Death of a Dishonorable Gentleman (28 page)

“Poor young man my foot! He was a thug and a dreadful bully. Do you know what he did to Violet?”

Mrs. Jackson did not know, but in the last few hours she had groped toward the possibility of what might have happened to Violet, and then shied away from the thought. But this was why she was here, to find out, so she nodded, encouraging Lucinda to continue.

“If you knew, why didn't you stop it?” Mistaking Mrs. Jackson's nod of encouragement as one of knowledge, Lucinda's tired, blank face became animated and more hair slid down from under her hat.

In a reasonable and quiet tone Mrs. Jackson assured her that no one had had an inkling of what had happened to Violet, not even now.

“I can't imagine how they didn't— When I saw her on the night of the ball, she was terrified, incapable of speech. How could you have not known? It was a continual thing, you know … his … his, well … what he did to her. She was desperate, with no one to go to in that blasted house.”

Mrs. Jackson tried to slow things down. She said quietly, “Of course something would have been done to protect Violet, had we known. But she…”

“Somehow,” Lucinda shot her a reproachful look, “the poor girl had got it into her head that Teddy's wicked treatment of her was her fault, that she had behaved improperly.” Lucinda's voice was low and she almost spat the words. There were two bright spots of pink on her cheeks and, to Mrs. Jackson's wary eye, something almost deranged in her fervent expression.

“He was at it almost as soon as Violet started work at the house.” If she had wanted to see Mrs. Jackson flinch, she was rewarded. “You had no idea, did you?” Mrs. Jackson shook her head. “Apparently you told her not to catch anyone's eye when she was working upstairs, and to avoid conversation altogether with the family. She hoped that if she steered clear of Teddy, he would leave her alone. But of course he didn't. He stalked her through the house in the early morning when she was working, when she was cleaning the fireplaces, when he was sure she was alone, the little weasel. He always waited for her in the dark. It makes me ill to think of the terror she endured and the pain she suffered. She told no one at all. She was ashamed, you see, petrified every time she heard that Teddy was coming down to Iyntwood. Can you imagine living like that? I can't.” Lucinda was completely out of breath. She licked her dry lips and frowned off into the shrubbery.

It dawned on Mrs. Jackson that having just spent a couple of the most frightening days of her young life, Lucinda had given herself Violet as a cause to strive for and perhaps as a justification for the crushing embarrassment she had caused her kindly and well-meaning parents. Evidently Lucinda was not done.

“There are so many of them: young girls, working long hours in factories, sweatshops, on farms, and in houses; alone, afraid, and abused by little scugs like Teddy.” Lucinda's voice sounded too shrill, her sharp face looked angular and mean, her eyebrows were down, and she glared at Mrs. Jackson from under them.

Lucinda's escalating wrath caused Mrs. Jackson to become very still. Her heart beat at an alarming rate and her blouse collar cut into her neck.
Oh dear God,
she thought,
here it is. Now she's going to tell me.
She fought down a rush of panic.
How stupidly I have blundered in here. She's going to tell me how she manhandled Mr. Mallory's tied and gagged body up onto that dray and hid it in the storage box. She's tall enough, she's strong enough, and she's angry enough. She could have done it given the time, and Mr. Mallory was such a slightly built young man. She walked over to the stable block to meet him, knocked him on the head, and then tied him up. Then she drove the dray up to Crow Wood, and hanged him from the gibbet. All she had to do was drive forward.
She jumped as Lucinda laughed.

“If you could just see the expression on your face, Mrs. Jackson, it's almost laughable. What do you think I did?”

“I can't imagine, Miss Lucinda.” She heard the whisper of her voice and tried to pull herself together. She squared her shoulders and waited.

“Oh yes you can imagine, Mrs. Jackson. You can imagine very well what I did, and that is why you are here, isn't it?” Lucinda had regained some control of herself. Her face was still white but her eyes were not as fierce as they had been. She was fully in control now.

“You don't want to say?” She laughed cheerily, just like she had when she was a naughty little girl. “All right then, I'll be a good sport and tell you what happened.

“As long as Violet worked in the house, Teddy would hurt her and bully her, until he got bored and moved on to some other poor girl. No one could stop him but me.”

Mrs. Jackson exhaled slowly, a long, shaky breath.

Lucinda laughed. “Oh no, Mrs. Jackson, you are quite wrong. I didn't need to kill Teddy. There were plenty of other people who wanted to do that. They were practically lining up.”

“Well, I didn't think you had…” She was gratified to hear that her voice was as smooth as glass, despite the pounding in her ears of her fast-beating heart.

“Oh yes you did!” Lucinda laughed again. “On the night of the ball I was outside alone at the front of the house wondering when I could decently leave, and Violet came running along in the dark. Teddy had got his hands on her again, and all she could think of was getting as far away from the house as she could. Luckily I was there to stop her. I knew she hadn't a hope of finding a decent place to go to, that she would be in as much danger out there as she was in the house. But I knew I could help her. I told her I'd take care of her. I told her to go and change out of her uniform and then I took her up to my room and we waited there for the ball to be over and when it was quiet and the storm was over, I took her with me up to London.”

Mrs. Jackson felt relief wash through her like a drink of cold water, and she heard herself ask, with understandable trepidation, where Violet was now. She imagined Violet chained to railings outside the Houses of Parliament or filling bottles with petrol in the basement of some suffragette stronghold; even worse, languishing in Holloway with other women encouraging her to go on a hunger strike.

“She's quite safe, you know, she's with friends of mine.”

Here was Lucinda's triumphant moment, and privately Mrs. Jackson would have liked to give her a good slap. Neither did Lucinda's news reassure her.
Which friends?
she thought.
Where?
She swallowed and tried to keep her voice even.

“I hope you'll trust me with Violet's address. I'll understand if she doesn't want to come back to Iyntwood, but I would like to talk to her and tell her how sorry I am we let her down. All of us.”

“Yes,” said Lucinda, “all of you—all of us in fact. All women, all let down. Women like you, Mrs. Jackson, and young women like me.” Mrs. Jackson could tell that Lucinda was about to embark on the suffragette cause and the plight of the working-class woman again. She didn't think she could bear another political harangue. If Lucinda wanted to spend her life fighting for women's suffrage and the rights of the working poor, that was her choice to make. All Mrs. Jackson wanted to know now was where Violet was. She said quickly before Lucinda could get going, “Her father is desperately worried too…”

“No, he's not, Mrs. Jackson. Jim Simkins knows exactly where Violet is. You didn't really expect me to spirit her away and leave her father to wonder for the rest of his life where she could be?”

Lucinda was quite calm now; no doubt she saw her motives as beyond reproach, thought Mrs. Jackson. Rescuing Violet was Lucinda's redemption for her outrageous behavior and in her mind she had done a very good job of it.

“Violet wrote him a letter while we were waiting up in my room to leave the house. She reassured him that she was being taken care of, and had been given a splendid new start in her life, far better than being a working skivvy for indifferent employers, at any rate.”

Oh Lord, back on the soap box again,
thought Mrs. Jackson as Lucinda continued. “Employers who take advantage of women with overwork, poor pay, terrible working conditions, and abuse. With the right government, voted in by women themselves, we can begin to make…”

Mrs. Jackson closed her eyes momentarily as she sat in the sun-filtered shade. The garden's high walls shut out most of the noise and hubbub of London traffic, but it was a dull, irritating hum in the background. She had worked long hours and days all her life, days of monotonous drudgery when she was younger. There was no trade union for domestic service and she wasn't sure that if there were, it would make a huge difference in the long run. She allowed Lucinda's voice to join the background drone of London traffic.

The garden door from the kitchen swung shut and she opened a wary eye. A white cap and a lacy apron fluttered crisply against a smart, violet gingham dress, as a young maid walked across the lawn carrying a large silver tray. She was very young, about fifteen years old, a pretty girl with dark brown hair and large deep blue eyes that flitted from Lucinda to Mrs. Jackson to the garden table laden with newspapers, pens, pencils, and books. She stood for a moment, apprehensive and unsure. Mrs. Jackson rose from her chair and cleared the clutter off the table so that she could put the tray down. The maid did so without speaking or lifting her eyes. She stepped backward, hands behind her back, eyes down, as she had been trained to, then turned and walked briskly back to the house, hands by her sides. On the table were a jug of lemonade, two glasses, and some little things to eat.

Lucinda's voice became less animated and Mrs. Jackson sat back down.

“I would tell you where she is, but I think it would be wrong to burst in on her and frighten her with apologies. She doesn't want to return to the village, or the house. She has a much better job near Cambridge, working in a bookshop, and she's very happy there; she's made friends…”

“So quickly, in the space of less than a week?” was all Mrs. Jackson could think of to say.

“Yes, Mrs. Jackson, in less than a week. Now that you know how Violet got away from the house, and why she had to leave, I suppose you'll have to tell Lady Montfort…” There was not an ounce of self-blame about her, thought Mrs. Jackson as she prudently maintained a respectful silence.

“I expect you could do with a glass of lemonade after that.” Lucinda leaned forward in her chair. “Now tell me I did the right thing.”

 

Chapter Twenty-six

Mrs. Jackson left Clevellan Square in a sort of trance and walked back along the Bayswater Road. Before she got to Lancaster Gate she crossed the street and turned into the Marlborough entrance to Hyde Park. Almost immediately the stink of petrol fumes and the racket of engines and horns receded. She was feeling light-headed and hungry; the glass of lemonade she had had with Lucinda had been too tart, and it was sloshing around in her empty stomach, making her feel queasy. Now that her initial alarm about Violet was allayed, she was not pleased that Lucinda had spirited Violet away from the house, leaving everyone to believe that anything could have happened to her; in fact, she was furious with her. Lucinda's rescue had denied them all the right to have helped Violet in their own way; she felt it was a vengeful act, an act of spite on the Lucinda's part.

She stopped for a while and stood under a large plane tree, engrossed in her thoughts. Perhaps Lucinda had taken Violet to provide a distraction. Perhaps she had taken Violet to conceal her as a witness to Teddy's murder. It was quite possible; there had been almost a spark of madness about Lucinda when she had talked about Teddy, and her hatred of him had been palpable. If Lucinda had murdered Teddy, she had to have had help and taking Violet away had been part of her overall plan. Mrs. Jackson wondered about Lord Haversham. She didn't want to think of him in connection with Teddy's death, but he could have been involved. Since childhood he had always been under Lucinda's sway and they were still the greatest of friends. Lady Montfort would have been perfectly happy for her son to marry her, until Lucinda started demanding independence and said she wanted to study medicine and be an independent working woman.

If Lord Haversham had known about Mr. Mallory's treatment of Violet, that would have been enough to stir him to action. She remembered Lady Montfort's account of Lord Haversham's rage toward Mr. Mallory at the boathouse. Yes, of course it made sense to his mother that he was angry about his dog. But she remembered quite clearly the young Lord Haversham whacking the living daylights out of the Boswell boy when he pushed Lady Althea out of the tree house. He was so incensed by the boy's bullying that Mr. Thrower had had to pull him away.

Her stomach lurched and Mrs. Jackson looked at her wristwatch.
What was she thinking? She was so tired that she had lost her sense of proportion.
Lord Haversham was incapable of murder. She needed food and she needed the quiet of her train ride home for reflection. She had plenty of time to eat a late meal and then catch the half past four from Marylebone. She quickened her pace and turned right down the West Carriage Drive and alongside the Serpentine.

When Mrs. Jackson had been in service as a very young housemaid she had spent her one afternoon off a month in Hyde Park if the weather was fine. Now, she stopped at a drinking fountain to dilute the acidic taste of lemonade, and then walked on up the Broad Walk. There were the usual crowds at Speakers' Corner. Without stopping, she brushed through several groups; someone was shouting that the end of the world was nigh, as usual. The Salvation Army was packing up their trumpets, trombones, and drums, having spent a profitable morning saving sinners from the evils of drink. The crowd around them dispersed and re-formed around another soapbox evangelizer. This time it was a woman. Actually there were three of them, and they wore the purple, white, and green sashes of the WSPU. The older woman started to speak, and two police constables who had been hanging around, enjoying the Sally Army band and their hymn singing, now stood to attention. The woman was a good speaker. She had a strong voice and spoke with conviction, but Mrs. Jackson had heard it all before, just twenty minutes ago from Lucinda. The crowd at first glance appeared unsympathetic and there was jeering from the lower element, but Mrs. Jackson noticed that a great many quite respectable men and women listened attentively and were annoyed at the continued interruptions from the louts and layabouts in the crowd. She shouldered her way around the outside of the crowd, her stomach growling, and made her way out of the park to the Lyons' Corner House at Marble Arch. She would treat herself to a jolly good mixed grill before she caught the train, and with a full stomach and hopefully a quiet compartment she would be able to think through what she had learned from Lucinda and her new fears at the possible involvement of the Talbots' son and heir.