billy. There isn’t a single dog in the house, is there? Why is that?’
He snorted. But the sound of approaching footsteps silenced him and this time he retreated without ceremony
It seemed that Mason had been unable to run a blackboard to earth, but at least the table had been extended and baize and then thick card had been laid on it. This made a good base for the rolls of ceiling paper that Mason had managed to find. Matthew and Cousin Barrington had already set to work, marking up the paper as a giant timetable. I walked round the table to peer at it.
Matthew pointed. ‘See, Harriet: we have one column for locations and another for people in that location. So at 11.30, say, you would be in the garden with Mr Digby and then me.’ He straightened his back and sighed. ‘Ideally all this could be cross-referenced, but I have no idea how. Sadly, Barrington’s librarian has left for another post, so there is no one here with the expertise we need.’
Barrington muttered something about his wife: I hoped Matthew had caught the gist at least, for I did not. Cross-referencing? How on earth did you do that?
The clock chimed the three-quarters. Cousin Barrington jumped almost comically. ‘Damn me, I thought it was time to go and confront the ravening hordes. Before-battle nerves. I always get them.’
‘What sort of reaction are you expecting?’
His shrug was surprisingly expressive. To my amazement it was followed by an unnervingly accurate impression of the huffs and haws of protest I’d expect from the men here. I joined in mimicking the chirruping of their ladies. For a moment we were more than allies: we might have been friends.
‘Are you expecting trouble from anyone in particular?’ Matthew asked, pulling a face as he patted a surely cold coffee pot.
His cousin shook his head. ‘My wife won’t like it – it would be hard provisioning a place this size when you can’t bring in supplies, wouldn’t it?’ It was a rhetorical question, surely, not another snide reference to my profession. It also revealed something I suspected: he hadn’t told Lady Hortensia yet. ‘And one or two of the older men will resent any curbs on their freedom. I suppose some of the youngsters will think it’s a lark. Dear God, it’s raining again!’
‘Do you think any of the young men at university might have skills we could use?’ I asked. ‘Doing this cross-referencing, whatever that means?’
‘It’s just a way of checking one fact, one assertion, against another,’ Matthew said. ‘So if Mr A says he was in the garden with Mrs B, we can simply look up Mrs B.’
‘Ah! Like Bea Arden at home. She lists all her recipes with possible accompaniments. Look up a vegetable dish, perhaps, and you get a reference back to the chicken that it suits. Very clever.’ I laughed. ‘You could always ask Mrs Dabbs, if you need help.’
Cousin Barrington stared. ‘Mrs Dabbs is …?’
‘Your wonderful cook,’ I said, managing not to scream. ‘Though I cannot imagine anyone in this whole house could be as busy as she must be today. What about the men? The Major must have experience in organizing things,’ I added, hoping it sounded an innocent suggestion.
‘He probably delegates to a willing subaltern,’ Matthew said quickly, registering, I am sure, that his cousin had gone white. ‘Everyone delegates, my love, do they not?’
Except us. And perhaps this was one task we should keep to a tight-knit group.
I sat down. ‘Cousin Barrington, might I ask you something? What was the Gräfin’s background? I know she was a clever card-player, could be both kind and malicious, and I know she outstayed her welcome. I was told that I should not spend so much time with her, but in the sense that I was monopolizing her, that others would welcome a chance to further their acquaintance with her.’
‘Who said that?’ he asked swiftly.
‘I can’t remember now,’ I lied. I suspect he knew I was lying. ‘But remember, there are unspoken rules for polite society, just as there are for servants. And I cannot pretend I know them, so I am grateful when someone puts me right with a gentle hint.’
He grunted. ‘Well, she was a very well-connected lady. Old family. As I said, my wife’s god-mama. And then she ups and marries this foreign count. No one quite knows why. If he’d been a handsome Frenchman, the ladies say they might have understood. But I’ve never met a dashing Austrian, have you? No, well, but you know what I mean. He’d got a title, but it was a foreign one. You never know about those. No children. Anyway, she disappears from polite society here for years, doing whatever ladies do in Vienna to amuse themselves. Then her husband dies – she never did say anything at all about his death – and she turns up back here.’
‘Does she have her own house?’
‘Rents one in a decent part of London. Not the very best, actually. But decent. More than just respectable.’
‘Did you like her?’ I risked.
He looked so furtive I almost laughed out loud. Then he put his face back into more military lines. ‘It’s not a matter of liking or not liking, cousin. It’s a matter of duty. Someone might be a cantankerous old bat or a thuggish bully but noblesse oblige and all that. Matthew – you were raised to it.’
‘And Harriet was trained in it, as I have told you, Barrington. She could abandon her post tomorrow – but she sticks to it through good times and bad. Things are bad at Thorncroft now, which makes her all more determined to stay. When the lawyers have finally run the heir to ground, we hope our lives will at last become easier.’ He smiled at me. ‘Italy calls, does it not?’
‘Oh yes! One day. But, as in the matter we’re discussing now, sometimes events must take precedence over one’s wishes. Sometimes I am too frank, Cousin, but it may be easier for an outsider like me to ask questions, even offensive ones. If the Gräfin was the cantankerous old bat, let me ask a question that you may find offensive, and I apologize if you do: is Major Jameson the thuggish bully? Everything I have seen of him fits those words.’
The clock saved him, its silvery tones striking the hour. It was time for breakfast.