Death of a Dishonorable Gentleman (11 page)

“But
you
said she was so willing, that she worked hard and got on with everyone.” The poor woman sounded almost plaintive. There was a slight wobble in her voice.

“Yes, m'lady, but I was possibly mistaken in taking this to mean that all was well. Mr. Simkins is sending word to Ticksby, to his sister; he thinks that Violet has probably gone to her.”

“Ticksby is miles away. How could she get there?”

“By train, or the Blue Coach I expect, m'lady, or perhaps she got a lift with a carter. Her aunt will send to us when she turns up. It can be the only explanation…”

She fully understood that it was out of the question for Lady Montfort to speak of her greatest fear, that Mr. Teddy's murder might have involved either or both of the missing girls. Until the young women were found, one way or another, she knew there would be an undercurrent of suspicion, doubt, and fear throughout the coming days. The Talbots and their servants must not react or become overemotional. Good manners and self-discipline were all they had to fall back on at times like these. She hoped they would all prevail and not lose their heads. These valuable thoughts were not ones she presumed to share with Lady Montfort, however.

“I simply don't understand this generation at all, Jackson. Their behavior is outrageous. Lucinda Lambert-Lambert left my house this morning at some frightful hour … without a goodbye to either her mother or to me. What do you make of that?”

If Mrs. Jackson was surprised that her opinion had been asked for, she didn't show it as she answered that Miss Lucinda, always an independent young woman, was probably quite safe and off about her business.

Mrs. Jackson could see that underneath her locked-down self-control Lady Montfort was beginning to unravel again and did what she could to bolster her. She reassured her that all would come clear in time, hoping that this would be enough to help her ladyship accept that before resolution there was often a state of flux.

“Yes, of course you are right, Jackson, there is some simple explanation and we must not jump to conclusions, very right and sensible.

“What have you heard about this stranger in the area? Another one of those village rumors do you think?” Lady Montfort was holding on to her handkerchief for dear life.

This was the first Mrs. Jackson had heard of a stranger, but she was not surprised. She wondered who could have started this particular tale, and was informed immediately by Lady Montfort. Theo Cartwright and one of the gardeners had evidently seen a strange man hanging about the village yesterday afternoon. Mrs. Jackson agreed that it was possibly just a rumor.

“You are doing the flowers again tomorrow, aren't you, Jackson?” Lady Montfort had a way of shifting from one topic to another with lightning speed. Mrs. Jackson said that she was, and was completely unprepared for what followed.

“Good, then please find out exactly which gardener saw this man and what he actually did see. I want the details.”

Considerably taken aback, Mrs. Jackson was more than surprised at the impropriety of what Lady Montfort was asking her to do. It was completely out of character, and not only that, she thought, feeling quite trapped and resentful, it put her in an awful spot. Theo was employed by the Talbots, so why wouldn't Lady Montfort ask him directly herself? But Mrs. Jackson was an astute judge of situation and character and knew very well that Lady Montfort must not break caste and go dredging through the servants' hall and the estate for gossip, especially now. What was the expression Lady Montfort's father, with his Indian background, had used? That's right, a subedar: a noncommissioned officer in the Indian army who was above the other ranks. Lady Montfort needed a subedar, someone she could trust to sound out the troops and report back on morale and behavior. Mrs. Jackson was being asked to report on the lower servants, and the very thought of it was distasteful to her.

A long silence settled between them. Mrs. Jackson decided it was up to Lady Montfort to continue. She had nothing to say at this point. She watched Lady Montfort ball up her handkerchief and toss it to one side. Minutes passed. Mrs. Jackson continued to stand quietly, her gaze fixed on the fine Persian carpet. How well she knew its pattern. Then Lady Montfort impatiently burst into speech.

“Yes, you're right, Jackson, it is not fair or right of me to ask, it's just that you get on so well with Mr. Thrower.”

A thought occurred to Mrs. Jackson and she lifted her eyes from the central medallion of the carpet and looked up at Lady Montfort as directly as she felt was acceptable, given the unusual circumstances of their conversation. “Is it his confirmation of the stranger's whereabouts you need, or is there something else troubling you, m'lady?”

Well of course there was, she thought as she watched Lady Montfort's shoulders come down several inches, as she almost collapsed in on herself. It was probably too direct a question, and she was ready to be put in her place for asking it. But here again Lady Montfort surprised her.

“Would you describe Harry as a needlessly violent boy, given to thrashings and beatings, and all of that?”

Lord Haversham? What could the Talbots' son and heir have to do with all this? She had known Lord Haversham since he was two and she had a soft spot for him. She remembered him as a sunny-tempered child growing up: loving and respectful to his mother, his sisters, and his nanny. He was to her mind a gentleman of the old school—a pearl, a gem. She was stirred to respond quite emphatically.

“Never, m'lady, I have only seen him lose his temper once and that was with that awful boy who tried to push Lady Althea out of the treehouse when she was eight. If anyone deserved a thrashing, that Boswell boy most certainly did.”

She watched Lady Montfort stand up and wander over to the window, looking out into the dark night, her drawn face clearly reflected in the glass.

“Well, I have seen him lose his temper, Jackson, for the first time, and it was rather a shock.” Lady Montfort drew back from the window and closed the curtains. She then proceeded to unburden herself about what she had seen by the boathouse, in what Mrs. Jackson saw as an act of courage and trust because what she revealed put Lord Haversham in a very bad position indeed. And then she went on to tell her about the awful business of Teddy and Harry's dog.

“Now what do you have to say to that?” Lady Montfort asked when she had related the whole story.

“M'lady, I have known Lord Haversham for most of his life. He is a staunch supporter of the underdog, so to speak. Kindness itself to animals and the village children; cruelty of any kind upsets him. And he can't abide a bully.”

“Yes, Jackson,
we
all know this, of course we do. But the police don't know Lord Haversham. Colonel Valentine only knows him slightly. And if this fight was seen or heard by any of the visiting servants, say the chauffeurs, and they related it to the police … do you get my drift?”

Of course she did. If the police were told about the fight, Lord Haversham's part in it could be thoroughly misinterpreted, since twelve hours later his cousin had been brutally killed. The sense of dread that had been with her all day intensified at the direction this conversation was taking, but she owed it to her ladyship to be straight.

“Yes, m'lady, I understand. They could put a completely different interpretation on things.”

“Yes, Jackson, and that would be bad. There is so much going on in this house, I can't keep it all straight. And I must if I am to be of any use at all in the coming days. Have you seen or heard anything? Anything at all that is unusual…?”

Mrs. Jackson did not answer for a moment. She sensed all sorts of dangers ahead, but Lord Haversham's fight with Mr. Mallory reminded her of something else, and against her better judgment she made a cautious foray into no-man's-land.

“Miss Lucinda and Mr. Teddy apparently had an argument on the terrace before dinner last night. John saw it all; he said Miss Lucinda was quite angry.” What on earth was she thinking? She should never admit that the footman would presume to report on the family's behavior.
This is what happens,
she told herself grimly,
when you step out of line.

“Ah yes, that was probably my fault. I asked him to take her out for some fresh air, perhaps not a particularly good idea. But she was absolutely fine during dinner and at the ball. I saw her myself. Did John say what it was they were arguing about?” Lady Montfort reached for a glass on the table by her elbow and took a sip.

It occurred to Mrs. Jackson that Lady Montfort had already broken with convention by discussing private family business and now she was waiting for her housekeeper join her.

For the first time in her many years of service to the Talbot family, Mrs. Jackson actually reported something she had heard or knew directly without coating it to sound acceptable.
All right,
Edith, she said to herself,
tell her and get it over with.

“John said he heard her call Mr. Teddy a pig and that no one wanted him here, and then she threw something at him … but before that he had heard Mr. Teddy refer to the Derby and the woman who—”

“Oh yes, the Derby, what a tragedy: some woman threw herself under the king's horse, poor deranged creature. I suspect Lucinda is one of those new-thinking young women. It is a pity she has sympathy for the Women's Social and Political Union, because that is not the way to go about getting votes for women. The Pankhursts just put everyone's backs up.”

Mrs. Jackson managed her long working day by conserving her energy, not squandering it, and now she listened to her ladyship run through all her conscious thoughts since Teddy's murder had been announced. She spilled them out to her in an incoherent, tumbled torrent. She was like a woman in a confessional, Mrs. Jackson thought, unstoppable. It was exhausting to listen to and she was more than a little alarmed that so much information about Mr. Teddy was being blurted out to her.

“… Just don't see Lucinda murdering a childhood friend and then running off, so I am sure what John saw was just a little tiff. Teddy had a way of getting under people's skin, it amused him. But we should not ignore it; it might lead us to something more important.” Lady Montfort finally came to a halt.

Lead us to something … lead us to what?
Mrs. Jackson felt unease turn to anxiety.

“Oscar worries me. What do you make of him?” Lady Montfort was bowling bouncers, and out of habit Mrs. Jackson resorted to a defensive position.

“He's probably just coming to terms with the shock of it all.” She gave one of her bland stock answers, of which she possessed a million.

Lady Montfort ranged about her sitting room; she straightened up books, rearranged flowers, and then finally came back to her chair and sat down.

“But I am sure he was involved with this gambling club of Teddy's. I must find out more about that. In fact I must find out a good deal more about all Teddy's little goings-on.

“That is why, Jackson, I would like you to find out absolutely everything you can about this stranger. Talk to Mr. Thrower, Theo Cartwright, and Fred Golightly at the Goat and Fiddle if you have to. You might even find out what the sergeant knows. The servants may have been told not to gossip, but they will. Don't shake your head, Jackson, human nature always find a way. So please gather as much information as you can.” Lady Montfort picked up her notebook and pencil. She did not look directly at her housekeeper, which was a good thing because Mrs. Jackson was quite sure her face reflected how frankly appalled she was.

“Think about everything that happened in this house from the moment everyone arrived, until Sunday morning. Anything that crops up in conversation, pounce on it. It could be something extremely useful.”

Mrs. Jackson watched her jot down a note or two and waited, mesmerized by the flow of information. In not ten minutes Lady Montfort had broken several unspoken precepts that existed between upper servants and those they worked for. She had revealed far too much about her family, had confided personal opinions of those staying in her house, and had openly requested her to spy on those whom she worked with and who reported to her. Mrs. Jackson was so aghast at the idea that she resolved the best thing to do was to say nothing.

Lady Montfort put her notebook down and looked at her housekeeper with such an imploring expression on her tired, tense face that it quite caused Mrs. Jackson to step outside of what convention demanded of their relationship. Her ladyship, poor woman, was quite drained, the housekeeper thought; she had lost that gleam that was always a vital part of her and she was fretting that her son might mistakenly be implicated in this awful mess. What choice did she really have but to comply with Lady Montfort's wishes? Mrs. Jackson absolutely believed it was her job to ensure the family's comfort and protect their interests. What harm could it do if she reported her observations to Lady Montfort?

Her silence made Lady Montfort nervous and she began to talk again.

“Of course I have to use my eyes and ears too. Some of my friends are definitely exhibiting some very odd and self-protective behavior and there must be a reason. We need to have our wits about us in the coming days. I don't just mean giving everyone nice comforting dinners to warm up their tummies on chilly nights. There is a murderer running around in the woods and we should do everything we can to find out who he is.” She ended melodramatically, and Mrs. Jackson suddenly felt immensely tired.

 

Chapter Twelve

After the alarms of the preceding day, when it seemed that barely an hour had passed without evidence of some new calamity, Mrs. Jackson was thankful that Monday morning was business as usual belowstairs.

Her startling conversation with Lady Montfort the night before had caused a disjointed night's sleep. She had been asked to do something that was personally repugnant to her, that had offended her sense of dignity, and did not sit right with her strong sense of propriety. But it was after all her job to help the family in whatever way she could, and there had been nothing illegal in Lady Montfort's suggestion. After hours of tossing and turning, Mrs. Jackson had reluctantly resigned to do her very best and it was only then that she turned over in her bed and fell into an exhausted sleep.