No matter how much I told myself and my partners in what was I hoped not really a crime that there was no risk, I knew that were I to be found out there would be a scandal that might cost them their posts. From her response to my request for a list of the occupants of each room, Mrs Simpkiss knew too. ‘Only her ladyship, no one else, she says, is supposed … I don’t know why, considering we’re in and out of the rooms all the time.’ Then she smiled. ‘But there’s nothing to stop you making your own list, is there? As you go into each room I could tell you whose it is and you could write it down.’
‘Of course I could. But whether I should … whether I should involve you in this at all …’
‘What would you do if this was going on where you work and you thought I could be useful?’ She held my gaze. ‘Well, then. And I shall be doing what I’m sure you do with your young maids – teaching them what to do. If Clara learns something and tells us something, then that’ll be a boon.’
‘You’re sure Clara should be with us?’
‘With me, Mrs Rowsley. Where I can keep an eye on her. We’ll be in earshot, never fear. But not with you. In the room opposite or next door. Working. And when you see the state some folk leave their rooms in you won’t argue.’
‘I know all too well, don’t I?’
Mason insisted on accompanying us. He had provided himself already with an excellent excuse for giving any guest leaving luncheon early a reason why he or she must not enter the room I was in: one of the staff, he would say, was dealing with rodents. I had used that excuse myself once to keep guests under control, as it were. But I had not been such a stickler for detail as he was; he had actually located mouse droppings and scattered some about the corridors. A butler in waiting? Surely he deserved a better chance on a wider stage! And he was young enough to take any chance life offered.
I started impartially enough in rooms where I expected to find nothing – guests whose names I still could not attach to faces, an indictment if ever one needed one of our hostess. Twice over – had I not asked Cousin Barrington for a list of the rooms’ occupants? And why should she tell Mrs Simpkiss not to reveal it? So impartially, but not calmly. All those years as a maid, and I was as nervous as a newcomer! It took me a huge effort to be calm, even as I applied myself to my task. Between the squabs and down the back of sofas, I found a haul of coins: imagine, losing a guinea, even a half-guinea, and not noticing. Or if you noticed, not caring enough to search for it. There were also a pretty little ring, some shirt studs and a very compromising love letter. As I finished in each room, Clara and Mrs Simpkiss went in and gave it an official tidy just in case I had left things as I would at Thorncroft, not as they were left here.
Then I came to the Kirklees’ chamber – the parents of one of the babies on the rug yesterday. As far as I knew we had never exchanged a word since I had been here – not so much as a thank you for my catch. Part of me, the part of which I was not proud, would have liked to find something highly incriminating there. They were a messy pair – shoes, clothes, even jewellery left lying around. But there nothing interesting at all. My hands had sweated and my breath come short all for no reason.
Then to the next room and then the next. The ones I hated checking most were those of the young men. It felt like a betrayal. Thank God there was nothing. Then I came to the one I feared doing most: Major Jameson’s. I knew he was a bully. I knew he had a foul temper. But if I thought about either I would not be able to do my job. So as methodically as if I were a young chambermaid afraid of my master, I went through every crevice of his room. To my chagrin, apart from a note stuffed deep into the sofa, I found nothing immediately incriminating – unless a strong-box might suggest he had something of value to protect, even conceal. I even went through his bin, which had some shreds of paper screwed into a ball. A letter? I had no time to read it. It went with everything else in the apron pockets. But I made myself give both the inside and the outside of the bin a good rub, as a well-trained maid would. There. I was glad to leave.
How dared I go through the Pidgeons’ rooms – he slept in the dressing room? I hated every moment, especially when I saw the Bible beside his bed, and The Mill on the Floss, a bookmark in place, beside hers. Though many times in my life I had cleaned rooms for people who had been kind and generous to me, people I liked, this was different. Morally different. I must turn my heart to ice as I checked their bin. More shreds of paper, and nothing else. They went into a different pocket.
One more room, another anonymous one. Heavens, how did anyone find anything in this chaos? I picked up and folded like any good tweenie – until I recalled that Mrs Simpkiss and Clara were waiting to do precisely that. Except that … did I see the letters IOU scrawled on that sheet of paper? Fifty guineas was a sum indeed, almost certainly more than Mrs Simpkiss would earn in a year. If only I could decipher the signature. But I was not wearing my chatelaine. So my reading glasses were in the Room with my clothes and nothing would make those letters clearer.
Perhaps Mrs Simpkiss, ready to take over from me, would have better luck.
One last room. The Gräfin’s. The scene of a dreadful crime. And it was my duty to scour this for anything that could assist the police. I could work with the clearest of consciences and great purpose. And at last I found something of real interest between the bed-head and the mattress. A key. And since there was no jewel or strong-box in the room that it might fit, I fell on it as if it was a prize.
There was no reason now for Mrs Simpkiss to keep watch, so, hoping and praying it would not upset the child too much, I asked her and Clara to join me. Mrs Simpkiss did what I had baulked at doing: she went through the pockets of all the dead woman’s clothes.
‘Did you do this in other rooms too?’ I asked, quite embarrassed by her bravery.
‘Of course. All the guests’ pockets. But we must talk in the Room, not here, Mrs Rowsley. The sooner Clara is downstairs the better.’ She turned to the girl. ‘Be a good girl and tell Mrs Rowsley exactly what you saw when you came in. Slow as you like. What did I say? Nice deep breaths.’
The child made a huge effort. She pointed to things that had been tidied up into the wrong place, mentioned the Gräfin’s preferences – lavender soap only – and showed which clothes she liked folded and which hung up. And then she turned her attention to the dressing room, and it was as if she were a candle held to the fire. Slowly but inexorably she fell to her knees in a ball of terror. ‘He came out of there! The man.’
Her tears became hysterical and increasingly loud.
Mrs Simpkiss said tersely, ‘Get Mason.’
I obeyed. In an instant the young man had scooped her up and was carrying her down the service stairs.
Over her shoulder, Mrs Simpkiss said, with an authority I’d never seen before, ‘Give me some time to calm her down.’
‘Of course. When would you suggest?’
She pulled a face. ‘The way things are, it might have to be this evening. By the way, Mrs Rowsley, you do realize you’re still wearing our uniform, don’t you? Best come with us down the back stairs.’ She set off.
I followed her down to the Room hoping I could change my clothes before I met anyone who might recognize me, disguise or not. Inevitably, of course, I ran into a person who would know me anywhere.
Matthew excused himself from a group of men in the servants’ hall and slipped out to join me. ‘You’ve not been – please tell me you’ve not been prowling round without me there!’ he said, far too loudly. ‘Without protection! Harriet, after all our careful plans!’
I touched my finger to his lips, dropping my own voice as I replied, ‘No risk at all. First of all I waited till all the guests were at lunch and would be for some time. I believe they are still on the dessert course. And then I had expert support. Mason, Mrs Simpkiss and, most important, young Clara! But first – whom did you find?’
He almost mouthed the name: ‘Biddlestone!’
‘Good God,’ I breathed. ‘The keystone of the whole household! When is Cousin Barrington to break the news?’
‘He’s hoping Harrison can get through to the village and find the constable, though I gather he’s not universally admired. Although Barrington might not want to make an announcement now, I can’t see the purpose of waiting, especially as the men who brought back his body are bound to talk. Everyone in the hall must have their ears flapping for information that we might let drop accidentally. Ah! He seems to have decided to speak now.’ As Barrington’s voice rose we edged further from the room. ‘How did Lady Hortensia deal with the news?’
‘Without emotion. She might just as well have asked aloud, “What is a body more or less?” I’m not sure whether her insouciance was admirable or outrageous. It may crack a little when she discovers that she lacks a butler, of course.’ I think my tone shocked him. ‘I’m sorry – such humour is out of place, is it not? But I have to deal with … things … somehow. My love, I think Barrington is looking for you. Ah, he’s coming over.’
‘This could be interesting. Shall we tell him who you are or let him find out?’
‘The latter.’
Apart from a minimal nod he ignored me as I gave a deep curtsy, head lowered.
‘Matthew, we need another council of war, don’t we? Have you any idea where that clever little wife of yours might be? Hortensia says they’ve spoken, but that was before luncheon. And I’m worried she went ahead with that hare-brained scheme of hers. No, not hare-brained. Far too bright for a hare. But very risky. What if she’s been caught in the act?’
‘I promise you she’s all right, sir,’ I declared, maid-servant Harriet, with another demure bob.
‘So where the devil is she?’
Yet another curtsy.
Barrington rocked on his feet. ‘Good God! Dear lady, I never realized!’
‘Good. That was the intention. But I should dress properly before I appear at your council of war. I must collect my own clothes first … Oh, Mason, thank you so much!’
With a solemn bow and a huge wink he presented me with a rush basket discreetly covered with a towel. With another bow, he withdrew.
‘In the sewing room in fifteen minutes, Cousin Barrington? Ten if you can come and undo these wretchedly inaccessible buttons, Matthew!’
‘It may,’ he said grimly, as we climbed the stairs together, ‘take a little longer than that. Harriet, Harriet, why did you take such a risk? No Turton? No – damn it, no me!’
‘I promise you, the risk was very small. I consulted Mrs Simpkiss – hence the uniform – and every time I searched a room she was in the one next door, ostensibly cleaning. In fact she too was searching. She suggested that we ask Mason to keep an eye on the corridor, ready to intercept any visitors returning to their room – he would ask them to wait until some vermin had been dealt with. Mrs Dabbs played her part too: she promised to send up the courses at longer intervals than usual.’
‘Where did you start?’ Now, in the safety of our bed chamber, he sounded perhaps more interested than furious.
‘In rooms of people to whom I’d not been introduced. Much easier.’
‘And there was no sign of the occupants themselves?’
‘None. They were at luncheon, remember. Oh, Matthew, I didn’t like invading the rooms of the boys, but by far the worst was the Major’s. To be honest, I was afraid – and not just of him, but of your reaction if he’d discovered me and hurt me.’ I took his hands and kissed them. ‘It was in his room I found this love-letter. It was crammed down the back of the sofa.’
He turned it over and over.
Dearest A
9.30.
Your adoring G
‘There’s nothing to suggest it might have been to the Major, of course,’ he said. ‘Did you find anything else?’
‘Some torn-up paper in his bin. It’s all here.’ I emptied my pocket, popping the contents into an envelope from the stationery rack on the desk. ‘These were his. I could not bring it with me but whoever occupied the room next to the Gräfin’s had on his washstand an IOU for fifty guineas.’
‘Fifty guineas owed here? My God! Who signed it?’
With a scowl I explained. ‘But with luck Mrs Simpkiss will have deciphered it. And I also have some scraps of paper from the Pidgeons’ room.’ They went into another envelope. ‘But the most significant find was in the Gräf—’
There was a tap at the door. I stowed the key in the nearest thing to hand – my reticule – before Matthew opened the door to a maid. ‘Sir, ma’am: the Colonel asks me to tell you that refreshments are served in the sewing room.’
I had rarely changed so quickly in my life.
Mason appeared with plates of sandwiches and other delicacies to sustain us: I was impressed that Mrs Dabbs had managed to produce them when she might need to prepare a quite different menu for the guests’ afternoon tea. And on a Sunday too, when she might reasonably have expected time off to herself.
After several sandwiches and a glass of wine, Barrington seemed relaxed, so I took a risk. ‘Cousin, with all the times and locations on our chart, we lack one thing,’ I lied, since I had of course made my own. ‘The guests’ rooms. I am sure Lady Hortensia must have a list somewhere. Do you think we might borrow it? I could copy and return it within minutes?’
‘Don’t see why not? But you never know – she might have left all the arrangement to Simpkins.’ Nodding, Barrington slipped out.
‘Why not ask Mrs Simpkiss herself?’
‘Because she’s much busier than Lady Hortensia!’
Without our host the atmosphere was considerably lighter. When Mason came to ascertain, as he put it, that all was well, he found us laughing. At first the young man managed to maintain his professional decorum and not ask a single question, though his head must have been fizzing with queries, not least with those concerning his own future. At very least he must hope he would become the acting butler, and perhaps in time get a permanent promotion. Meanwhile, I now thanked him very publicly for his part in our little plot.
Visibly relaxing, he bowed as if he regularly lurked in corridors to protect a fake maid searching guests’ luggage and cupboards. ‘If I may say so, ma’am, you would make a very good burglar. No one could tell that anyone had even entered their room except to clean and tidy it.’
‘I should hope not! After all, I started my training when I was Clara’s age – or younger. She was very brave, was she not?’
‘I was proud of her, ma’am. Do you think she will recall anything more about yesterday evening?’
‘Should we hope she does? It might help us find the murderer. But it might not do her any good to think about … her experiences. I know she is the most junior of all the indoor staff, but I am sure you will all take extra care of her.’
He grinned. ‘No one will be locking her up in any cellar on my watch, ma’am.’ He flushed scarlet. ‘I mean—’
Matthew dived in to rescue him. ‘Who put her there last night?’ he asked.
Was this a question too far? It was clearly pertinent enough to make the young man look over his shoulder, as if to make sure his employer was not within earshot. ‘It wasn’t actually the Colonel’s doing,’ he said. ‘It was Mr Biddlestone who dragged her downstairs and locked her in. But he isn’t – beg pardon – he wasn’t the sort of man to act without orders. Very keen on obeying orders, he was, as well as giving them.’
‘So do you have any idea who gave this one?’
‘The man young Clara says she saw, I should think.’ He looked from Matthew to Jeremy Turton. ‘She was doing really well remembering what had changed or not changed in each room until she got to the Gräfin’s, and then she said something about a man in the dressing room … Poor Clara! We got her out, quick as we could. Go back in she would not, no matter how much I told her that both rooms were empty.’
Matthew nodded. ‘We’ve still no idea who this man was?’
‘No. And my money’s on him as the killer. Yours too, ma’am, I should imagine.’ He slipped back into butler-mode. ‘Will that be all, sir? Ma’am? Thank you.’ He bowed, holding the door open for Cousin Barrington, who sank too quickly into a chair and winced in pain.
‘Cousin Harriet – I want to hear all about your escapade.’
I had rather he had produced the guest list, but I simply laughed. ‘Believe me, Cousin, it was far from that. We knew that all your guests were safely at luncheon. All we did was arm ourselves with feather dusters and cloths and give their rooms a good clean – perhaps behind and within things that are not part of a servant’s daily duties, but were beautifully clean nonetheless.’
‘God bless my soul! That’s very efficient.’ He paused while Mason entered, with two bottles of wine, one red, one white, and of course the appropriate glasses. ‘Did you get involved in this charade, Mason?’
‘I had the honour of patrolling the corridors outside the bed chambers – I believe Mrs Rowsley’s watchwords are Just in case. As it was, the only major task I undertook was to carry poor Clara down the back stairs when going into the Gräfin’s room reduced her to tears. Quite hysterical I’d say she was at one point. A cup of Mrs Dabbs’ finest cocoa seemed to soothe her, I am happy to say.’ He ensured our glasses were full, passed round the refreshments, and prepared to withdraw. As he did so, the door was flung open in his face.
Lady Hortensia. Should I stay seated with the rest of the team or curtsy my way out? I forced myself not to rise: after all, I was a guest, was I not? An equal. But if she did not consider me one, it was hard for me to behave as one.
In fact, it seemed that it was her policy to ignore me – and Matthew and Mason for good measure. Her nod to Jeremy was at best perfunctory.
‘My husband and I require a word in private,’ she announced.
Was it about the list I had asked for? If so, this did not look like the best moment for him to ask her anything.
‘Let us adjourn to your private sitting room, then, my love.’
‘There was a maid in there. On the Sabbath.’
‘Dear me. We must speak to Mrs Simpson about it.’
Clearly this response was inadequate: she stared implacably about her. At last he straightened. ‘My love, we are trying … this murder is taxing our brains. Look what young Mr Turton and Cousin Harriet have achieved.’ He gestured at the table. ‘Now, I am sure the servant must have finished in your sitting room. Mason, could you have some of her ladyship’s special tea sent up for us straightaway?’ Tucking her hand under his arm, he escorted her from the room, Mason in their wake.
I stood, as did the others.
Matthew rubbed his back. ‘I think we all deserve a break – perhaps a little fresh air. Harriet, Turton, would you care to join me in a turn about the terrace?’
I nodded, but Jeremy clearly thought the idea repellent. He cast a longing look at the table. Yes, thin youngsters needed their food and he in particular would hate the light chat that would be expected if anyone else was out there. In our turn, we would welcome some time together. But perhaps, after all the trouble to which Mrs Dabbs had put herself, we should eat first.
At last, all of us having done justice to what we had been offered, I smiled. ‘Don’t work too hard, Jeremy.’
He shook his head. ‘No. Coming. Bringing a sketch book. Best put on a show.’
Matthew saw us out, locking up as he left, and pocketing the key.
‘So you searched Hortensia’s sitting room too?’ Matthew asked in disbelief the moment we shut our bed chamber door.
We had returned to don the smart outdoor apparel necessary here for even the most casual airing.
‘Not I. I confined myself to the guests’ rooms. But,’ I added, ‘the fact that someone else was in there almost makes me regret I wasn’t. If Cousin Barrington failed to penetrate my disguise, I cannot believe that she would have done. And I do wonder which servant it was. I must ask Mrs Simpkiss. Matthew, imagine – they seem unable to remember the names of their own servants. That is hardly the recipe for a happy household.’
‘I recognize a change of subject when I hear it.’
‘Very well – let us go back to this morning.’ I produced the key from my reticule. ‘What could this open?’
‘A very large door.’ He looked at me anxiously. ‘I should have asked earlier: how did you get past the footmen guarding her room?’
‘I believe they were needed to serve luncheon,’ I said primly.
Matthew did not often swear, but several oaths passed his lips. ‘So someone directly disobeyed Barrington’s orders? The men themselves or the person who required their presence elsewhere?’
‘I do not think that it is a very happy marriage,’ I said. ‘Do you?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ He passed the key from hand to hand. ‘Should we try to return it? Let the village constable find it – when he eventually gets here?’
‘Hard for me to get in if the footmen are no longer serving strawberry meringue. Yes, strawberries – they won’t be ready in the Thorncroft succession houses for another week at least. But – assuming I can – I would like to copy it first. At home I could make a wax impression. Here I might have to confine myself with tracing it as accurately as I can. I don’t even want Jeremy to know about it, or I would ask him. What are you doing?’
‘Sharpening a pencil, my love. The least I can do after all you have achieved.’
I looked at him. ‘You are not as used to corpses as Cousin Barrington. How do you feel after your sad expedition?’
‘Chastened, if you want the most accurate response. A man in his prime, struck down quite literally – yes, there’s a duck egg of a bruise at the base of his head – and drowning in three inches of water. It’s very … sobering. The strange thing is there are only his tracks to the water. I’m sure we didn’t walk over anyone else’s. I hope not, at least. So how did his killer get there and how did he get away? Barrington’s theory is that he approached and left through the stream itself.’
‘Or she. Throttling even a woman needs a certain brute strength; hitting someone probably quite a lot, but not so much. As for getting there without leaving a trace I can’t even guess. I’d need to see where it all happened, perhaps. Which is not on the terrace, where we are supposed to be taking the air.’
‘The key first.’
He held both paper and key firmly as I followed the complicated line of the business end of the key. ‘We’d need a locksmith to identify this properly unless we try every door in the house. Or?’ He looked at me quizzically.
‘It couldn’t be a safe key, could it? It looks a bit like ours at the House. Which makes the question of who left it there even more interesting. Meanwhile, if I can’t return it, I must make sure no one else can find it. Those envelopes will fit in my reticule, but the key spoils the shape and someone might notice.’ I pondered. ‘I never thought I’d ever say this, but thank goodness for this corset. No. Too uncomfortable. I’ll have to hang it from the crinoline cage.’
‘Do you have to do it immediately?’ he murmured.
I found I did not.