01 - Murder at Ashgrove House (8 page)

Edith came to with a start. She must have been daydreaming. She did that
so often now, that she was not even conscious that she was doing it. She found
it hard to remember how her days had been before, when she had participated in
the world around her and not found the need to retreat into her own thoughts.

She turned her head and looked at the wooden clock on the mantelpiece,
her eyes widening in surprise as she realised that somehow two hours had gone
by since her husband had left for work. How had that happened? It seemed only a
few minutes ago. If she didn’t get a move on she would not arrive at Ashgrove
until just before dinner and that really wouldn’t do, it would be much too late
and Constance was bound to telephone to see where she was and Alice would let
slip to Harold about her very late departure and then he would know that she
had been going over her memories, thinking of a time when she had been happy
... She could see his face now, creased up with all that pent up hurt that he was
trying so hard not to show in case he exploded.

Oh, why did she have to cause him so much pain? He was a good man who
deserved better, a better wife than her, anyway. He should never have married
her, she realised that now; he could have been happy with a different wife, a
wife who wasn’t her. Poor Harold, if only things had been different, if only …
but no, she must not allow herself to dwell on “if onlys”. When she thought
about it, her life had been full of “if onlys”, really nothing else but “if onlys”,
but she must not allow herself to think about it now otherwise she would drive
herself mad. A little voice inside her head told her that she was already half
mad. But one had to go on, everyone expected one to go on, Harold expected her
to go on and she was trying so hard not to disappoint him any more than she had
done already. She owed him that much at least, it was just that she found it
all so difficult, this going on.

Reluctantly she roused herself from her chair and went to pack her
suitcase. If she asked Alice to do it for her, it would take all day because
Alice had no idea what one wore in the country, she was such a townie. It would
be nice to see Ashgrove again, the lovely gardens, the woodland, the lake. If
only she could have been there alone to enjoy it, to take in the sunshine and
the glorious flowers with perhaps only the faithful and unobtrusive Stafford
and Mrs Palmer on hand to see to her few needs. She didn’t want Constance to be
there. She didn’t want to endure Constance’s endless chatter and catch her
every so often looking pityingly at her out of the corner of her eye, while all
the time knowing that Constance thought that she should have got over it all by
now, that was the British thing to do after all, keeping a stiff upper lip.

But it was easier said than done and it was all very well for Constance
to think like that, Constance who had been pretty and rich and popular and had
never longed or wanted for anything in her life, but had got everything handed
to her on a plate. Sometimes she hated Constance. She tried not to, because
really it wasn’t fair of her, it wasn’t Constance’s fault after all and
Constance was so kind to her, even if it was in a rather absentminded,
patronising way.

Well, at least there weren’t going to be any other guests, except for
Lavinia and her friend, of course, and Edith could easily keep out of their way
by walking in the gardens and in the woods because they would hardly want to
bother with a middle-aged woman like herself. It might prove a blessing in disguise
because hopefully Constance would spend most of her time fussing over them and
subjecting them to her trivial chatter. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad. And
after all, there was always William, if things got too bad, there was always
William.

‘Mrs Palmer, I wondered if I might have a quiet word.’

The cook-housekeeper had rarely seen the butler look uncomfortable, if
ever, and she was immediately intrigued.

‘But of course, Mr Stafford, shall we go to my sitting room or to your
parlour?’

‘To my parlour, I think, Mrs Palmer. Hopefully I won’t keep you a minute
because of course I know how busy you are with all this extra work associated
with our additional guests; young Bessie told me you weren’t able to get much
help in from the village today.’

‘No indeed, Mr Stafford, I’m afraid it was too short notice, we’ll have
to cope the best we can today, but I’m hoping that we’ll have more luck
tomorrow otherwise we’ll all be working all hours,’ replied Mrs Palmer,
following the butler to his parlour. ‘You’d think with the amount of people out
of work these days, we’d have no problem getting people in to help out for a
few hours. Now, what did you want to talk to me about, Mr Stafford, I’m
assuming that it isn’t about labour shortages?’

‘No, indeed not, Mrs Palmer. It’s really rather a delicate matter, I’m
afraid,’ said Stafford, closing the door behind them, ‘and I’m not sure exactly
how to put it without shocking you. ‘It concerns young Lord Sedgwick’s friend,
Marquis Sneddon. I wouldn’t have mentioned anything until I was sure that he
was definitely coming, but I was afraid that things would get too busy later on
to discuss things properly, so I thought we should deal with the issue now.’

‘Indeed, Mr Stafford, you intrigue me,’ Mrs Palmer was all ears. ‘Is
there an issue with this friend of Master Cedric’s? A marquis, you say he is,
Mr Stafford?’

‘It’s a courtesy title, Mrs Palmer. He’s the only surviving son of the
Duke of Haywater and so is heir to the dukedom. But I’m afraid there is an
issue, Mrs Palmer. I am sorry to say that the gentleman has a certain, how
shall I put it delicately, a certain
reputation
for leading young
servant girls astray in the houses he is staying in.’

‘No!’

‘Indeed, Mrs Palmer, I’m afraid so. You may recall that I am on quite
friendly terms with Mr Gifford, the butler at Beswick Hall, and when he
discovered that Lord Sedgwick had struck up a friendship with the marquis, he
saw fit to warn me of what happened when Lord Sneddon stayed at Beswick Hall
last summer. I’m sorry to say that when he was in drink he got one of the young
housemaids into trouble and she had to be sent away. When Gifford looked into
the matter further, he discovered that a similar thing had occurred the
previous year when Lord Sneddon was a guest at another country
house.’   

‘Oh, Mr Stafford, how awful, think about our poor girls!’ wailed Mrs
Palmer. ‘Young Annie has got her head screwed on alright, but what about Bessie
and little Edna. They are daft as can be about boys; they’re just the sort of
foolish young girls to be impressed by a duke’s son taking an interest in them.
And then one thing will lead to another, they have no sense these young girls,
no sense at all.’

‘I
am
thinking about our young girls, Mrs Palmer,’ replied
Stafford solemnly, ‘and that is why I’m suggesting putting certain measures in
place in order to deter his lordship from making any unsuitable advances to
them. The families of these young girls entrust us with their daughters’
wellbeing. It is our duty to provide them with moral guidance and to keep them
safe from harm while they’re under this roof. And I cannot tell you what shame
it would bring on this house, or how much I would feel I had failed, if a
servant from Ashgrove were to leave in disgrace.’

‘Ay, that’s the trouble of it, isn’t it, Mr Stafford? Everyone will say
that the girl has done what she shouldn’t have done and ought to have known
better, and if she takes her trouble home, likely as not it’ll be the threat of
the workhouse for her. But no-one ever thinks less of the man who got the girl
into trouble, they don’t blame him for it, he’s just seen as a bit of a lad,
especially if he’s a duke’s son. It isn’t fair, Mr Stafford, I can tell you
that, there’s one rule for men and another for women.’

‘That as may be, Mrs Palmer, and I don’t say as I don’t agree with you,
but I’m afraid that, while society thinks the way it does, there is nothing
that we can do about it except do everything in our power to make sure nothing
of the sort happens at Ashgrove.’ The butler looked both sad and solemn, but
Mrs Palmer fancied underneath both those emotions she could also see a look of
steel and determination. ‘It would seem that these occurrences happen late at
night when the household is asleep and the young lord is the worse for drink.
We must make sure that he is given no opportunity to roam about the house and
visit the servants’ bedrooms. He won’t be able to get to them through the attic
door because we can easily keep that locked. What is worrying me, Mrs Palmer,
is what we do about the green baize door off the hall. That’s the only other
way he can gain access to the servants’ quarters. But we can hardly keep that
locked, not with her ladyship the way she is.’

‘Mr Stafford, we’ll have to. I’m sure that her ladyship will be far too
tired from all her entertaining to think about getting up in the middle of the
night to come down for a midnight feast. I mean, it isn’t as if she does it
that regularly any more after all, just on the odd occasion when she hasn’t eaten
much at dinner. But that’s hardly going to be the case this weekend, not with
all the dishes I’ll be producing.’

‘Even so, Mrs Palmer, it’s just possible that the mood will take her and
then what’ll her ladyship think if she can’t get into the kitchen because we’ve
locked the door?’

Mrs Palmer sighed. She knew there was no reasoning with the butler where
Lady Withers was concerned, for he would never hear of her being inconvenienced
or put out in any way. Personally she thought that Lady Withers should have
been discouraged, long before now, from roaming the kitchen in search of food.
She was very much of the view that the household should remain their side of
the green baize door and she could not stop herself from conjuring up images in
her mind of her mistress poking around in cupboards and inspecting the work
surfaces for dust or dirt, which was irrational because she knew that Lady
Withers was quite oblivious to such things. But her ladyship was not above
poking about in the refrigerator for food, as Mrs Palmer knew to her cost. On
one fateful occasion, the cook-housekeeper had come down one morning to find a
plateful of cold roast beef, earmarked for that day’s luncheon, gone and had
blamed all the servants in turn before discovering that Lady Withers had been
the culprit. After that an informal arrangement of sorts had been put in place
whereby each evening, before retiring to bed, Mrs Palmer would leave out some
food covered with a cloth for Lady Withers to sup from if she found herself
hungry in the middle of the night.

‘There is no way around it, Mrs Palmer, we will have to leave the door
unfastened. The only solution, as I see it, is to ensure that someone is on
watch all through the night.’ He raised his hand as Mrs Palmer looked as if she
were about to protest. ‘No, I’m not suggesting that it be left to just one
person to do. I’m proposing that Briggs, Bridges and I take shifts. I’m not
intending to use young Albert; he’s a good lad but I doubt he’ll be able to
hold his tongue about it. It makes sense for Bridges to take the first shift
and then he can go off to his cottage, I’ll take the middle one and then Briggs
can take the last. That way none of us will lose too much sleep so we’ll still
be able to undertake our duties satisfactorily and I’ll always be on hand, my
bedroom being just off the kitchen, should Lord Sneddon decide to grace us with
his presence.’

‘Well, if you’re sure, Mr Stafford, but it seems a lot of unnecessary
trouble to me. I’d sooner you lock the green baize door,’ replied Mrs Palmer,
wiping her hands on her apron. ‘There is something else that occurs to me
though.’

‘And what is that, Mrs Palmer? I thought I had covered every
eventuality.’

‘With regards the maids, yes you have, Mr Stafford. But it occurs to me
that if Lord Sneddon has an eye for girls of a lower social class to himself,
then there is another girl at risk that we haven’t considered.’

‘You mean –.’

‘Yes, Mr Stafford, I mean Lady Lavinia’s young friend, Miss
Simpson.’     

Rose Simpson was, at that moment, walking around the formal gardens of
Ashgrove House with Lavinia and Constance, herself worrying about the imminent
arrival of Lords Sedgwick and Sneddon. Her concerns, however, regarding these
two young gentlemen were concentrated on what they would think of her, and how
she would come across to them, rather than of any untoward motives they might
have towards her. The thought that one of them might want to ruin her,
certainly had not crossed her mind. She was beginning now to have serious
reservations about accepting the invitation to Ashgrove. It was true that both
Sir William and Lady Withers had been welcoming, but the unexpected presence of
the countess had cast a shadow over the visit. Rose was already a little scared
of Lady Belvedere, who had left her in little doubt that she disliked her and
regarded her beneath contempt. The countess probably held her responsible for
her daughter’s continued employment at the dress shop and, if Rose was honest,
there was probably an element of truth in this for, if Lavinia had not found a
friend there but had had to make do with the resentful company of Sylvia or the
sycophant attentions of Mary, then in all likelihood she would not still be
there.     

But all that paled into insignificance at the prospect of Lord Sedgwick’s
and Lord Sneddon’s arrival. She knew she was ill prepared to come face to face
with two of the most handsome and eligible young men in England, to say nothing
of the richest. While she had never met them in person, she was familiar with
their looks from the society pages of magazines and newspapers, which seemed to
contain photographs of one or other of them almost every day. She was suddenly
very aware of her own shortcomings, not only of her relative poverty and her
far lower social position, but also of her insignificant looks and the
cheapness of her clothes that would make her stand apart. She wondered too, why
they had chosen this weekend of all weekends to visit Sir William and Lady
Withers. She did not think it was a coincidence, for Cedric knew that Lavinia
meant to visit Ashgrove. Rose felt her cheeks grow warm. The only explanation
was that they had wanted to meet her, this shop girl that Lavinia had
befriended. They would surely see her as a source of amusement to liven an
otherwise dull visit to middle-aged relatives.

She suddenly felt wretched, it was too awful. She wanted to be home,
sitting by the fire with her mother in their little sitting room with the last
few pieces of remaining furniture salvaged from their old house. She saw the
two of them sitting there in companionable silence, half listening to a
programme on the wireless, while her mother worked away with a needle,
straining her eyes as she tried to finish a dress that she was making for one
of her clients. Rose herself would be pretending to read a book or magazine,
while all the time she would be surreptitiously studying the household
accounts, trying to calculate how long they had before another painful decision
had to be made about their accommodation and whether there were any further
economies that could be made to prolong the inevitable. Usually such a scene
made her feel depressed, but now she found herself longing for it, the dull
familiarity of it all. 

Rose looked up. Amid the idle chatter between aunt and niece she could
see Stafford coming towards them across the lawn. She could feel her heart
beating faster and her hands becoming moist. She wanted to dash back into the
house, race up the stairs and shut herself in her bedroom. Once there, she
would focus all her attention on studying the plate glass covered dressing
table in her room, with its valance of floral chintz, until the beating of her
heart grew more regular and she felt able to pluck up the courage necessary to
meet the visitors.

‘M’lady, Lord Sedgwick and Lord Sneddon have just arrived.’

‘Ah, very good, Stafford; show them into the rose garden, will you, it’s
much too nice to go back inside. In fact, I think we’ll have our afternoon tea
outside, we might as well make the most of this good weather, so welcome after
all those rains of late spring.’

‘Very good, m’lady.’ Stafford gave the slightest of bows and retreated
across the grass.

‘Dear old Stafford,’ Lady Withers said, fondly. ‘I really don’t know what
I would do without him. He and Mrs Palmer run this whole house between them, I
really don’t have to do a thing. In fact, when I do try to do something, it
always goes wrong, like inviting Edith down for the weekend at the same time as
inviting you down, my dear. I should have known Cedric would want to see you
and having Edith and Cedric here together is the very worst thing. And of
course,’ she added as an afterthought, ‘it will be rather a nasty surprise for
him to find that your mother is here too.’

‘I wonder whether I should go and warn him before he bumps into Mother,’
Lavinia enquired, more of herself than of anyone else.

‘Oh, don’t worry my dear, I’m sure Stafford has already done that, he
thinks of everything. I really don’t know what I’d do if he ever decided to
leave. I suppose there will come a time when he’s too old to remain in service
and wants to retire, but I do hope that won’t be any time soon.’

‘Nonsense, Aunt Connie, he’s not that old,’ replied Lavinia laughing.
‘And even if he is, I can’t see him ever stopping work, he’s much too devoted
to you.’

‘Bless you, child,’ beamed Lady Withers. ‘Oh look, here are the young
gentlemen now. My, how handsome Lord Sneddon is, Lavinia, I believe he’s quite
a catch.’