Bloody Royal Prints

by Reba White Williams

  Dinah went back in the house, excited by her plan for moving the furniture, still annoyed by the smell throughout the house, and dreading Jonathan’s arrival. She’d keep the candles burning until the last minute, spray her favorite perfume around, and hope for the best.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Dinah

  Wednesday, May, London

  Dinah completed her usual morning activities, and saw Jonathan off to work. As soon as James returned with the car, he drove her to Young Street, next to Whole Foods, where he would wait for her. She raced through her purchases and rushed back to the car, anxious to get back to 23 Culross and implement the big change.

  Back at the house, she walked through the crowded rooms, looking cautiously at everything. After she had examined everything twice, especially where she planned to put the furniture she’d leave downstairs, she returned to her bedroom and tried to read. At lunchtime, she made a cup of coffee in her make-do kitchen, and took the salad she’d bought at Whole Foods out of the refrigerator. After only a bite or two, she gave up—she was too anxious to eat. She tried to read again, but after she heard the departure of the witches, she couldn’t concentrate, and found herself pacing the floor, fingers crossed.

  •••

  At three o’clock she looked out the window. Two men in jeans and work shirts were standing near the car talking to James. She ran downstairs. James introduced the men as Franklin and Hamilton. Dinah wasn’t sure whether those were first or last names, but she was delighted to see them.

  She explained what she had in mind, and showed them the furniture that would remain downstairs. She photographed the rooms they were about to empty, and as soon as she’d finished, raced up to her bedroom to change into a washable denim jumpsuit and sneakers. She’d postponed changing until the last minute—she hadn’t wanted to jinx the plan by changing, and having her movers fail to appear.

  Back downstairs, she was delighted to see that they had already plunged into the task.

  James and his friends moved the large furniture into the spare rooms, while Dinah collected vases, cushions, bric-a-brac, fake flowers, china figurines, cake stands, and dozens of doodads—anything she could carry—and took them upstairs, racing against the clock. When she had moved everything small, she threw out the dirty plastic plants and dead flower arrangements. The flowers had been stiff and ugly when several days ago Mrs. Malone had stuffed them into tacky plastic vases and scattered them around the house. They were now not only unattractive to look at, but the stale water in the vases smelled terrible. After she poured out the odorous water, she left the vases in the kitchen. Maybe a thrift shop would accept them, or the witches would take them away.

  The move was completed with an hour to spare. The men helped Dinah rearrange the remaining furniture, and at her direction, removed the most depressing of the dark, old paintings that seemed to absorb the small amount of light the heavy, wine-red velvet curtains let in. The paintings joined the furniture upstairs. Once everything was in its new location, she photographed every object, and noted its exact location in a notebook.

  Dinah, thrilled with the uncrowded drawing room, opened the curtains to bring more light into the room. The room looked spacious and inviting, but she was dismayed by how filthy everything was. Even the curtains were gray with dust. The rugs looked as if they hadn’t been vacuumed in years. A musty smell pervaded the rooms.

  The cleaning woman, who was hired by Mrs. O’Hara, probably never entered these rooms. Dinah knew she’d be unable to make the woman—whose name she didn’t know—clean the place properly. If only she could replace the cleaning woman with someone who knew dirt when she saw it, and was willing to do something about it. Jonathan insisted that she accept and work with the entire group that came with the house. She couldn’t budge him, even about a cleaning woman. She would clean as much as she could before Jonathan came home at seven, but she had so little time, she feared she’d only move the dust around.

  Franklin, the shorter and younger of James’s two helpers, apparently read her mind, and stepped forward. “I can take care of the cleaning, madam. I know where the equipment is kept.” Without waiting for a response, he disappeared through the door to the kitchen.

  Dinah looked at James. “How can he know where the vacuum cleaner and broom and such are kept?”

  James smiled. “Franklin used to work here, madam. Hamilton, too. They’re unemployed, which is why I was able to arrange for them to help us today.”

  Dinah frowned. “I don’t understand. When did they work here? Why did they leave? Why are they unemployed?”

  “It’s a long story, and if you’ll excuse me, madam, we don’t have time to discuss it. We need to finish here. Do you have keys to the bedrooms?”

  “Yes, they’re in the safe upstairs, but Mrs. O’Hara has a set, too. She may also have the combination to the safe. I haven’t changed it since we moved it. We’ll have to figure out how to keep her out of these rooms, and the spare bedrooms, or she’ll put everything back where it was.”

  Franklin reappeared with his arms full of cleaning material—brushes, dusters, mop, and broom—and dragging a cart crammed with even more cleaning apparatus, including a vacuum cleaner and a steamer. He’d donned one of the big white aprons Dinah had seen in the laundry room, but which none of the servants wore. With his round chubby face, and short plump body, he looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy. Grabbing a mop and a dust cloth, he appeared eager to begin his Herculean task, but he paused to show Dinah a large key ring.

  “Other than those you have, these are the only keys to the bedrooms, including the one to the master suite. I took them from the kitchen drawer where O’Hara stores them. This key ring should not remain in the house, madam—O’Hara and Malone will find it. I suggest you let James keep these keys.” He turned to Hamilton. “Would you go around and lock up, and give the keys to James when all the rooms are safely locked? Excuse me, madam, but you should keep everything private behind locked doors, and drawers. Nothing is sacred in this house. Those women snoop through everything. I heard you say you haven’t changed the combination on the safe. You should do that immediately. Now would be a good time.”

  Hamilton, tall, gaunt, and silent, nodded, took the key ring, and headed up the stairs again. Franklin continued his cleaning, and Dinah ran upstairs to change the safe combination. When she came back down, James was waiting at the foot of the steps.

  “We have an errand to run,” he said.

  “Where are we going?” Dinah felt as if she were being swept up by a tornado. Would she land in Oz?

  “To the florist’s, madam. You told me you want to take charge of the flowers, and from today you shall.”

  “But Mrs. Malone takes care of the flowers—she says they are her responsibility,” Dinah said.

  James handed Dinah a fat manila envelope. “Here’s a copy of your lease. You should read it carefully. You need to be familiar with it to deal successfully with O’Hara and Malone. Do not believe anything they tell you. They are accomplished liars. The flowers are not Mrs. Malone’s responsibility. She buys half-dead flowers from one of her cronies for almost nothing, and charges you top prices for them. You must tell her that from today you are buying and arranging the flowers, and you will no longer reimburse her for any she buys. You should regularly examine the house accounts, and cancel all the accounts at the places they have been buying food or household goods. There’s a list of reliable and honest sources in this envelope. Malone and O’Hara cheat you on everything, and pocket the money. They will rant and rage, but you must ignore them.”

  Dinah cringed at the thought of confronting the harridans, but she knew James was right. “Jonathan has an assistant look at the bills, but I suppose she automatically approves everything. I’ll take over the accounts right away. But Mrs. O’Hara says that Mr. Ross, the man we dealt with when we rented the house, is their boss, not us. They say they’ll call him, and he’ll decide what’s to be done,” she said.

  Ja
mes nodded. “Ross is responsible for the upkeep of the house—the exterior, or a plumbing or heating problem—that kind of thing. But when you read the lease, you’ll see that many aspects of living here—including the flowers—are up to you and Mr. Hathaway. The flowers in the window boxes are Ross’s responsibility, but he hires the florist you’ll meet this afternoon to take care of them.”

  “I wondered about those window boxes—they’re lovely. Is Mr. Ross a good person or is he one of them?” Dinah asked.

  James hesitated. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I don’t know the current management. Perhaps you know better than I do. What has been your experience with Mr. Ross? Didn’t Mr. Hathaway talk to him about the butler?”

  One of Jonathan’s first acts after they’d arrived in London had been to visit the famous wine merchant Berry Bros & Rudd, founded in 1698, where he spent a fortune on wines. Three days into their stay at 23 Culross Place, Jonathan caught Connell, the butler, swigging Jonathan’s precious claret “as if it were Coca-Cola, right from the bottle,” her irate husband declared. Connell was summarily ejected, with a sharp reprimand to Mr. Ross, who not only headed the agency that had rented them the house, but had also supplied the servants. Jonathan was waiting for Ross to send a new butler to replace Connell.

  “Mr. Ross didn’t object to dismissing Connell, but we still don’t have a butler. Apparently they are hard to find. I don’t care, but Jonathan is annoyed.”

  “I know a butler you’d like: Hamilton, who was butler here for twenty years. You couldn’t do better.”

  “I’d love to hire him. He obviously isn’t afraid of work, and I can tell he’s a nice person. His knowing the house and being a friend of yours make him perfect. What was Franklin’s job?” Dinah asked.

  “His title was footman, but he did all the cleaning. A house this size requires a full-time cleaner,” James said.

  “Oh, I agree. I would hire both of them in a minute, if I could. But how can I do it? I can’t do anything without major attacks from these wretched women.”

  James smiled. “One thing at a time. First, flowers. When these rooms are clean, and there are flower arrangements on every appropriate table, 23 Culross will come alive. Mr. Hathaway will be able to see how the house should look, how it once looked all the time. He will agree to hire both Hamilton and Franklin, when you explain that they helped you rearrange the downstairs, and show him the before and after pictures.”

  In the car and on their way to the florist, excited by the prospect of solving many of her domestic problems, Dinah didn’t pay attention to their route, but when James turned onto an unattractive street that appeared to be a dead-end, she thought he must have made a mistake.

  Before she could comment, he turned again, and they were in a delightful mews. The small houses were identical, white with green shutters and green doors, but every garden was unique. Each was a riot of spring color, with blossoming pink and white trees, and beds filled with bright flowers. The flowers were of many varieties, and every garden had an individual feature. In one, an old-fashioned swing hung from a tree branch; in another a fountain tinkled. Chirping birds clustered around a bird tray in one garden, and in still another she could see bright-colored fish in a lily pool. She longed to stroll up and down the street, and admire each garden.

  “Oh, this is so lovely. I wish Jonathan had rented a sweet little house like one of these,” she said.

  James stopped the car in front of the house at the far end of the mews, where pink and white tulips bloomed in the green window boxes, and the flower beds were even lovelier than the others she had admired. He opened the car door for her, smiling. “We’ve arrived,” he said.

  “This can’t be the florist’s,” she protested. “It’s someone’s home.”

  “Just wait, madam,” James said, and rang the bell.

  A smiling young woman in faded jeans, boots, and a raggedy blue sweater, opened the door. “James! What a nice surprise,” she said. “Please come in.” Her curly red hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but curls escaped on her forehead, and dirt smudged a cheek. She held garden gloves in her hand.

  “Lady Jane, this is Mrs. Hathaway. She and her husband are leasing 23 Culross,” James said.

  “How do you do, Mrs. Hathaway,” Lady Jane said. “Have you come for flowers for the house? I’m so glad. That house cries out for flowers. I have some of the vases from Number 23 in the little cottage. Come with me, and I’ll show you around.”

  Dinah was confused. Was this lady the florist? She looked young—maybe early twenties—and despite her disreputable clothes, every inch a lady. She had a lovely lilting speaking voice. Was she English? Who was she? And how did she happen to have vases from 23 Culross Place?

  They walked through the little house, decorated in delicate pastels—the palest blue lavender, yellow, and green. Floral paintings hung on the pale yellow walls, and needlepoint-covered pillows on the chairs and sofas featured flowers of all kinds. The house smelled of a delicate floral scent she didn’t recognize. Dinah longed to slow down and look at everything, and to inquire about the scent, but she forgot the house when they reached the rear wall, composed of glass doors. She could see the garden that lay beyond, and could hardly wait to step outside. Lady Jane opened the doors, and Dinah followed her into the garden.

  She had arrived in fairyland, not Oz. The garden, fenced and hedged to screen out nearby buildings and unattractive views, was enormous. Blossoming trees were arranged in small groves; beds of flowers in every color, alive with butterflies, dotted the field, divided by narrow gravel paths. Here and there birds bathed and drank at fountains. A small greenhouse and a smaller cottage stood near the back hedge. Dinah breathed deeply. The air smelled of the recently trimmed grass and a medley of blossoms. Birds sang and bees hummed.

  Dinah, dazzled, followed Lady Jane. In no time, James was loading the car with vases full of roses and lilies from the greenhouse, and larger vases of tall branches of forsythia and apple blossoms, from the blooming trees and shrubs. Dinah barely had room in the back seat to sit among the flowers, and was drunk with their perfume.

  She longed to question James about Lady Jane, but within minutes they were back at the house. Dinah was glowing with happiness when they pulled up in front of 23 Culross. James stood by her side, both of them with armfuls of flowers, when the heavy oak doors opened.

  Her heart sank when she saw O’Hara and Malone. O’Hara’s face was red and swollen, like a malevolent balloon. Malone wasn’t as red, but she looked just as angry. They might burst with rage. They blocked the door, their bulk making it impossible to enter.

  “I do the flowers,” Mrs. O’Hara screamed. “I don’t want all that dirt in the house. We’ll have leaves and petals everywhere. And where’d you get them vases? They were stolen from here.”

  James pushed past her and set his vases down on a marble-topped table. Dinah slipped in behind him. She’d never seen Mrs. O’Hara and Mrs. Malone so angry. They terrified her. She was glad James was with her. He spoke loudly over Mrs. O’Hara’s screeching.

  “O’Hara, you know the flowers are not your responsibility. The mistress of the house has always selected and arranged the flowers. I gave Mrs. Hathaway a copy of the lease. She now knows exactly what your duties are. You can’t lie to her anymore. As for the vases, you know very well that Lady Jane took them with her when she left the house. She’s lent them to Mrs. Hathaway, and if anything happens to these vases, you and Malone will pay dearly.

  “As for petals and leaves on the floor, they will be an improvement over the filth you’ve allowed to build up here, Malone. You call yourself a housekeeper! More like a house wrecker. Franklin was appalled when he saw how you’re treating the house.”

  “We’ll see about this,” Mrs. O’Hara shouted. “Mr. Ross makes the decisions here. Not these Americans, certainly not the likes of you, James Taylor. What have you done with all the furniture? The place is empty. If you’ve stolen anything, we’ll see how long you’r
e here, Mrs. Hathaway. You’ll find yourselves on the street.”

  Relying on James to keep them from attacking her, Dinah put her vases down beside his, and stood up straight. She said as firmly as she could: “Mr. Hathaway and I plan to entertain here, and the house was too cluttered and dirty to invite anyone into it. Not only was this floor crowded and fussy, neither beautiful nor comfortable, it was also filthy. Everything is upstairs. With less furniture, perhaps you and the cleaning woman can take better care of the house, Mrs. Malone.

  “I’ve photographed every room as it was, and I’ve photographed each object in its new location. I’ve annotated the inventory with the new locations of every item, and I’ve commented on conditions. Some of the furniture needs restoration. I also have pictures of the filth, showing how you kept the house, and how it looks now that it’s been cleaned. We’ll be living here for several months, and I’m determined to make the house livable and attractive, and to see that its contents are secure. Feel free to call Mr. Ross at the agency and complain, but I assure you that nothing I have done is forbidden by the lease.”

  She spoke bravely, but her mouth was dry. Jonathan would think her fear of the women was irrational, but she knew they were dangerous. She was sure they would retaliate for her actions. She was terrified of what they might do. She kept wishing Coleman were in London. Coleman would know how to deal with these women.

  The men were leaving, and she was feeling forlorn, frightened, and exhausted, when Hamilton approached and offered to stay for the evening and deal with dinner and after-dinner cleanup.

  “I suggest you go upstairs and rest, then change for dinner. Leave everything to me.”

  “Oh, I’d love to,” Dinah said. “Thank you.”

  She ran upstairs, locked herself in her bathroom, and filled a tub with warm water and the freesia-scented bath salts Jonathan had ordered for her. She was still worried about retaliation from the witches, but for the moment, she was triumphant.