‘Our hot water will be here any moment,’ Harriet declared. ‘Quick – under the covers with you. Look a bit more deathly if you can. That’s better.’ Smiling wickedly she resumed, or more accurately began, sponging my forehead, not with vinegar – I drew the line at that – but with her lavender water, which she assured me would be just as efficacious if my migraine were indeed real. An observer would think she had made a remarkable recovery from the horrible incident in the library. To me she sounded brittle, an instinct reinforced by her unlikely cavorting on the table in Biddlestone’s room.
‘A certain cure,’ I observed, trying to join in her mood, ‘would be a little wine mixed with water. But I will add any water myself, thank you. Or even not add any.’
‘I’ll ask the hot-water footman – though it may well interrupt the poor man’s routine. Any particular wine, sir?’ she asked, horribly, for a moment, like Biddlestone.
‘That white burgundy that came with the fish was drinkable, wasn’t it? Or some hock? You choose,’ I said grandiloquently.
Once the water and then the wine had appeared – I was tempted by a biblical joke that would have been in particularly bad taste on the Sabbath – I braced myself for a conversation that might upset her greatly.
‘My love,’ I began, ‘I hope I did not betray a confidence when I told Constable Davies about your encounter with Jameson – whose first name, incidentally, I’ve still not asked about. He will want, I think, to talk to you about it in the morning—’
Her interruption grated: ‘I hoped he was going to reveal the contents of the papers in the finial then.’
‘I think he might do both. Can you bear it?’
There was a long pause as she looked into the middle distance. At last, with a visible effort, she said, ‘If it will stop Jameson – he truly doesn’t deserve the honour of his military title, does he? – behaving like that to others, then so be it. But it won’t, will it? Of course it won’t. For all they’re called gentlemen, all too many men behave like animals, rutting animals. Think of that case Mark defended last summer: all those drunken students raping a child, whom they then accused of being a prostitute. Pah!’ Springing to her feet, she paced back and forth, ringing her hands. ‘Oh, Matthew, how I wish Mark and Dora were here. Or your dear Mama. Or that Mrs Dabbs were Bea. Another woman I love and trust to tell me … to believe me when I tell them how I came by my necklace, not to sneer because I can’t sing, not to blame me for the rape that took my childhood!’ she ended passionately. She emptied her glass in a single draught. Her laugh was rueful. ‘I’m so sorry. To hear me anyone would think I was not with the most important person on my world, and that I somehow blamed you. Forgive me. I am … overwrought, am I not? Oh, this damned crinoline, this damned corset.’
Wrapping my arms about her, I wept with her – in my case tears of contrition for bringing her here. I had never known her like this. At last, as she quietened, I ventured, ‘Did Jameson’s behaviour in the library … did it make you recall the attack when you were a child?’
She nodded. ‘Even the smells. The smell of lust and anger, the smell of animal fear – mine. They still trespass into my dreams, you know. When I am in the arms of the man I love beyond … I still get that dream, for all I deny it.’
‘I thought you did. My love, forgive me if this sounds crass. We spoke of hypnotism helping with pain, perhaps helping with poor Jeremy’s affliction. When we are safe at home, might we discuss if it would help you?’ If I hoped she would smile, I was to be disappointed. But there was something even more reassuring, perhaps, as she slowly nodded.
‘Yes. Let us research it as Francis would research his Roman remains and make an informed decision. Oh, damnation!’
A peacock was screaming just below our window.
At last we could both laugh, but I admit that the joke wore as thin as our prospects of sleeping. I did the only thing I could think of. I tipped the soapy water from our wash-stand bowl out of the window – to immediate effect.
Neither of us having slept well, we agreed that the best way to escape home was to assist the constable and his still absent cousin – ‘Don’t forget the pigeon,’ Harriet urged – as best we could and solve the hideous crimes. We both prayed with selfish sincerity that no other unnatural deaths would occur to detain us. As for the inquests, I chose not to remind her that one day we would have to return.
Eschewing the doubtful pleasures of late breakfast with our fellow guests, we went straight to the sewing room, bright and cheerful in the early sun, where we were greeted by Mason, who unlocked it with something of a flourish and a readiness to talk. It transpired that Constable Davies had not spent the night guarding Clara; he had gone home to his own bed and the Bible beside it. But both Mrs Simpkiss and Clara had survived, however, not least, in Mason’s opinion, because he had found the door to the Room blocked from within.
‘I thought I ought to report to Mrs Simpkiss, having no one else to report to,’ he added dryly. ‘Sir, ma’am, I understand that Colonel Rowsley is under the weather – beg pardon, indisposed – this morning, and will join you later. He has days like this sometimes, poor gentleman, but a hot hip-bath has been known to work wonders. I understand that he will leave her ladyship to supervise the guests’ breakfast, and present himself for duty at nine, or thereabouts.’ Unconsciously, I think, he straightened slightly as he delivered my cousin’s words.
‘I’m sorry to hear he’s unwell. One of his old wounds? Very well, when Constable Davies arrives, perhaps you could bring him straight here, unless, of course, he feels his duties call him elsewhere, so we may talk as we eat. I can’t imagine he would like to take breakfast with the guests. Of course, he may well prefer to be with people he knows in the servants’ hall,’ Harriet said. There might have been the tiniest hint of a question in her suggestion. After all, we knew that the staff did not regard him highly.
Certainly Mason treated it as an invitation to give information. ‘Between ourselves, ma’am, he’s chapel. A bit stand-offish when it comes to harvest homes and Christmas dances. Regards alcohol as one of the devil’s works. So it’s awkward for us, serving wine and spirits all the time, not to mention having beer with our meals as part of our pay.’
‘What? I thought that practice was long dead!’ Harriet rarely squeaked or squawked, but she did now. There was no doubt of her angry disbelief. ‘Imagine,’ she continued, ‘having your board and lodging deducted from your tiny income – especially if you are paid in beer which you might not drink. Lady Croft stopped that practice at least ten years ago. On the advice of his late lordship, I dare say, but stopped it was.’
I winked at Mason. ‘I have an idea that Mrs Rowsley – when she was Mrs Faulkner, of course – might have had a part to play too.’
‘You couldn’t have a word with—’ He stopped abruptly. ‘Beg pardon for being too familiar, ma’am. I will go and see if the constable has arrived.’
‘Just one question, if I may,’ Harriet said with something of a rush. ‘Dogs! Why are there none in the house?’
He almost flinched at the apparently innocent question. ‘I beg you, ma’am, if I tell you, that you’ll never mention it in front of the Colonel! Ever!’
‘Of course.’ She looked as taken aback as I felt.
His voice almost inaudible. ‘There was a disagreement about something. And an argument. And by mistake someone shot the Colonel’s favourite dog. The one he cared for most. And now he won’t have another. Harrison always had a dog with him. Now, out of respect, he leaves it back in his cottage.’ He gave punctilious bow and left.
‘Dear God,’ Harriet breathed. ‘So—’
I touched my finger to her lips and nodded towards the wall. ‘He fears it has ears, doesn’t he? My love, this is not a happy house, is it? Quick, pinpoint the killer and let us run. But not,’ I said slowly, ‘till I’ve seen those accounts again. At dawn I knew I had missed something. But I could not remember what, no matter how hard I tossed and turned.’
‘So I noticed,’ she observed dryly. ‘Ah. Constable Davies has left our chart here. Let me look over it again while you start on the accounts. And then we can swap.’
Time and again I forgot that for many years she, not the butler with his ageing eyes, had been responsible for the household accounts. ‘Yes, please,’ I said humbly. ‘Or you could look at the accounts first, if you wouldn’t mind.’
‘Of course. So long as you find that Jameson could have had the opportunity to kill both men and probably took it.’
For all he was teetotal, Davies looked decidedly the worse for wear when he joined us barely five minutes later.
‘Teething,’ he said, when I asked if he was all right. ‘When one twin stopped howling the other started. Good lungs, both of them. Mason offered to bring me coffee and I said yes. I hope it’s all right.’
‘Mrs Dabbs provides wonderful breakfasts too. I hope you will join us.’
‘You don’t eat with the other guests?’ He sounded disapproving.
‘As you can imagine,’ Harriet said smoothly, ‘some of them regard us as traitors—’ She touched the accounts book and nodded at the statement chart. ‘As a consequence, there can be uncomfortable moments.’
He did not look convinced. ‘You might overhear something interesting. Or would that be spying?’
‘Tell tale tit, your tongue will split and all the little puppy dogs will have a little bit,’ she chanted. ‘Constable Davies, it’s bad enough being a jumped-up servant giving herself airs and siding with an eleven-year-old maid who is surely incapable of killing even a chicken. I don’t want to add fuel to their fire.’
He almost flinched in the face of her anger.
‘I beg your pardon, Constable, I have not been myself since my encounter with Major Jameson yesterday.’
‘But last night you were leaping around like a mountain goat, ma’am.’ He blushed scarlet, the pimple on his chin almost visibly throbbing. ‘But,’ he added, surprising me, ‘not in front of the others, of course. Beg pardon, ma’am. Tell me, if you wouldn’t mind, about that … encounter.’
She sat, folding her hands in her lap. ‘Have you seen the library? No? Oh, it’s the best room in the building. You must find an excuse to see it while you are working here. There are a few good paintings, and some very gracious furniture. And books.’
‘Ma’am, I’ve already found an excuse: the fact you were in danger there. I’d like to see it now, if you please. At least,’ he added ruefully, ‘as soon as I’ve had a cup of coffee.’
Mason arrived as if on cue, and withdrew with professional promptness. He had learned to close the door firmly.
‘It must be very hard, having to work with so little sleep,’ I said.
‘It is and it isn’t. Most of the time I have, to be honest, a very quiet life. A bit of cattle-rustling, sheep-worrying, setting ricks on fire. I’ve always dreamt of a bigger crime, like – but I must tell you a bit of routine would have been easier this morning. There!’ He drained his cup. ‘Shall you lead the way, sir?’
He was silent as we walked through the house, rabbit-eyes wider than ever at the luxury that the owner took for granted. It was only when we entered the library, closing the doors behind us, that he spoke. ‘There, I’ve done something my auntie never managed! She was in service here ten, fifteen years – ended up as chief kitchen maid before she married Uncle Idris. And never once, never once in all those years, did she ever come this side of the green baize door. And she never saw all this!’ He sat heavily as he gazed about him but was on his feet in a minute, dusting the leather seat in embarrassment. His notebook at the ready, he said, ‘Now, ma’am, could you tell me what happened and where?’
She walked towards a shelf, removing a book, holding the spine towards us: The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling. Though she held it out to him, he waved it away as if he was afraid of it. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘It’s over a hundred years old. Many hands have touched it. That’s what books are for. If you can hold a wriggling baby without dropping it, you can hold this without fear. And smell it.’
At last he returned it to her. ‘You are just an ordinary woman, like, and yet you are so familiar with things as precious as this. When I was taught to read and write, I never knew … I thought … No, never mind what I thought. You’re here looking at this book and Major Jameson comes in.’ He wrote in his notebook.
‘He was furious to find me there. Not necessarily because I was here. He’d have been just as cross to come across me anywhere.’
‘Ah! That catch.’
‘He believed that it had affected the result of the cricket match.’
He scratched his head. ‘If you weren’t in the team, the batsman couldn’t have been given out, could he?’
‘Of course not. But I caused a few minutes’ delay—’
‘Not as long as if the baby had been hit,’ he pointed out, closing his eyes as if imagining the horror.
‘He clearly never thought of that. Anyway, while I was trying to recover my dignity, as it were, the heavens opened. And thus the match ended in a tie.’
‘All this fits with what I’ve been told. So why should he be so angry? Did he actually strike you?’
‘No. Something in my past – a very long time ago – made me fear he would. Assume he would. Maybe something worse. And his language and demeanour were both threatening. Very … frightening. He walked towards me. “What the hell are you doing here?” I attempted a light remark. He was more concerned with attacking me over what he considered my snooping and – of course – the way I had ruined the cricket match.’
‘“Attack?” Did he have some sort of weapon?’
‘His strength and his hands. And …’ We understood. What he might have used to rape her. ‘Mine were a defensive table, this one, and the paper-knife I dared not use—’
He nodded. ‘Might have turned it against you.’
‘—and this inkwell, which I would have thrown not at him but through the window.’
‘Through the window? Ah! To attract attention.’
‘Fortunately Lady Pidgeon came into the room at some point and the Major withdrew. Since I don’t know exactly when she entered, and my memory may not be accurate, I can only suggest you speak to her. But you have more important matters in hand, Constable. Two deaths.’
He fingered his giant pimple. ‘But a man who is violent in one way might be violent in another. Let me re-read his statement and check that chart of yours. And when I speak to everyone, as I must, I’ll watch out for him and this Lady – did I hear her name correct?’
‘Lady Pidgeon. With a D.’
He nodded. ‘Ah. Tell you what, I sent another sort of pigeon – no D – to my cousin.’ We exchanged a smile to acknowledge his gentle quip. ‘Told him to get a move on. To be honest, I don’t know what I can do if all the ladies and gentlemen just decide to leave. I can tell them not to but I can’t hold them back.’ He spread his arms, like a man herding sheep without a dog. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, ma’am, but I wish he might have committed crimes in other grand rooms like this. It’s been an education coming in here.’
‘But one of the crimes was committed in a grand room,’ Harriet cried. ‘Nothing like as grand as this, I admit. You have the key I found there. The Gräfin’s bed chamber. Silk wall hangings. A Chinese carpet. Lovely little pictures. And the view! Oh, and you must approach via the house itself, not up through the service corridors, so you see even more wonderful things. And then I can show you where that large key was concealed.’
‘What? Now? I mean, I should have looked at it last night, but what with one thing and another, and that other little key I’ve not given a thought to – don’t tell my cousin, will you?’
‘Of course not.’ But I might have to remind him about it. ‘Now’s a good time for exploring the house,’ I pointed out. ‘Most of the guests won’t leave their chambers till after nine, possibly later.’
He rolled his eyes heavenward. ‘Best of the day is gone by then. Right, you’re on. Hang on, I take it it’s locked.’
‘Mrs Simpkiss will have a door key. And also whatever she took from … various pockets.’
His face fell. ‘So it’ll be the back stairs, then.’
‘Collect the key and her finds and meet us in the sewing room. Then we can escort you up the grand staircase.’
‘If both of us escort you, it might be a bit too obvious,’ Harriet said. ‘I will collect the key and go up the servants’ stairs and meet you and Matthew there. I might be dressed somewhat differently …’ And then she stopped dead. Very slowly, she moved from bookcase to bookcase. ‘Perhaps Lady Hortensia’s guests have turned to literature to console them while they have to stay here.’
Davies joined her. ‘Or—? What’s wrong, ma’am?’
‘Some books are worth more than others. First editions, like those I showed you. And several have gone. You can see where someone has spread out a lot to make it look as if there are no gaps. There. And there.’
‘You wouldn’t know which?’
She shook her head. ‘I think there was one by Richardson there – all the volumes of a long book called Clarissa.’ She smiled. ‘It’s not a book one undertakes lightly, believe me. I can understand anyone wanting to read a book by Jane Austen – and look, they’ve been reshuffled too. Milton … Dryden … Someone has good but wide-ranging taste and a very great deal of time. Or there may be a perfectly innocent explanation that several people simply want to read a book.’
He looked her straight in the eye and held her gaze. ‘Is that an explanation you believe, ma’am?’
‘I honestly don’t know enough about any of the guests to hazard a guess,’ she said. ‘If I were bored and without employment, I would certainly have helped myself to a book by any of those authors – maybe not Milton.’
I knew I had to say something that revolted me to utter. ‘My love, your love of books is known to several people. What if one of them has removed some from here to make it look as if you have – to put not too fine a point upon it – stolen them?’
‘With all due respect, sir, let us cross that bridge if we come to it. Let us do as Mrs Rowsley suggests. Ma’am, how long will it take to make yourself look different – I take it you mean dressing as a maid, again? Because I wouldn’t mind spending a few more minutes here before we meet upstairs.’
With a smile, she turned to leave. ‘Give me ten minutes. Matthew, it may be that there is some evidence Mr Davies should see in the picture gallery. If you want to see really grand things, Constable, you will see them there.’