Lady Hortensia peered at the chart her husband and I were preparing. Pointedly she asked, ‘Husband, is that a task for a gentleman?’
‘It’s the task for a secretary, if we had one,’ he said, the edge to his voice making me apply myself to the chart even more diligently. ‘But we haven’t, of course. Or a librarian.’
‘And you allow people to smoke amidst all those precious books!’ I shouted – in my head. Carefully I underlined several headings.
‘And you know perfectly well the reason why!’ If only she would spell out the explanation, as people did when they had quarrels. Or perhaps only unladylike people. ‘And work like this is not fitting for the Sabbath. Which reminds me – how do you propose to convey everyone to church?’
‘I think we have to accept that we cannot get to the village this morning.’
‘Perhaps. But we should not miss evensong as well!’
‘I hope we may find a way. Matthew is asking the gardener chappie to reconnoitre even as we speak. But it looks to me as if the Lord might have to manage without us today – unless Mr Turton can oblige. Ah, here he is! Come on in!’ He sounded genuinely welcoming, or perhaps just relieved.
Our hosts said all that was proper in greeting before her ladyship swept out. In his fashion, Mr Turton replied – and then, realizing I was there, he strode to the table and kissed my hand. He quickly grasped what I was doing and joined in with a will. Head down, he said, ‘Good to help.’
Cousin Barrington pounced on the verb. ‘Actually, we were wondering if you could help us this evening, Turton. We may not be able to get to the village church for evensong, and I thought you might take it for us here – in the ballroom, perhaps.’
Mr Turton went so pale I feared he might faint.
‘Damn – I rushed my fence there, didn’t I? Thing is, if you’re going to be a clergyman, you might want some practice.’
‘I fear – as you say – I am not yet trained. Not qualified. Would be presumptuous of me.’
‘Nonsense! Good experience under fire.’
‘No. No, pray, Colonel, I am sorry, but I ask you to accept my decision.’
Cousin Barrington was surely making matters worse by trying to finish each sentence, each word, for him.
‘But you might help us in here?’ I suggested, keen to end what was clearly torture. ‘When we have people’s accounts of their day coming in, it would be so very useful to have someone cross-reference them.’
He beamed. ‘Better finish mine first.’ He bolted.
Cousin Barrington rolled his eyes. ‘Silly idea, I suppose. I can’t make out one word in three for all his stutters and stumbles. Poor bastard. I beg your pardon! But why should he want to go into the Church?’
‘Do you really think he does? Or is it his parents’ wish, not his. What are your hopes for young Arthur, Cousin?’
Surely he did not wince? At last he sighed. Gazing at me appraisingly, he said quietly, ‘I should wish he would follow in my footsteps. But upon my soul, I can’t. Supposed to be stiff upper lip and all that, isn’t it? But I’d do anything to stop him.’ He dropped his gaze. ‘But that’s between you and me.’
‘Of course.’ I nodded and underlined a few more headings while I worked out what so say next. ‘Were you expecting anyone to object to outlining his or her activities?’
He snorted. ‘The old lady would have done without doubt. And of course there’s always …’
‘Always?’ I prompted.
‘No, that’s not cricket, is it? Let’s give everyone the benefit of the doubt.’
‘I don’t know if you can afford to.’
‘And what, madam, do you mean by that?’
Flinching from his sudden anger, I said mildly, ‘Only that the clock is ticking. That soon the waters will subside and people will leave even if they do not have permission. And also – Cousin, they say that if you kill one person it is easier to kill a second.’
He stared. He rang the bell. Mason appeared. ‘Isn’t Biddlestone around?’ he asked.
Mason looked embarrassed. ‘I believe he is otherwise engaged, sir. That’s why I am here.’ Why did he not make a more opaque excuse for his senior colleague? I would not have expected our colleagues at home to have, in their parlance, dropped someone in it.
Cousin Barrington’s poor scarred eyebrows staggered up his forehead. ‘Otherwise engaged? Very well, you’ve done well so far. Carry on as you are. Next assignment. Every guest needs to hand over their statement within the half hour: tell them that. And you and your colleagues will be at hand to collect them when everyone gathers for morning coffee.’ His voice changed. ‘Look here – you’re clever at this sort of thing: can you devise some sort of private place for depositing them?’ He gestured vaguely.
Mason nodded. ‘Perhaps the hall post-box, sir? I could move it to the breakfast room where coffee will be served, the luncheon table in the dining room already being laid.’
‘Good thinking. Everyone to be present – understood?’
‘Understood, sir.’ Mason bowed himself out.
Personally I thought the schedule a little tight, but I could scarcely protest, instead picking up the nearest pencil and writing down my own timetable in terse, information-packed sentences. Who, when, where. I added another W: witnesses.
‘Will you care to join us for coffee in the breakfast room, Harriet?’ Barrington asked, an anxious edge to his voice.
‘Thank you, Cousin – but I think not. I think I should go and talk to young Clara, don’t you?’ A smiled established we both thought that would be better all round. ‘Perhaps Mason would guide me through that labyrinth.’
It seemed that Mason, like Biddlestone, had other duties, but I was happy to have Billy’s company again. We talked about his family – he was the middle of seven children – and how his eldest sister was courting the village curate, but his mother didn’t approve because she could have the blacksmith and the curate was as poor as a church mouse.
At last I felt I could ask for information I really wanted to know. ‘Earlier I was asking you about dogs, Billy. Largely because most country houses like this have them everywhere, and a dratted nuisance they can be, too, for us servants.’ I pulled a face. ‘But there’s not a single one here. Why is that? At home,’ I continued, ‘we couldn’t have dogs or cats because they make her ladyship ill.’
‘Lady Hortensia dislikes them, ma’am.’ He clearly wished to say nothing more. We continued in silence.
Clara was busy in counting pots of jam for Mrs Simpkiss, who jotted the totals as she went. I simply joined in, talking idly to my opposite number about the shortage of plums the previous year and admiring the colour of her strawberry conserve. To my delight, with a meaningful nod, Mrs Simpkiss simply slipped out, leaving me with her pencil and list to continue: my voice could simply replace hers in Clara’s ears. It took the child time to register the change, which nearly involved the sacrifice of a jar of rhubarb and ginger jam – but she caught it in time.
‘Mrs Simpkiss would have killed me if I’d dropped – oh, ma’am!’ Her eyes flooded.
‘It’s all right. It’s safe and sound, isn’t it? A bit runny, maybe?’
‘Oh, that’s how her ladyship prefers her jam. The Colonel prefers his nice and stiff.’
‘Do they argue about it?’ Did I feel disloyal?
‘Sometimes. And Mrs Dabbs has to send up pale toast and dark toast.’
‘How did the Gräfin like her toast?’
‘Never touched it, ma’am. Mrs Dabbs had to make her some special Foreign Bread. Nothing else would do. Black cherry jam or apricot jam. Nothing else. And special coffee too. Never tea, ever. Rotted your insides, she said it did.’
The smell of fresh-baked biscuits insinuated itself into the room. ‘Heavens, something smells good!’ I declared.
‘Biscuits. I could ask Cook if I might bring you one,’ she said.
‘Yes please. I would love – two!’ I said, hoping I sounded daring rather than demanding.
So gently, as we shared a plate of biscuits which came with a glass of milk and a pot of coffee, I learned about her time in the workhouse and how she had met her brother who was likely to go for a soldier. And she did so hope he wouldn’t end up like the poor Colonel. The Gräfin had talked about duelling scars, and even though men were supposed to be proud of them they spoiled nice faces too. She had talked about dancing in Vienna and rides in landaus and – ‘and something she wouldn’t talk about, because I was only a little girl, really.’
‘Ooh, that sounds mysterious. Something you knew about or something you didn’t?’
‘Something like cashino? Where there were strange wheels?’
‘I wonder what they might be … Do have the last biscuit.’
‘I daren’t, ma’am – Mrs Dabbs says I mustn’t spoil my appetite for servants’ dinner because she’s done a lovely roast.’
‘You could put it in your pocket for later. Clara: you know I don’t mean you or any of the other servants any harm, don’t you? It’s not so very long ago that I was doing exactly your job at just the same age as you. Sometimes guests, once even the gentleman of the house, did things that frightened and hurt me.’ However many years had passed, the memory sometimes had the power to bring tears. I swallowed hard. ‘You were treated horribly last night, being put in that dark cupboard. Do you know why they did that?’ I took her hand, still sticky from the biscuits.
‘They said I’d killed the Gräfin.’
‘Who did?’
‘One of the gentlemen guests, ma’am. I think. I’d just gone into her room to make up her fire and fasten her necklaces and such and there she was lying down in her bed and I couldn’t wake her and I screamed. And suddenly he and other men – servants, footmen, I mean – were in the room shouting, and they dragged me out. And next I knew I was in the cellar –’ the little hand clutched mine – ‘and then I was in the linen cupboard and I don’t know how anything happened, ma’am!’ She sobbed into my shoulder as I held her.
At last I asked gently, ‘When you went into her room, did you see anyone in the corridor?’
Biting her lip, she shook her head.
‘And do you know which gentleman it was who came when you screamed? Maybe not his name, but if he was big or small or had a moustache or a beard?’
She shook her head.
I would not argue. Had anyone asked me to describe the man who raped me, a man I saw every day, I could not have done so, not until the shock and terror had subsided. Now I could still see him in my nightmares, right down to a small round scar on his cheek. And I could still smell him.
‘You’ve done very well, Clara, to recall what you have done. If you think of anything else, no matter how little or silly it might be, promise me that you’ll ask Mrs Simpkiss to send for me – in fact, I’ll ask her myself, just to make sure she agrees. Now, go and wash your face so you’ll be ready for that lovely roast dinner.’
Before I plunged back into the subterranean world I really did not like, I saw Mrs Simpkiss herself returning to the Room. She responded to my gentle knock with an immediate invitation to enter, rising in apparent shock and smoothing her apron when she saw who her guest was.
‘Oh, do sit down, Mrs Simpkiss! Please! Heavens, we’re both housekeepers together, aren’t we?’ I said. ‘And we’re both worried about little Clara too. Counting jam jars was a brilliant idea,’ I added, sitting opposite her as she reluctantly returned to her chair.
‘I want to keep her where I can see her,’ she said frankly. ‘And I guess you know why.’
I nodded. ‘We both think she saw the killer, don’t we? And could be in great danger.’
‘If anyone lays so much as a finger on her,’ she said with sudden cold fury, ‘I will kill him. And that’s God’s truth.’