Murder at Merisham Lodge: Miss Hart and Miss Hunter Investigate: Book 1 (13 page)

Chapter Seventeen

Rosalind Makepeace hadn’t been seen in the kitchens since Peter Drew’s body was discovered. I’d supposed she’d been too busy dealing with Lord Cartwright and the police and so forth to bother coming down here to boss me and Mrs Watling about and let us know just what we were doing wrong. Talk of the devil – she came down that evening after dinner in search of Mrs Anstells. Maggie and I were busy putting away the saucepans and dishes, and it was some time before I noticed Rosalind standing in the kitchen, staring at us as if we were something you’d find in the zoo.

As soon as I’d got to my feet and taken a proper look at her, I was ashamed of my previous thought. She looked dreadful, drawn and pale and with such shadows under her eyes they almost matched the black of her hair. She’d always been neatly turned out – not exactly fashionably dressed, not like Dorothy – but she’d always been so clean and neat and polished it was as if she’d been made in a factory somewhere, shiny and new. Now, she wore an old sweater I’d not seen before, in a shade of muddy blue that did nothing for her complexion, and an old tweed skirt that looked as though she’d dug it out of a pre-War fashion collection.

“Can I help you, Miss?” I asked, trying to sound as respectful as possible.

“I was looking for Mrs Anstells,” she said, faintly, after a moment.

“I believe she’s talking to Mrs Watling,” I said. “Shall I call for her?”

Rosalind stared at me while I spoke. I had the odd impression she didn’t really see me. It was as if she could hear me talking but not see where the sound was coming from. The back of my neck prickled.

She was silent for so long that I almost repeated myself, and then she said quietly, “No, don’t bother. I’ll go through myself.”

She walked through the kitchen so quietly it was almost as if she were a ghost. Both Maggie and I rotated to watch her go – we couldn’t help it, it was so eerie.

“What’s wrong with her?” whispered Maggie.

I shrugged. “She’s probably under an awful lot of strain.” For the first time, I realised this was probably true and felt a flicker of sympathy for her. “She’s got to keep his Lordship happy, deal with Duncan and basically run everything with no help from anyone else.”

Rosalind didn’t come back through the kitchen. I supposed she’d sat down with Mrs Anstells and Mrs Watling in Mrs Watling’s sitting room. I sent Maggie off upstairs while I did a last check of the room and gave the kitchen table one last wipe. Everything was in order for tomorrow. I resisted an ignoble impulse to go and listen at Mrs Watling’s door and forced myself to leave the room.

After the long and weary climb up the back stairs, I entered our room to find Verity already there, unlacing her shoes and rubbing her feet.

“They can’t hurt worse than mine,” I remarked, flopping gratefully onto my bed.

“No, probably not.” Verity straightened up, sighing. “Lord, what a day.”

“How is Dorothy?”

Verity became immediately serious. “She’s saying she wants to leave this place. She wants to go to London.”

My stomach dropped. “Really?”

Verity nodded. “She’ll have to get permission from the inspector, first. I can’t imagine he’s going to want anyone to leave until – until they arrest somebody.”

I started to breathe again. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” I bent and began removing my own shoes, noting with annoyance that the heel of my right shoe was coming slightly loose. More expense.

Verity began to unbutton her black dress. “If I know Dorothy, she’ll manage to persuade him.”

“So that would mean you’d go with her? Is that correct?”

Verity nodded. She must have noticed the dismay on my face. “Don’t fret, Joanie. It actually could work out much better for us.”

“How do you mean?” I couldn’t see any positive in being left here on my own.

Verity pulled the dress over her head. Above the rustle of fabric I heard her say “Remember I said I was going to write to Gladys? The parlourmaid from the London house?”

“Yes.” I was a little ashamed to realise I’d forgotten about that conversation we’d had.

“Well, I did. She may have received my letter by now.”

“And?”

“Well, if Gladys is in London, I might be able to meet her there.”

“Oh, I see.” I pulled myself into a sitting position reluctantly. “Well, I suppose that would be a step forward.” I paused, thinking. “What a shame I won’t be able to join you.”

“No, I suppose not.” Verity had her nightdress on by now and was rolling down her stockings. “Although – I wonder if I could persuade Mrs Anstells to let you have some time off, enough time to come down to London and stay overnight?”

I bit back the remark that I wanted to make, that it wasn’t just the question of getting the time off but also of the train fare. Again, Verity did her mind-reading trick. “Don’t worry about the fare, Joan. I’ve been saving up, and Dorothy’s been quite generous lately.”

I looked at her gratefully. “Well, I suppose it’s worth a try.”

“That’s
if
we even go.” Verity balled up the dirty stockings in her hand and stuffed them into the string bag in which she kept her dirty washing. “Anyway, that’s not the only reason I want to go to London.”

“What is the other?”

Verity sat back down on the bed and looked directly at me. “I want to go to Somerset House.”

I felt a prickle of something – excitement? Anxiety? “Somerset House? Why?”

“I want to look up a will.”

As soon as she said that, I knew why. I arched an eyebrow. “Let me guess. You want to look up the will of Lady Alice Cartwright.”

Verity grinned. “You’re so sharp you’ll cut yourself, one day, Joanie.”

I smiled back. “That’s a good idea. Will they let you, though?”

“Oh yes,” Verity said seriously. “Wills are a matter of public record. Remember when I looked up Delphine Denford’s?”

That name reminded me of something else. “He knows about us. The inspector, I mean.”

“What do you mean he
knows
about us?”

“Inspector Marks. He mentioned it the other day, the fact he knew we were involved with the Asharton Manor case.”

Now it was Verity’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Oh, yes? How peculiar that he mentioned it.”

“I’m not sure if he thought it was admirable or just a big joke.”

“Hmm.” Verity gathered all the hairpins she’d taken from her hair and put them in the little glass pot on the dressing table. “Goodness knows it wasn’t much of a joke at the time. I’m lucky I kept my position.”

I made a noise of agreement. The scandal of the Asharton Manor case had been such that even as witnesses, Verity and I had been a little tainted by it. It had been a major worry of mine after the trial that I might not be able to find another job because of what had happened.

“It was exciting though, wasn’t it?” I spoke a little wistfully. “Not the trial, I mean, but when we – when we were there, getting the evidence.”

Verity smiled. “Yes, it certainly was.” She giggled. “You know what, Joan, I think it’s given us a taste for it.”

I laughed too, thinking of that silly thing I’d told the inspector. “Well, everyone has to have a hobby.”

That made us both snort and then we both looked nervously at the door, wondering whether we were making too much noise. For some reason, I thought of Nora.

“Have you decided what we can do to help Nora?”

Verity sobered up immediately. “We’ll try all the usual stuff first. And then if that doesn’t work—” She stopped talking for a moment. “I’ve got another idea.”

“What?”

Verity shook her head. “I won’t say just yet, Joan. You wouldn’t like it.”

“Oh.” I was silent, on fire with curiosity. But somehow I managed not to pry. Then my train of thought went back to my imaginings in the kitchen this morning. “Has Nora told you who the father is?” I asked. For some reason, I almost whispered.

Verity shook her head. “No. She hasn’t mentioned him.”

“Do you know who it is?”

Verity raised one shoulder in a half shrug. “No…not really. I’ve got a few ideas.”

I waited for her to tell me but she didn’t. So I told her, very tentatively, what I’d thought that morning.

“Of course, I know it’s my imagination running away with me,” I said at the end. “But it just gave me a turn to even think it.” I appealed to Verity rather desperately. “You don’t think I’m right, do you, V?”

Verity had gone a little pale. “No, of course I don’t, Joan. Nora would never do such a wicked thing, I’m sure.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Although, you’ve just given me an idea.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, we – and the police, of course – have been working on the assumption that Peter Drew’s murder is related to the murder of Lady Eveline.”

“Well, it must be,” I reasoned. Then I told Verity what I’d seen those few days ago, Peter Drew sneaking out of a bedroom that wasn’t his. “He was a snooper. He must have found out something about the killer.”

Verity had her head on one side. “That’s logical, yes, but what if – what if the second murder is about something else entirely? That it’s
not
related to the murder of Lady E at all?”

I stared at her. “Maybe,” I said doubtfully.

She must have heard my scepticism. “Of course, it probably is,” she added hastily.

Something else occurred to me. “Oh, V, the money. Remember the money?”

“What money?”

I couldn’t believe I’d only just remembered this. “Dorothy said that Peter told her he was getting hold of some money, remember?”

Verity was frowning. “But that was because he thought he was inheriting, wasn’t it?”

I shook my head. “That’s what
we
thought. But what if it was because he was blackmailing someone, because he knew something about the killer?”

We were both staring across the room at one another, tense with excitement.

“Yes,” said Verity, eventually. “That does make sense.”

I jumped off the bed and started walking around the room, forgetting I was half-dressed. “Who has an alibi for the time of Peter Drew’s murder?”

“Duncan Cartwright does. He was out at his club all evening. That’s definite.” Verity looked into space, clearly trying to recall something. “Dorothy – well, she was in bed. I was with her for some of the evening but not the whole of it. But she couldn’t have done it, V. She just…she just isn’t that sort of person.”

“I know.” I realised that I was half in and half out of my dress, tutted, and began to unbutton the rest of the fastenings. “I know she wouldn’t do something like that. Not stab her own brother.”

Verity winced. “So that just leaves Lord C and Rosalind.”

My dress slithered to the ground and I picked it up and shook it out. “You said they alibied each other. Again.”

“Yes. But look here, Joanie, Rosalind can’t have anything to do with it. I saw her that night Lady Eveline was murdered.”

“I know.” I hung my dress up on the peg on the wall and turned to face Verity. I think we both realised what we were thinking but the realisation was too big, too huge to voice out loud.

A silence hung in the room and then Verity said, with a change of tone, “Gosh, it’s awfully late. We both need to get some sleep.”

I hesitated for a second, unwilling to let things drop. Then fatigue hit me in a grey wave and I yawned. “Yes. Yes, I suppose you’re right. Let’s turn in.”

We completed our final ablutions for the night and then climbed into our beds, saying good night quite formally. Verity turned off the lamp.

I was just dropping off when her voice came through the darkness. “Don’t worry, Joanie. We’ll talk more tomorrow. I have a feeling we’re almost there.”

“I agree,” I whispered. I waited for her to say more but nothing came, and then I yawned again, turned over under the blankets, and went to sleep.

Chapter Eighteen

Just as Verity had predicted, Dorothy managed to persuade Inspector Marks that it would be perfectly fine to allow her to go to London. As soon as it was confirmed, Verity came running for me and immediately dragged me off to see Mrs Anstells, to ask whether I could have the time off to accompany them. Mrs Anstells had frowned and pursed her lips, and hummed and hawed, but as I hadn’t had very much time off lately, things being as they were, and with Verity’s usual powers of persuasiveness (she and Dorothy made a fine team), permission was eventually granted for me to travel down with Verity in a few days’ time.

In due course, we found ourselves on the train, third class of course, while Dorothy was ensconced up in first. I had made up some sandwiches, boiled some eggs and made a flask of tea for the journey. As the scenery rolled past the windows, and London came nearer and nearer, I could barely contain my excitement. It was so long since I’d journeyed anywhere further than Merisham village; just the thought of being somewhere different was exhilarating, let alone going to the capital city, with all its lights and noise and excitement.

Verity waited until we were almost at St. Pancras Station before she told me her news. “I’ve heard from Gladys,” she said, grinning away. “She’ll be meeting us tonight, at the café on Piccadilly.”

I gaped. “That’s fantastic. But won’t Dorothy need you?”

Verity shook her head. “No, I’ve got to get her dressed and ready for dinner, but then she said I could go out for a few hours before I have to get back. She’s off out to a jazz club, so goodness knows when she’ll be back.”

I frowned. It seemed a little unfeeling of Dorothy to be out whooping it up this soon after her brother’s death – not to mention her mother’s. Verity caught the expression on my face. “I know, Joan, but believe me, I think she’s doing it as an escape. She just wants to run away from it all.”

I nodded, not quite believing it. But it wasn’t my place to say so. “What did Gladys say in her letter? Wasn’t she terribly curious? Or anxious?”

Verity said nothing but reached into her bag and handed me an opened envelope. Curious, I drew out the single sheet of paper inside, smoothed it out and read it.
Dear Verity
(it ran)
I was ever so surprised to get your letter. Me mam passed it on to me here at Brookland House. It would be lovely to meet up with you again, you was always a good friend to me back when I was at his lordship’s house. I don’t miss them days, I can tell you. But enough of me going on. If you want to give me a call when you know when you will be in London, we can meet for a cuppa and a chat. It’s Primrose 4368. It’s just me and the cook here so we can get telephone calls with no bother. Take care, Gladys.

I looked up at Verity. “So, you telephoned her?”

“Yes.” Verity looked mischievous. “Snuck out to the village on one of Dorothy’s errands and used the box by the post office.”

I was still surprised at how readily Gladys had agreed to meet with us – or with Verity; I wasn’t sure if Gladys knew I’d be there too. When I said as much to Verity, she shrugged. “Just leave the talking to me,” she said. “Please, Joan.”

I didn’t mind. As the train began to enter the outskirts of London and draw closer to St. Pancras, it all started to feel a little bit like a dream. Were we really going to ask a maid who neither of us had seen for years whether she’d witnessed a murder? Shaking my head, I began to gather up our things as the train, clanking and shunting so that we staggered about the carriage, finally reached its destination.

There was a driver waiting for us at the station. It was some time since I’d been to London, and the hustle and bustle and noise and smoke was at first a little overwhelming. I helped Verity carry the cases of Dorothy’s that the porter couldn’t manage. It seemed an awful lot of luggage for a couple of nights’ stay, but I remembered Verity telling me that when Dorothy was in town, it wasn’t beyond her to change her outfit five times a day. Verity herself kept hold of the jewellery case and carried it close to her body. I eyed it nervously as we manoeuvred our way through the crowds. I didn’t like to think of what the contents inside would be worth.

Eventually we arrived at the townhouse, a tall double-fronted Georgian building with smartly-painted black railings running along the front at street level. Of course, in the car, I’d sat up front with the driver and hadn’t had much of a chance to even set eyes on Dorothy. Now, as I watched her walk up the steps to the front entrance, where the interim housekeeper waited to greet her, I thought she looked years older, the golden glow of her hair dulled, her high cheekbones almost protruding through the skin of her face. Despite the fact that she was walking through the imposing front door and I was walking down the basement steps to the servants’ entrance, I pitied Dorothy. I felt ashamed of my unkind thoughts about her ‘whooping it up’. Perhaps all she wanted to do was run away from everything, lose herself in cocktails and jazz music and handsome youths to dance with. I could understand that.

I went into the kitchen and re-introduced myself to the small number of kitchen staff. The Cartwrights kept on a skeleton staff when the family were not in residence: just a housekeeper on retainer wages, a cook, two housemaids and a footman. They were pleasant enough people but as I was only staying for the one night, I didn’t want to waste time in small talk or, worst of all, get roped into helping out with the work of the house. No, this was my time off, and I intended to use it well. After a cup of tea, I carried my bags up to the room I’d be sharing with Edna, one of the two housemaids. I looked at the put-up cot that had been set up in the small space that wasn’t taken up with Edna’s bed and sighed. Oh well, it was only for one night. It made me almost nostalgic for our bare little room back at Merisham Lodge.

Verity and I set off to meet Gladys a few hours later. We had both changed out of our uniforms and as we set off down the road, I felt my spirits lift. A whole luxurious evening in which to eat a meal and drink tea and pretend I was something other than a servant for once. I was so light-hearted I’d almost forgotten why we were there in the first place.

The tea rooms were just off Piccadilly Circus, which was absolute bedlam. Motor cars rushed along the streets at a speed quite frightening to witness, and the crowds were so thick I was in constant fear of falling off the pavement into the oncoming traffic. At last we pushed and shoved our way through to the quieter street on which the café was situated.

“Goodness,” Verity gasped, straightening her hat which had been knocked askew in the melee. “I hope Gladys turns up, after all this.”

But we needn’t have worried. Gladys was already sitting there at a table at the back, looking much as I remembered her. She had always had a slightly fast look about her, which was probably uncharitable of me, but remembering what Verity had told me about her, and what she used to get up to, perhaps not. Inevitably, my thoughts flew to Nora.

Gladys looked glad to see Verity and surprised to see me, although she greeted me quite pleasantly. The first few minutes were dashed away in trying to attract the attention of a nippy so we could place our order, always a bit of an undertaking in these busy places.

Finally, when we had sufficient tea and sandwiches and cake, Verity leaned forward over the table. “I know you were surprised to get my letter, eh, Gladys?”

“I should say so. I know you wrote me a beautiful card last Christmas but I’m ashamed to say I never wrote back. Sorry, Verity.”

Verity waved a hand in the air. “Doesn’t matter in the slightest.” I was interested to note that her accent was changing very slightly as she spoke to Gladys. Verity spoke well, had always spoken well – that was her background and her education when growing up – but now her vowels were flattening slightly, she was almost dropping her ‘t’s. I listened, fascinated, realising she was doing it to put Gladys at her ease.

“Now, Gladdie, you was always clever, I thought. Remember how we used to talk?” Gladys was nodding, chewing a scone at the same time. “Well,” said Verity. “The thing is, we need your help. Me and Joanie, here.”

Gladys chewed away, still nodding and looking inquisitive. So far, so good.

Verity went on. “You’ve heard about the murders, up at Merisham Lodge?”

“Not half!” said Gladys, through a shower of crumbs. “Gawd, it must have been awful. I can’t see how you both have stuck it up there.”

“It’s been awful,” Verity said with emphasis and shot me a significant look.

“Awful!” I intoned, dutifully.

Gladys’ eyes had that peculiar gleam of someone wanting to know all the gory details without quite being brave enough to admit it. “Was it true that Lady Cartwright had her head clean bashed in?”

“Cor, yes, it certainly was.” Verity was leaning forward on her elbows, her eyes fixed on Gladys’s prurient face. “Awful, it was. Let me tell you all about it.”

It was while Verity was laying the groundwork for what she was going to ask Gladys, telling her all about the murders and the police and what Mr Fenwick had said and how we were all going in fear of our lives, I suddenly realised Gladys had no idea why we were really here. She didn’t know what Verity and I were going to ask her. I had another blinding flash of insight then. Perhaps if Gladys had been told beforehand, she wouldn’t have come.

Verity’s tale wound to a close. Gladys’ eyes were as round as the plate she was eating from. “So, the police have got no idea who done it?” she asked, her mouth hanging open.

Verity shook her head, her eyebrows raised in a kind of ‘did you
ever
?’ way. I bit back a giggle.

Gladys’ gaze fell on the remaining scone. I pushed it towards her, silently.

“Thing is,” Verity said, deceptively casually. “The inspector – ever such a handsome man, he is – he thinks it might all be to do with what happened to Lady Alice. You know. When she died.” She sank her voice to a thrilling whisper. “You know, he thinks that might not have been an
accident
.”

She sat back again, with her arms folded under her bosom, just like a gossiping washerwoman. I wanted to laugh again but one look at Gladys’ face stopped me. She’d gone to pick up the scone and then dropped it.

“The police think that?” Gladys asked in a small voice.

Verity nodded. “They just can’t
prove
it. They don’t have a witness, you see. It’s such a shame. There’s us up there with some
lunatic
on the loose and who knows who’s going to be next. Eh, Joan?” She looked across at me and I hastily agreed.

There was a short silence at our table, noticeable only to us in the tumult and hubbub of the busy café. I began to think that Verity might have overshot the mark, been too obvious, scared Gladys off. I think she thought so too because she leant forward even further.

“Gladdie. Gladdie, we have to know. Did you see something that night Lady Alice died? We have to know, Glad, you have to tell us. Our
lives
are in danger here.”

Gladys looked as though she were about to cry. I opened my mouth but Verity beat me to it. When she next spoke, the working class accent had gone. Instead, she spoke in the precise, steely tones of someone born to the aristocracy. She could have been Dorothy herself. “Gladys Smith. If you know something, you have to tell us.
Tell us
.”

Gladys’ mouth was pinched and trembling. Verity’s tone changed, just as suddenly. She still spoke in those same upper-class accents but her voice softened and became warm and calm. She put a hand on Gladys’ trembling hand. “Gladdie, if you know something, you’d best not keep it to yourself. You could get into terrible trouble with the police, if they thought you were holding something back. Not to mention, well, it might actually put you in
danger
.” I was impressed at how wide and aghast Verity could make her eyes. She really should have been on the stage. “Tell us, Gladdie, and we can help you.”

Gladys dropped her eyes to her plate and the uneaten scone. She whispered something so quietly I couldn’t hear what she said.

“What’s that?” Verity asked, still in that tender tone.

Gladys looked up. Her rather small eyes were brimming with tears. “I saw him,” she whispered. “I saw him on the stairs. He was loosening the top rod, you know, the carpet rod, on the top stair.”

Her voice died away. I held my breath. Verity leaned forward so that she was almost breathing in Gladys’ ear and whispered “Saw who?”

Gladys looked terrified. For a moment, I thought she was going to refuse to answer but then I guessed that now she’d come to the pass, there was a relief in telling her secret. “Lord Cartwright.”

I clenched my fist in triumph under the table.
I knew it
. With difficulty I restrained myself from thumping the table and shouting ‘yes!’

Verity behaved impeccably. She drew back a little and said, with just the right amount of shock in her voice, “Lord C? Are you sure?”

Gladys nodded jerkily. She started to speak, at first hesitantly and then faster and faster, the words almost spilling out. I got the impression she’d been bottling this up for years, unable to tell anyone her awful secret. Now that the stopper was out of the bottle, all the rest of it was gushing out.