Murder at Mullings--A 1930s country house murder mystery (14 page)

‘I know you won't take it wrong, Mrs Norris, that I defended Miss Bradley about Master Ned finding her irritating. And after what she's been through so recently, it's not surprising if her confidence is all shook up. Of course, Mr William being at his worst last night could've left her feeling glad as goblins she left that church without a ring on her finger and more than content to live out her days as a spinster. But, like I've been thinking about Mrs William, we can read people wrong as often as not, especially if their hearts are padlocked for one reason or another. Could be we're all dark horses in our way. I don't suppose any would think to look at me now that I was a real flibbertigibbet as a girl.' Mrs McDonald reached for a frying pan. ‘Dearie me! This isn't getting the day going, is it?'

Florence agreed they must strive to see that everything went even more smoothly than usual in the hours ahead. ‘Time for me to get moving,' she said. ‘I've been disgracefully laggardly.' It finally occurred to her that Mrs McDonald's talk had not been of the oblivious sort, but an intentional endeavour to provide her with some respite before taking up her obligations.

Rising to her feet, Florence also realized there was something she could do to discover exactly how it happened that Ned had taken up Lady Stodmarsh's hot milk last night. As soon as there was a free moment, she would speak to Annie Long. Anything not to feel entirely helpless. Also she must lose little time in writing down as exactly as possible what Lady Stodmarsh had said to her, along with what could be gleaned from Annie.

Mrs Tressler had come into the kitchen. To Florence's eye she remained the image of the competent schoolmistress. At this moment she might have been surveying her form room intent on calming a disturbance. Florence wondered if she was about to ask to speak to her alone, to discuss with her how Ned must be feeling and what would best help him through the coming days.

Florence was wrong. Mrs Tressler addressed both her and Mrs McDonald. ‘I do hope I'm not interrupting,' she began briskly, ‘but I wanted to ask, knowing you will both have your hands full today, if there is any way I can be of assistance? I shall of course not be returning home today, but will remain till after the funeral and will be grateful for the opportunity to keep busy.'

‘That's very kind, Mrs Tressler,' said Florence.

‘Very kind,' echoed Mrs McDonald, although it did take some restraint on her part not to look at the clock, which even death could not stop. She'd just have to hurry the girls along at twice their usual speed, although what use Annie would be at her dithering worst, God himself couldn't guess.

A smile touched Mrs Tressler's mouth. ‘I'm sure you both wonder what possible use I can be to you.'

‘Not at all,' Florence responded.

‘As it happens, I've always been of a domestic nature. My late husband was astonished when I once told him that my ideal of contentment would be living in a cottage and doing my housekeeping; he blanched and said he hoped if he was included in this arrangement we would at least have a woman come in and do the rough a couple of times a week.'

‘Well fancy that!' Mrs McDonald chuckled. Was she assuming, wondered Florence, this was a joke, aimed at lifting the pall of grief?

Mrs Tressler's smile lingered. ‘My husband proclaimed not to be amused. The rascal took to his bed for two days. In his defence he had simultaneously come down with a cold and had several novels by one of his favourite authors to hand. That being as it may, what I'm offering is to pitch in, hopefully without getting underfoot. For instance, I could assist the maids in preparing rooms for overnight guests attending the funeral.'

Florence considered this offer before expressing appreciation, adding that she would get back to Mrs Tressler when more was known as to the numbers that would need to be accommodated.

Mrs Tressler nodded. ‘Lord and Lady Stodmarsh both being only children with no living aunts or uncles or many other relatives, it seems unlikely there will be an influx of overnighters, but one never knows. When it comes to funerals, people one never thought one knew can descend out of nowhere – morbid curiosity, however unexceptional the death may be.'

Was there something behind this observation? A subtle probing for a visible reaction? Florence hoped it wasn't apparent she'd stiffened. ‘You're entirely right, Mrs Tressler,' she said, ‘it is always advisable to prepare for any unexpected eventuality.'

‘Meanwhile, let us start with today, which is of paramount importance. What can I do, however small?'

‘There's the menus for luncheon and dinner to be decided,' put forth Mrs McDonald, tears beading her eyes as the full impact of Mullings without its mistress overwhelmed her anew. ‘Lady Stodmarsh always discussed with me on a Monday morning what she'd like served for the week, though most often she'd take up my suggestions, with only a special request here and there. So easy she was, bless her soul! I'd be more than grateful, Mrs Tressler, if you'd be so good as to have a talk with Mrs William Stodmarsh about her wishes, so's I won't have to trouble her. One of the maids can bring me down her instructions.'

‘Gertrude has returned to bed with a bad headache,' said Mrs Tressler. ‘So very understandable. It seemed to me inevitable someone would. I don't think she will object to my advising that you proceed on your own, keeping meals as simple as possible and allowing for flexibility on when they are served. I've frequently observed that in times of trouble people either can't face eating at all, or feel the need to do so at irregular times.'

Mrs Tressler broke off as Miss Bradley entered the kitchen with the little golden Labrador in tow on a lead. He was unusually subdued. Did he sense something seriously amiss, or had he decided to mend his ways? Something in the atmosphere had changed in an instant. In response, Florence experienced a numbing calm that would remain with her most of the day. These two women, she thought – much as if observing people standing at a bus stop – were not comfortable with each other. Their eyes barely met and no other exchange was made before Mrs Tressler excused herself on the grounds that what she had come for had been accomplished, and left the kitchen.

‘Oh, dear,' Miss Bradley's face puckered, ‘I hope she didn't rush away on my account, for fear of breaking down again if I mentioned dear Lillian's name, I mean.'

She had, thought Florence, a pleasant, melodious voice. Men, with the exception of Ned, might find it particularly attractive. With her dark hair and eyes, coupled with a fine complexion, she could have made so much more of herself. Did Ned believe she'd determinedly played the dowd at Mullings, the better to ingratiate herself? Was that at the root of his dislike? Ned's image brought on an icy trickle of fear. His having taken up Lady Stodmarsh's milk was bound to put him at the top of the suspect list in some minds if she were to talk of murder. Florence, who enjoyed detective novels along with her other reading, could hear an official voice stating:

About that conversation you had with young Mr Stodmarsh on returning from your outing – you acknowledge that he wasn't his usual chipper self and that he expressed concern about your friendship with the pub keeper. Not happy about the idea of it leading to marriage, thus causing you to leave Mullings, was he? We've heard from the cook and others how devoted he's been to you – to the point of dependency, it could be said – but were his grandmother to die suddenly you'd have found it hard to leave him; especially if he played his cards right, and lads at that age have all kinds of them up their sleeves. You do see where this is leading us, Mrs Norris? The opportunity arises and he jumps at it …'

Florence could not have missed much of what had been said between Miss Bradley and Mrs McDonald whilst her mind was elsewhere. The topic remained the same. Not surprisingly so, if Ned had not exaggerated Miss Bradley's long-windedness.

‘Now don't you keep worrying about interrupting,' Mrs McDonald remained in full bolstering mode. ‘I'm not stretching a ha'pence of truth about Mrs Tressler being on the instant of leaving when you came in.'

‘I can't help wondering how she'll hold up. She's not a young woman and she may have been bravely holding it in all week that she has the toothache. I've thought so a couple of times, just a little giveaway now and then – you know how nagging pain can alter one's features, and there's that appointment with her dentist for today that she'll now have to cancel. The strain has already taken its toll on Mrs William, prostrated with a migraine. I do hope she has something stronger than aspirin to take for it. If not, I have some tablets that might help, a calmative prescribed for me when I had my … upset. I think I may once have mentioned having them to her when she looked at the end of her tether for one reason or another.' As a euphemism for
Mr William
this did well enough, but Florence sensed Mrs McDonald, however supportive of Miss Bradley she might be, was beginning to wish on her a sudden attack of laryngitis if she didn't at long last state why she had come to the kitchen.

‘Oh, dearie me, Miss Bradley!' the cook burst out.

‘What is it we can do for you?' Florence added in her most encouraging manner.

‘Oh, yes! That! I have been going on, haven't I? A fault of mine, I know. And this morning there's the shock.'

‘Of course.'

Miss Bradley looked down. ‘It's about the puppy. Will you kindly find something for him to eat?'

Grumidge's bracing voice, along with burbled responses from the recipients of his instructions, could now be heard from the passageway that housed the butler's pantry at one end and the scullery at the other. Time became increasingly of the essence.

‘Why didn't I realize straight off that's what brought you here?' Mrs McDonald shook her head at her own dimwittedness. Just then the bundle of golden Lab began to sniff around the floor in a distinctly obvious way. ‘Of course I'll fill up a bowl for him; there's some nice cold lamb I could chop up and mix with gravy, but, not to be impertinent, I hope, first things first. If you'll give me his lead, Miss Bradley, I'll get him outside before he has an accident.'

‘Thank you. I do hate being a nuisance.'

There had been movement in the passageway which ceased when Miss Bradley spoke. Florence would have preferred to have taken the dog out herself, to have drawn in the outdoor air, but Mrs McDonald was also in need of its reviving benefits. Once back it wouldn't take her a moment to provide the puppy with a meal and water.

‘I truly try never to overstep, Mrs Norris,' said Miss Bradley when she and Florence were alone. ‘The difficulty is the thin line between that and helping. Or don't you agree?'

‘Of course I do.' Florence gave no sign of feeling rushed, despite knowing Grumidge would wish to discuss how they should best manage the situation, and other members of the staff were being kept waiting. Mrs Longbrow had drilled into her that futile impatience was not only a waste of time but often prolonged delay. It had also seeped in on Florence that allowing her thoughts to wander would do her no good, particularly at a moment such as this. In detective novels, the sleuth, professional or amateur, mentally zeroed in on even the most trivial of comments. There was always the possibility of a slip of the tongue by the killer, or of a telling incongruency brought to light by someone else. Even bystanders on the periphery of the murder could be invaluable. Again she thought of Annie Long.

‘Lord Stodmarsh has seen to all the little fellow's needs since he came,' said Miss Bradley, startling Florence from her reverie, ‘but at such a time as this he might forget, along with a good many other daily doings, as is also likely of his grandson, so I thought I could take this small thing on; it would at least be something.'

‘I think that very kind.'

‘I do appreciate that coming from you, Mrs Norris.' The fine dark eyes brightened. ‘Lady Stodmarsh often mentioned how thoughtful you are. Looking after the puppy for as long as needed will be as much for her as for Lord Stodmarsh. As you know, she gave it to him. The final gift between husband and wife. Oh, dear! I mustn't start weeping.'

‘There has been a good deal of that and will be more,' said Florence gently.

‘So far I've held off, other than some private tears. The last thing needed by those closer to her than I is for me to be in floods.'

‘That takes admirable restraint.' It did indeed.

‘She was so good to me in my time of need and beyond, as has been Lord Stodmarsh – undeservedly so, because I was never the best correspondent.' A spill of tears threatened. ‘I remember there was a year when I forgot to send them a Christmas card. As a vicar's daughter I was brought up never to neglect the smallest gesture of goodwill. Others might rightfully have taken umbrage. Dearest Lillian! It's so desperately hard not to speak of her every other minute. I do know it doesn't help.'

‘But so understandable,' said Florence.

‘One of my failings is a tendency to prattle on, even when all is well.' She then proceeded to do so. ‘If she had not stepped in when she did, after of course talking the matter over with Lord Stodmarsh and his generously agreeing to open their home to me, I don't know what would have become of me. You may well have heard, Mrs Norris, that I was left in very straitened circumstances. My dear father had no private means, nor did my late mother, and although we lived circumspectly on his remuneration there was little to put by …'

‘I'm sorry.'

Molly had come into the kitchen and was clearly anxious for a word. Behind her came Mrs McDonald and the puppy, enabling Florence to excuse herself to Miss Bradley and go with Molly into the passageway.

‘You said to let you know, Mrs Norris, as soon as Miss Johnson woke up, and she just opened her eyes. I plumped up her pillows and told her I'd fetch her up a cup of tea.'