Chapter 5

Wickfield Lodge, Servants Hall—December 1938

“How can you even think about a wedding when there’s a madman on the loose?” Millie shivered.

Millie was a day maid. She was young and a bit silly.

“What are you on about now?” Mrs. McDuffy asked.

“The Halifax Slasher.” The maid stared at the housekeeper in wonder. “It’s all over the papers. He’s killing people just like the Ripper.”

“You ’ush!” Mrs. McDuffy didn’t have time or patience for nonsense. “That’s just a lot of nonsense to sell papers, and, if it weren’t, Halifax is a long way from Wickfield Lodge.” She folded her arms across her chest.

The chastened housemaid dropped her head and fell silent.

“Lady Daphne will make such a lovely bride.” Flossie sighed.

The Marsh family servants assembled in the servants’ hall while Thompkins informed the servants of the arrangements he’d recently discussed with Lady Elizabeth. The solid, uptight, and straitlaced butler took his duty to the family seriously. He would insure Lady Daphne had the wedding of her dreams. If hard work and determination could do it, then the butler was well equipped. He’d make sure the young woman he’d watched grow from a bouncing baby to a beautiful debutante had exactly what she wanted.

“Of course she will, but three weeks isn’t much time,” Mrs. McDuffy, the housekeeper said with a bit of trepidation. “There’ll be washing and ironing and airing out of all the bedrooms.” The middle-aged housekeeper was stout with freckles and fluffy red hair. She was a bit coarse, with a bad habit of dropping her Hs when she spoke, but she was as committed to the Marsh family, and especially Lady Elizabeth, as the butler. She’d make sure the house was ready and glanced at the three housemaids under her charge, who’d have to work night and day to get everything into shape.

“Regardless of the time, we will do what must be done to uphold the honor of his lordship and the Marsh family.” Thompkins delivered his reprimand with a straight back and his head held high.

“I never said no different. I’ve never shirked my responsibilities to ’er ladyship and I ain’t about to start now.” She folded her arms across her chest and huffed. “My girls’ll make sure this ’ouse is in tip-top shape. You just wait and see.”

Thompkins nodded. He knew Mrs. McDuffy would work tirelessly to make sure all was ready.

“Mr. Thompkins, sir.” Gladys, the housemaid, timidly raised a hand. “Do we know how many guests to expect?”

“Not yet, but I’d say we better plan for at least a hundred.”

“Do you think the King will come?” Flossie looked dreamily at the butler. “Them being cousins and all.”

“I don’t know. His Majesty has always been very fond of Lady Daphne.” Thompkins stood straighter. “Nevertheless, we will need to make sure everything is spotless and each of us are at our best. You never can tell.”

“Oh, lawd.” Flossie looked as though she would pass out.

“Now, don’t you go getting no crazy notions in that silly ’ead of yours. Just you mind what you’re doing. It’s going to be ’ard enough without you mooning about the king,” Mrs. McDuffy said.

“I wouldn’t hold out much hope if I was you,” Jim, a footman, teased. “The king didn’t go to his own brother’s wedding. I can’t rightly see him coming down here for a mere cousin.”

Flossie’s smiled dropped away.

Frank McTavish, a footman and son of the groundskeeper, kicked Jim under the table. “Don’t you fret none. There’ll be plenty of aristocrats even if the king doesn’t come.”

“You think so?” Flossie asked.

“Just you wait and see.” Frank winked.

“Three weeks is all good for the rest of you, but that’s hardly enough time to get all of the cookin’ and bakin’ done for a party that size. When do you suppose we’ll be gettin’ a menu?” Mrs. Anderson, the cook asked.

Thompkins bristled. “Her ladyship will address the staff first thing tomorrow. I’m sure she will provide everything you need then.”

Mrs. Anderson turned to her daughter, Agnes. “We better get started on some things first thing tomorrow. We’ll be busy with the weddin’ menu and with guests in the house, and there won’t be time to breathe if we don’t get started early.”

Mrs. McDuffy used the table to help hoist her large frame out of the chair. “We best get busy. There’ll be plenty of scrubbing and washing that we can do.”

Thompkins coughed. “One more thing.” He frowned at the housekeeper, who reluctantly returned to her seat. “Due to the short time frame, Lady Daphne and His Grace have decided to hire someone to help with some of the arrangements.”

Mrs. McDuffy’s eyes narrowed. “ ’Ired someone? Who?”

“I believe they called him a wedding planner.” Thompkins looked around at the servants.

Mrs. McDuffy snorted.

The rest of the group whispered.

Gladys raised a timid hand. “I’m sorry, Mr. Thompkins, sir, but what exactly is a wedding planner?”

Thompkins knew he intimidated the young housemaid, but he wasn’t exactly sure what a wedding planner was himself and didn’t want to look foolish in front of the staff. “I believe it’s someone who helps plan weddings.”

“Well, I bloody well figured that much out just by the name,” Mrs. McDuffy said.

The butler bristled. “Mrs. McDuffy, I’ll remind you to watch your language.”

Mrs. McDuffy rolled her eyes.

“I saw it in a flick.” Flossie’s eyes grew big. “This family hired a real artistic bloke to help plan their wedding. You should have seen all of the beautiful flowers and things and the dresses. There was silk and satin everywhere. And, the food looked amazing,” she gushed.

“Well, I don’t care who they hire. I’ll not have anyone interferin’ in me kitchen.” Mrs. Anderson smacked her hand on the table and stared at the butler.

“You mark my words. No good will come of ’iring some ruddy person from outside of the family,” Mrs. McDuffy said.

My phone rang early. I opened one eye and stared at the time. It was still dark outside and not even Snickers was ready to be up quite this early. “Hell—”

Mom’s voice was two decibels louder and two octaves higher than normal, which was almost at the point only dogs could hear.

“Calm down. I can’t understand you.” I sat up in bed and put the phone on speaker to save my eardrums.

Between her sobs, I could only make out every other word. “Who’s dead?”

I stared at the phone because staring increased your hearing. At least it seemed reasonable at the time. “Did you say, Lydia Lighthouse?”

I got out of bed and hunted around for shoes. “I’ll be there as soon as I get dressed,” I replied to my mom’s order to come at once. “I might have to get someone to watch the . . . Hello?”

She’d hung up.

I looked at the clock. It was barely six on Monday morning. Of all the ways to start a week, a frantic call from my mom before sunrise and coffee would probably top my list for worst starts ever. To be honest, I wasn’t fond of Lydia Lighthouse. She was loud, brassy, bossy, overbearing, and snooty. If I analyzed my feelings, I was embarrassed to say the only surprise was that someone hadn’t killed her earlier. Planning a wedding was stressful enough without dealing with Lydia. Nope, my stress was for the purely selfish reason that without Lydia, someone, and I mentally inserted my name, would have to help coordinate the wedding. I shook my head to clear images of myself in a green tartan tablecloth.

I hurried to dress and raised my hand to Nana Jo’s bedroom door but thought better of it. Instead, I went into the kitchen and quickly made coffee. The single cup coffeemaker was quick and, just a few minutes later, I was back at her door. This time I followed through and pounded on the bedroom door.

There were several bumps and a crash that sounded as though a pile of books hit the floor, which was quickly followed by a few well-chosen oaths. The door swung open. “Someone better be dead, or they soon will be.”

“Lydia Lighthouse.”

Nana Jo stared at me as though I’d lost my senses. “What?”

I shoved the coffee mug at her. “Lydia Lighthouse was murdered. Mom just called. We’ve got to get over to her place before she has a stroke.”

I turned and walked away with Nana Jo still standing at her door.

Snickers wasn’t thrilled about getting up two hours earlier than normal, but she did her business and hurried back upstairs. Oreo spent five minutes stretching and then found a mound of snow that wasn’t yellowed from previous visits and took care of his business.

By the time the poodles were taken care of, Nana Jo was dressed. She pulled a knit cap over her head. “I’m going to need a lot more coffee and a sausage biscuit before I can face your mother.”

“Agreed.” I followed her downstairs.

It was too early for what constituted South Harbor’s rush hour traffic. The sun hadn’t yet risen, so it was dark and cold. The drive to Mom’s South Harbor villa was delayed by a stop at a fast-food drive-thru. Nana Jo finished a sausage biscuit and a hash brown patty that smelled fantastic in the confines of my car before we pulled up to Mom’s house. I focused on sipping my coffee without spilling it, which was a skill I had yet to master.

When we arrived, the front door to my mom’s house flew open and she stood at the door, waiting for us to enter.

I hurried inside, juggling a coffee, my purse, and a greasy bag of food, with a newspaper stuffed under my arm.

“What took you so long?”

“Good morning to you too,” I said as brightly as possible, but the sarcasm was wasted on my mother.

I walked into the house and looked for someplace to set my coffee and bag so I could remove my boots. Having finished her food in the car, Nana Jo was less encumbered and was able to deboot faster. She held out her hand. “Here, let me help you.”

I breathed a sigh of relief and handed over my precious cargo. The last thing I needed on top of my mom’s hysteria was to spill coffee or track wet snow through the house. Those sins would not be easily forgiven.

At the table, I sat down and reached for my coffee. Unfortunately, my mother took that opportunity to shove the newspaper at me, which caused me to spill my coffee.

My mom sighed and went to the kitchen to get a towel. “It’s a good thing I took Grandma Sarah’s tablecloth to the cleaners.”

“It’s just coffee, Grace. Calm down,” Nana Jo ordered.

Few people had the power to stop my mother in the middle of a hysterical fit, but Nana Jo had the gift.

Mom sat at the table.

“We rushed over as fast as we could.” She sat across from Mom. “Now, how did you find out about the murder?”

Mom pointed to the newspaper.

Nana Jo unfolded it and read while I ate my sausage biscuit and the now-cold hash browns.

Lydia Lighthouse’s murder was on the front page of the newspaper. One advantage to a small town was murders don’t happen every day. Domestic disputes, drunken brawls, or weather-related accidents that were exacerbated by alcohol were prominent. Murder, not so much. So, a great deal of space was allocated for a real murder. According to the newspaper, she was found facedown on the drawbridge that crossed over the St. Thomas River. An early morning bridge worker saw what he thought was a heap of clothes on the bridge. Closer inspection showed the heap to be a person. Thinking it was a homeless person, he went to ask the woman to move. I mentally translated that to he went to force her to find another place to sleep. It wasn’t until he was directly over the body that he realized the heap of clothes was a dead woman.

“I can’t say I’m going to miss her.” Nana Jo folded the newspaper.

“What am I going to do?” Mom burst into tears.

Nana Jo and I exchanged a glance. “Grace, pull yourself together.” Nana Jo passed Mom a handkerchief. “I know you weren’t any crazier about Lydia Lighthouse than the rest of us.”

She shook her head.

“You’ve only known the woman for a week. She was a snob who treated you like dirt. Frankly, I don’t understand why you’re so upset she’s dead.”

Mom looked up. “I’m not upset she’s dead.” She sniffed.

“Then what’s with the waterworks?” Nana Jo asked.

“I’m upset because they’re going to arrest Harold for her murder.”