by Sara Rosett
“No, miss.”
We reached the staircase, and I nodded to it. “What about these stairs? Could someone have come up or down them?”
“No one did.”
“How do you know that?”
“Tommy was on duty at the base of these stairs. I spoke to him last night, and he said no one came by him.”
“He’s sure?”
“Yes. You can speak to him if you like, or Cook. Anyone going up these stairs would have to go right by her too.”
“Thank you, I’d like to do that.”
George nodded, and I preceded him down the backstairs, which I think shocked him a bit, but I didn’t see the point in retracing my steps to the main staircase then walking around to the kitchen through the main rooms of the house when I could go directly down from where I was.
I emerged into the kitchen, startling the servants into a brief silence. I smiled and crossed to the cook. “Sorry to disturb you, but I have a question about last night.”
“Don’t we all, dearie. Don’t we all. I’m Mrs. Finley,” she said. “How can I help you?”
I smiled at her, glad she was the informal type. I looked over my shoulder to the stairs. “Did anyone go upstairs last night?”
“Heavens, no,” she said. “That’s the one thing Mr. Blakely won’t hold with—people stumbling about upstairs unsupervised.” She picked up a skillet and waved it back and forth as she shook her head. “No, Tommy stood on guard the whole evening. As I told the police, he’s a good lad and wouldn’t let someone slip by.” She pointed the skillet at me. “And they’d have to get by me as well.”
The staircase was in plain sight of most of the kitchen, so I didn’t see how someone could have gotten by unnoticed. Cook leaned in and said, “George and Tommy wouldn’t let anyone go upstairs. It’d be their job if they did, and neither one of them would want that.”
I asked after the maid who had brought my tea that morning. I learned her name was Milly, and I found her in the ballroom, scrubbing the floor where a drink had been spilled. She scrambled to her feet as I crossed the parquet.
“Hello, Milly. I have another question about Jane. Do you know where her sister lives in London?”
“Yes, miss. She has a room not far from where she works.”
“But do you know what part of town it’s in?”
“No, but the address is on a stack of letters. Jane left them in the dresser in our room. She was in such a hurry when she packed that she forgot them. I found them this morning and put them aside for her. I know she’ll want them.”
“It’s important I get in touch with Jane. Could you get one of the letters for me?”
“Yes, miss.” Milly left and returned with a stack of envelopes. I copied down the return address from one, then went to look for Violet in the breakfast room, but she hadn’t appeared.
She must have changed her mind and decided to stay in her room. I asked for Gwen’s motor to be brought around. I knew Gwen wouldn’t mind if I borrowed it. While I waited, I wrote Gwen a note, letting her know I was using her motor and I’d be back later. I penned a second note to Violet and sent it upstairs to her. The mint green Morris Cowley rolled to a stop on the sweep as I pulled on my gloves. The chauffeur held the door for me, and I climbed in. I released the lever, and the motor was rolling forward when Violet dashed out the front door. I applied the brake.
She gripped the top of the door. “Where are you going?”
“To London.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“The police won’t like it.”
“Did the police specifically tell us we couldn’t leave?”
“Well . . . no.”
“Then it will be fine, I’m sure. And I am coming back. I’m only going to dash up to town and find out what happened with Jane. I got her sister’s address from one of the maids. It should only take a few hours at the most.”
“I want to come with you.”
“Then climb in.”
Violet’s grip on the door tightened. “You don’t think we’ll get in trouble?”
“I have no idea. If we do, we’ll beg for forgiveness.”
One corner of Violet’s mouth turned up. “That’s usually how I operate.”
“I know. I’ll wait while you get your hat.”
Chapter Eleven
As Violet and I zipped through the sun-speckled shade of Archly Manor’s grounds, I swung the steering wheel of the Morris back and forth, following the curves of the road, readjusting to driving on the left side of the road. I’d last driven in America and was glad to have a few acres to recalibrate my brain to English driving. By the time we came to the gates, I felt confident and swung the motor toward the little village closest to the estate. The papier-mâché unicorn guarding the gate was gone, and I wondered if some of the partygoers had taken it with them when they left. It would be just the sort of thing that set would find hilarious—driving back to London with a huge unicorn sticking out of their motor.
The summer sunshine was warm, but the breeze kept it from becoming too hot. Violet had been silent, and I left her to soak up the sun and feel the wind pulling at her hair and clothes. When I slowed down in the village and rolled to a stop in front of a cottage with a blue door and white shutters, she said, “I thought we were going to London?”
“We are. But first, one quick stop. Wait here. I shouldn’t be a moment.”
The blue door opened, and I introduced myself to a woman who wore a housedress and apron and had her dull brown hair pulled back into a bun. I explained I was looking for Mr. Brown.
“He’s out. Off to Finchbury Crossing.”
“To the train station?”
She looked over my shoulder to the pale green car. “That’s right. I don’t suppose you’re wanting to hire him.”
“No. I only want to ask him a question about last night. Did he get a telephone call from Archly Manor late last night?”
“That he did. Nearly midnight. Picked up a young woman at the gates, he said. Drove her to Finchbury Crossing and waited until the last train arrived. He saw her safely on the train to London. Said he didn’t feel right about leaving her there at that time of night.”
“Thank you, that’s helpful. When will he return? Later this afternoon?”
She confirmed this was the case and seemed slightly offended that I obviously wanted to hear the story from her husband.
I returned to the motor.
“What was that about?” Violet asked.
I was glad to see the interest in her eyes instead of dazed blankness. I explained, and she asked, “So you thought Jane might not have left?”
“I didn’t know. Best to find out exactly what she did rather than speculate, don’t you think?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“What do you know about the argument between Jane and Alfred?” I asked, skimming along the road to London.
Violet’s chin came up. “Nothing. Alfred was absolutely unreasonable. He refused to tell me what it was about.”
“And then you and Alfred argued?”
“Yes.”
“Did it happen often? Alfred arguing with the servants . . . or anyone else?”
“No, of course not.”
Her response was so quick that I looked away from the road, but her head was turned away, and I couldn’t see her expression.
Violet said, “I think I’ll try and sleep a bit.” She put her head down on the seat, closed her eyes, and didn’t move until we arrived in London.
Jane’s sister lived at a much better address than I did in London, a neat little terraced house almost in Kensington. I parked the motor and gently shook Violet’s shoulder. “We’re here.”
Violet blinked and sat up, a confused look on her face.
“We’re in London at Jane’s sister’s lodging house.”
Violet straightened her hat and smoothed her dress. “So what do we do? Ring the bell and ask to speak with her?”
“We won’t have to do that if we can catch her before she gets too far.” I tilted my head in the direction of a woman with short white-blonde curls in a flower-print dress who had come out of the front door of the house. She walked quickly down the stairs and past us, moving at a good clip down the sidewalk. She never looked our way. Violet twisted her head around to watch her, then looked back at me. “That’s Jane? Are you sure?”
“I think so. It’s amazing what a bob and new clothes can do.” I climbed out of the car and hurried after the woman. I caught up with her at the next corner as she waited for a break in the traffic. “Jane?”
She turned, and her eyebrows rose. “Miss Olive?”
“It is you,” I said. “You look a bit different with your hair shorter, but I thought it was you.” The fair-haired bun that had rested at the nape of Jane’s neck was gone. Her hair curled in short tendrils framing her face.
She touched the ends of the curls. “It’s quite different. I’m not sure if I like it.”
“It’s very becoming,” I said as Violet arrived at my side. Jane eyed her with what seemed to be a wary expression. I glanced at Violet. She had a scowl on her face as she studied Jane’s new look. Tension vibrated in the air between them. Perhaps bringing Violet along hadn’t been the best idea. I’d thought the change of scene would do Violet good, but the animosity she was projecting toward Jane might make it hard to convince Jane to talk to us.
I said to Jane, “You look as though you’re in a hurry, but I’d like to ask you a few questions if you can spare a few moments. Something rather . . . tragic . . . happened last night at Archly Manor after you left.”
Everyone loves a mystery, and the intrigue must have piqued Jane’s interest because she checked her wristwatch. “I do have a few minutes. There’s a Lyons this way.”
Once we were settled at a table and served tea, Jane said, “I suppose this is about why I left so suddenly, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Violet said. “Why did you leave your post and scurry away in the middle of the night?”
I sent Violet a warning glance as Jane said, “It was a silly thing, to leave like that. Of course, if I’d not had my sister to go to, I wouldn’t have done it.” Jane had been stirring her tea. She put the spoon down with a click. “I’d had enough. I wasn’t going to put up with it anymore. I considered staying through the end of the month, but . . .” She pressed her lips together for a moment. “I know he’s your fiancé, but he can be . . . bothersome.”
Violet looked a little surprised at this burst of honesty from the former maid. A day ago, I doubt that Jane would’ve ever made that statement, but this was a new woman. The bobbed hair and bright frock weren’t the only change. Her attitude was no longer self-effacing.
Violet’s hand tightened on the handle of her teacup. I asked hurriedly, “It was last night that he bothered you?”
Jane had been about to take a sip of her tea, but she set her cup down and looked directly at Violet. “I know you’re jealous and think he was flirting, but he wanted money.”
Violet dropped her gaze from Jane to the tabletop. I turned back to Jane. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Jane opened her mouth, took a small breath, then made a huffing sound. “There’s really no way to say it politely.” She placed her hand on the table in front of Violet. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I swear it’s true. It was blackmail.”
“Blackmail?” I repeated, and several people in the restaurant turned to look at me. I was stunned. I’d expected her to say Alfred had made unwelcome advances. I lowered my voice and leaned over the table. “What exactly happened?”
She pushed her teacup away and settled her hands in her lap. “I’ll tell you the whole thing, then perhaps you’ll understand. Mr. Eton often stays at Archly Manor. One morning when he was staying at the manor, he found me in Mr. Blakely’s study. I was using the typewriter.” She pushed her shoulders back. “I’ve been learning to type. My sister said that the bank would have an opening soon, and if I could type, I had a good chance of being hired because she could give me a recommendation. She had her instruction books and sent them to me. I couldn’t afford to go to a secretarial school, but Mr. Blakely had a typewriter, so I got up early and snuck downstairs before most of the household was awake to practice.”
I waved off a waitress approaching our table, and Jane went on, “Mr. Eton wasn’t an early riser. I don’t know why he was up at that hour, but he saw me, and he knew I had no business using the typewriter. I suppose I looked guilty when he startled me. He only made some comment about how he’d never seen a maid who could type. He told me to get on about my business and leave everything as it was. I did take the practice book with me, but I was so flustered that I left the paper in the typewriter.” She sighed. “I thought that was the end of it, but a few days later, he told me that if I didn’t pay him two shillings that week, he would tell Mr. Babcock. Mr. Eton had kept the paper I’d accidentally left in the typewriter, you see. He said it was evidence, and he’d show it to Babcock if I didn’t pay.”
“And you were afraid you’d lose your position even though you were doing it before your day officially began?” I asked.
“Mr. Babcock is not the most lenient of people.” Jane closed her eyes for a moment, then said, “I gave Mr. Eton the money. I realize now it was a stupid, stupid thing to do because the next week he wanted more money. He went away for a few weeks, and I thought it was over, that he’d forgotten it. A bit of fun with the maid, you know? But last night he cornered me and said, ‘Don’t forget, you owe me three weeks’ worth now.’”
She looked out the window. “I don’t know what came over me last night. I decided I didn’t want to do it anymore, and I told him so.” She turned to Violet. “You saw part of that, I think.”
Violet gave a little nod of her head.
Jane’s voice was stronger as she said, “I told him I wouldn’t put up with it anymore and told him to leave me alone. He laughed and said, ‘We’ll see about that.’ It made me so angry. That was when you called for help with Mrs. Reid,” Jane said, looking to me. “Once I had her comfortable, I went upstairs, changed out of my uniform, packed my bag, and marched down the stairs. I knew there was a late train out of Finchbury Crossing. If I hurried, I could catch it and be in London and with my sister in a few hours. I had enough money saved up for the train fare and to pay Mr. Brown to get me to the station.”
“So you caught the train at what time?”
“At midnight.”
Violet, who had been so silent, said, “Alfred’s dead.”
Jane looked as if someone had slapped her. “Dead? But how? Was there an accident?”
“He was pushed off the balcony during the fireworks,” Violet said.
“Oh, how horrible.” Jane looked away, her thoughts obviously turned inward, but then her gaze flew back to Violet. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—”
Violet nodded, and Jane’s sympathy must have moved her because Violet’s eyes glistened with tears and she sniffed. “Thank you.”
To give Violet a moment to compose herself, I turned the conversation back to Jane. “Because of Alfred’s death, I’m sure the police will contact you.”
“Oh, that’s true. How terrible. I’m sure my sister’s landlady will be appalled, but I suppose I’ll have to talk to them. Everything happened exactly as I said.”
I believed her. Jane hadn’t seemed to be keeping anything back or trying to avoid answering our questions. The fact that Alfred had tried to blackmail her was shocking, but I didn’t think she was making it up. After all, it would be so much easier to lie and say he’d pressed his attentions on her. I said, “I’m sure they’ll want to confirm certain things with you, like what you’ve told us as well as the fact that you gave Thea—Mrs. Reid—a sleeping powder.”
She nodded. “Yes, poor thing.”
“So you made it for her?” I asked.
“Yes, she was in terrible pain and was k
eeping as still as possible. She asked me to mix the packet into the water and then wait while she drank it so I could take the glass away.”
“And you saw her take it all?”
“Oh, yes. She needed it.”
I looked at Violet with raised eyebrows, indicating that if she had any questions she should ask them now. Violet shook her head, and after a few more minutes, Jane said she had to leave. Milly had given me Jane’s letters that she’d left behind at Archly Manor, and I gave those to Jane before she left.
As we stepped onto the pavement and moved in the opposite direction from Jane, I said to Violet, “You knew, didn’t you?”
Chapter Twelve
Violet picked up her pace. “Why would you think I knew anything about Alfred blackmailing a maid?”
I hurried to keep up with her. “Because you weren’t surprised.”
Violet’s steps halted, and her gaze dropped from my face. “Yes, I knew,” she mumbled, her chin tucked into the collar of her dress.
“How did you find out Alfred was blackmailing her?” I asked. “Did you overhear the argument between Alfred and Jane?”
She looked around the crowded street. “Not here. I’ll tell you on the way back to Archly Manor.”
She remained silent until we were settled in the motor and I was navigating through the traffic of London. I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. She stared through the windshield, gripping her handbag. She didn’t look at all like the carefree young woman of a few days before whose only concern had been dancing at a party.
Once the traffic thinned and we were on the outskirts of London, I said, “So how did you find out about the blackmail?”
Violet’s hold on her handbag tightened. “I knew Alfred wasn’t telling me everything. I could tell there was something between him and Jane. That dratted comb fell out of my hair again, and I’d gone to fix it. When I came back down the hall to the ballroom, Alfred and Jane were over to the side in a dark corner. I couldn’t hear what they said, but they were arguing rather fiercely. He leaned in and said something with great emphasis.”
