My True Companion (6 page)

Unable to sleep, Millie picked up Barbara Conrad’s
manuscript, and tried to read a few paragraphs. It was very well written, and
Barbara had a way of deftly showing the idiosyncrasies of human nature. Despite
that, Millie could not concentrate. She put it back on her bedside table, and
lay down, thinking long into the dawn. About the two deaths. About escape.
About freedom from Mrs Oakengate’s condescension. But her last unbidden
thought, before drifting into a dreamless sleep, was about James Haxby and how
his lips might feel against hers.

“Millie, Simon Brady and I are going back up to Masson Hill
this morning. Would you like to come with us? Another pair of eyes might be
very useful.”

The breakfast table fell into silence as if the answer
mattered to everyone there.

“I’m afraid I must stay here,” said Millie, looking down at
her plate regretfully. She would have liked nothing more than to go with the
two men and help in their investigations, and felt a small thrill at being
asked. “Mrs Oakengate needs me.”

“Yes, that is true,” said Mrs Oakengate. “Besides, it is not
seemly for a young woman to go off in the company of two men.”

“Did you think I intended to seduce her whilst Brady
watched?” asked Haxby. He threw down his napkin and rose from the table. “I may
have visited some savage places,” he said, angrily, “but I have never been
accused of behaving like a savage.”

“Might I remind you, Mr Haxby,” said Mrs Oakengate in her
sweetest, deadliest voice, “that Millicent is employed by me as my companion,
and as such is subject to my commands.”

“And don’t you just love that?” said Haxby. “Ordering that
girl around, questioning her worth in this world. Telling her whom she might or
might not love.”

Millie gasped. Had he followed and listened to the
conversation of the night before? If so, why would he? Perhaps he suspected her
or Mrs Oakengate of some wrongdoing. Or perhaps he had merely guessed what her
employer would say to her.

“Haxby…” Henry Fazeby’s voice was gentle, but firm. “You are
not really helping Miss Woodgate’s cause. Or your own.”

Haxby had too much respect for Fazeby to argue back. He
merely nodded and murmured an apology, aimed mainly at Millie, before leaving
the room.

“James has spent so long abroad, he sometimes forgets the
niceties of English manners,” said Cynthia. “You must forgive him, Victoria.”
Millie sensed an underlying plea to Mrs Oakengate to forgive Millie too, or
perhaps it was just wishful thinking on her part.

“Forgive him? Why, there is nothing to forgive. I understand
men like Haxby,” said Mrs Oakengate, with an excited gleam in her eyes. “He
must be master of all he surveys. Of course, he would never be my master, no
man could. He obviously thinks about me constantly, don’t you think? The way he
takes such an interest in my dealings with my young charge here. That’s why
Henry had to warn him to behave, isn’t it, Henry? Showing such passion publicly
is unseemly, even if it is all rather exciting.”

“Yes, of course, Victoria,” said Henry, his mouth turning up
slightly at the corners. “I knew there must be some reason I said it.”

The morning passed by interminably for Millie. Henry Fazeby
was out on the estate, talking to his manager, and Alexander Markham had gone
into the town, having volunteered to deal with the particulars involving the
funerals of Mr and Mrs Parker-Trent. Count Chlomsky said he was going for a
walk, but did not divulge his destination or when he would return.

Mrs Oakengate had very little use for Millie at all, having
Barbara Conrad and Cynthia Fazeby for company in the drawing room. She filled
up Millie’s time with errands.

“Did I say my red scarf, Millicent? I’m sure I said my blue
scarf.”

“You said your red scarf,” said Barbara Conrad, looking up from
her book.

“No, I think you’re mistaken. Besides, it is Millicent’s job
to remember these things, not yours, though it’s very kind of you to take an
interest, I’m sure, my dear.”

“No, not that book, the one in my other bag.” Her various commands
ensured was the Millie got plenty of exercise, and could at least eke out the
errands so that she could spend at least ten minutes alone.

It was on one many errands – to fetch Mrs Oakengate’s
favourite slippers (“No, not the pink pair, the ones with the pearl appliqué.
Honestly Millicent, you are in a dream world today.”) that Millie saw an
unfamiliar man coming out of one of the bedrooms. His face was turned away from
her, but there was something familiar about his gait.

Despite thinking that it was probably just one of the
servants, Millie ducked back into a recess and watched his reflection in a
mirror at the end of the hall, as he went furtively across the landing into
several bedrooms, appearing to spend some time searching, before going back to
the original door. As she was watching through a reflected image, Millie found
it gauge which rooms he targeted.

At first she thought he might be one of the police officers,
sent to investigate, but she felt sure that Cynthia Fazeby would have mentioned
it to them, and would have a servant overlooking the search. Only when he
looked up briefly did Millie see in the mirror that he was the man with the
pock-marked face that she had seen climbing Masson Hill.

She wondered who he was and what he hoped to find. He did
not look like a policeman, and was not familiar with the layout of Fazeby Hall.
He often went back into the same rooms then came out again, looking irritated
by his mistake. It was with some shock that Millie realised his reflection in
the mirror was moving towards her. At any moment, her hiding place in the
recess would be revealed to him, and who knew what he might do when he found
her spying on him?

She rushed back to her room, and shut the door, locking it
from the inside. Just as she suspected, a few minutes later, someone tried to
turn the handle. Millie held her breath, wondering if the man would go so far
as to break the door down. He didn’t. He walked away, and Millie heard him
talking to someone. She would have liked to see who his companion was, but she
was afraid to leave her room whilst the man was still in the vicinity.

Millie waited five minutes, pacing her floor, wondering who
the man was and why he was searching the rooms, and then, after locking her
bedroom door from the outside, started to make her way back to the drawing
room. She had reached the top of the stairs when the man once again exited the
bedroom, and stood watching her as she ascended. She hoped that he had not
realised she was there all along.

Her heart beat rapidly, wishing that Haxby were returned so
she could tell him about the man. She strongly believed there was some
connection between the man being at Masson Hill the day before, and him
searching the rooms at Fazeby Hall. Wondering if she should tell Cynthia Fazeby,
she went back to the drawing room.

“Where have you been, child?” said Mrs Oakengate.

“I had trouble finding them,” Millie said, surprised by how
easily the lie fell from her lips. She would not have called herself a
dishonest person. “Mrs Fazeby, I wonder … there was a man upstairs. Is he a
member of your staff? I only ask because I had not seen him before. His face is
pock-marked.”

“I hardly think it kind to draw attention to peoples’
shortcomings, Millicent,” said Mrs Oakengate. “Especially when one has little
to recommend oneself.”

“I think Millie is very pretty,” said Barbara Conrad,
glancing up from her magazine.

“Do you really?” asked Mrs Oakengate.

“Yes, I do.”

“I believe that’s Vasily, Count Chlomsky’s valet,” Cynthia
cut in quickly, before the argument about Millie’s attributes became too
heated. “He only arrived last night, having had business in London for the
Count. Is there a problem?”

Millie wondered whether to say the man had been searching
the rooms, but did not get a chance.

“It is hard to get good valets nowadays, I believe,” said
Mrs Oakengate. “I blame socialism. Do you know I got into a taxicab the other
day, and the driver called me ‘duckie’. Said he’d lost his leg during the war,
but that’s hardly an excuse for bad manners. That would never have happened
during Queen Victoria’s time.”

The return James Haxby and Simon Brady put an end to Mrs
Oakengate’s reminiscences and prevented Millie from having to explain her
interest in Count Chlomsky’s valet. Her only regret was in being unable to get
Haxby alone and tell him what she had seen.

Just before lunch Alexander Markham returned, as did Henry
Fazeby. Only Chlomsky was missing. “We’ve had word that he’s returned to
London,” said Henry, as they awaited the luncheon bell. “His valet was here
this morning, packing the Count’s luggage.”

“I thought no one was allowed to leave,” said Mrs Oakengate.

“Unfortunately,” said Simon Brady, who had been invited to
join them for luncheon, “his diplomatic status means we cannot stop him.”

“It’s a strange thing,” said Millie, choosing her words
carefully, and directing them at Haxby and Brady, “but I was sure I saw Count
Chlomsky’s valet on Masson Hill yesterday, only it couldn’t have been, because
Mrs Fazeby tells me he only arrived last night.”

“Then it’s hardly a story worth telling, is it?” said Mrs
Oakengate. “Millicent, I think we already had a discussion about your need to
feel important. Do I have to remind you?”

Millie looked down at her lunch, but had lost her appetite.

“Simon,” said Haxby, “I’d like to go up to London after
lunch. Can you give me leave?”

“Certainly, as long as you tell me your whereabouts.”

“Of course. I’d like to take Millie with me.”

“Most certainly not,” said Mrs Oakengate. “It’s improper.”

“I believe we’re in the twentieth century,” said Cynthia,
“where young women no longer need a chaperone, Victoria. I’m sure you can spare
her for a few hours.” There was firmness in her voice that Millie had not heard
before. Millie wondered briefly if her hostess would be glad to be rid of her,
yet the lady’s eyes looked on her with generosity.

“Then that’s settled. We’ll leave on the afternoon train,”
said Haxby. Mrs Oakengate opened her mouth to protest, but faced with Haxby’s
hard stare, clamped it shut again.

Chapter Six

Millie spent the next couple of hours feeling both awkward
and excited. Awkward because Mrs Oakengate kept giving her dark looks. Excited
because she would be going to London with Haxby. Why he should choose to take
her, she did not know, but she had no intentions of arguing. If Mrs Oakengate
dismissed her, then it would at least give Millie the impetus she needed to
start living her own life, free from the restraints set by others. She believed
her life had begun a course over which she had no control. Where it might lead,
she did not know, but she had never felt so alive, so stimulated. She began to
understand why Haxby spent his life seeking excitement. With that understanding
came the nagging doubts that she was not interesting enough for such a man.

No sooner had lunch ended, than a car was brought around,
and they set off for the station. At first, Millie could barely speak, despite
the questions that filled her mind. Being alone with Haxby, albeit with a
chauffeur in the front seat, rendered her speechless. They exchanged a few
pleasantries about the weather, and about how charming their hosts were, but
talked nothing of the impending trip.

It was only when they were seated in a first class carriage,
on route to London that Millie finally found to courage to ask “Why have you
brought me?”

“Because you know what this Vasily looks like.”

“So does Mrs Fazeby.”

“Yes, but I rather think Henry might protest if I ran off to
London with his wife.”

Millie could not help smiling. “No one would blame you. She
is very lovely.”

“So are you. You have the added benefit of not married to
another man.”

Unused to men paying her compliments, Millie could only gaze
out of the window, barely seeing the fields and factories they passed. “Do you
think Vasily was the man who killed Mrs Parker Trent?” she asked, finding safer
ground on which to tread.

“I have a feeling you do.”

Millie nodded. “I saw him as we were walking down the hill.
At the time, I only noticed him because of his bad skin condition, which was
very unkind of me. But there’s more to it than you know. This morning, I saw
him going through each of the upper rooms in Fazeby Hall. He was looking for
something, I’m sure of it.”

Haxby’s eyes widened. “Does anyone else know this?”

“No, I didn’t know who he was at the time, and thought he
might be one of the policemen. Then I saw his face and recognised him. I grew
really suspicious when Cynthia … Mrs Fazeby … said he had only arrived last
night. He may have only arrived at Fazeby Hall then, but I know he’s the man I
saw in the morning.”

“Now the Count has fled to London,” said Haxby. “He should
be quite easy to find. He will have gone straight to his Embassy. We’ll watch
there for a while, to see if Vasily arrives.”

“Then what?”

“Then I’m going to question him, and find out exactly what
he was doing on Masson Hill yesterday.”

“Are you … are you going to torture him?”

“It’s not necessary to torture people to get information,
Millie. You can, however, make them believe that you might.”

“Oh.” Despite her misgivings, Millie found the whole thing
very exciting, as if she had fallen into one of the exciting spy stories she
used to read to her father. She reminded herself that such stories seldom ended
with the execution of innocent men, and that memory brought her sadness, and a
sense of guilt that she should be enjoying this adventure so much.

Haxby reached across the carriage and took her hand in his.
“I think we’ll be able to prove your father was innocent of all charges.”