by Jack Murray
‘Mary Tanner,’ announced Mary.
‘Miss Tanner,’ said Miss Carlisle, who sounded as if she did, in fact, come from the city just south of the Scottish border, ‘I’m glad to see you are prompt.’
You certainly don’t look it, thought Mary, following the housekeeper inside to a large kitchen. Looking around, she felt a pang. It reminded her of Cavendish Hall. The cook turned around and smiled at Mary who returned her smile. The cook, at least, seemed friendly and reminded her of Elsie. It must be all the lovely meals they create and eat every day. Why wouldn’t you be happy, she reflected.
They sat down at the dining table. The cook came over and introduced herself, ‘Hello, my name is Rose.’
Mary shook hands and smiled, ‘Hello, I’m Mary.’
‘You sound as if you’re a Londoner.’
‘Yes,’ said Mary, before deftly moving away from any conversation about where, exactly by saying, ‘And you’re from Yorkshire, if I’m not mistaken.’
‘Born and bred,’ confirmed Rose. ‘Would you both like a tea?’
Mary looked at Miss Carlisle who nodded curtly to Rose. The cook turned away and said sardonically, ‘That’ll be a yes then.’
Miss Carlisle looked with ill-disguised irritation at Rose who walked to the large Aga stove that dominated and warmed the kitchen. Then she returned her interrogative gaze to Mary.
‘References?’
Mary handed over a letter written by Betty without saying anything. Already she felt the best strategy for winning the job would be to say as little as possible. With people like this, being seen and not heard wasn’t just a distinct advantage, it was part of the job description.
The housekeeper read through the letter and then returned it to Mary. Betty’s reference had clearly done the trick. There was an almost imperceptible softening in the unimpressed exterior of Miss Carlisle, although she didn’t seem altogether impressed either, mused Mary.
‘Well, how long have you been in service?’
‘Three years, Miss Carlisle.’
‘What have you done?’ pressed the housekeeper.
Mary listed a few lady’s maid and house maid activities that she had been personally responsible for. They matched, for the most part, what she had done in France at the hospitals.
‘Do you know the requirements of the role here?’
‘No,’ admitted Mary.
‘You will conduct all of the housemaid duties you mentioned before and assist Rose, when needed, in the kitchen. Do you understand?’
Mary smiled and nodded.
‘When can you start?’
‘Any time but I shall need to collect my belongings from Miss Simpson’s house.’
‘That can be arranged. For the moment, you’ll need to change. There is livery in the cupboard. Pick something in your size. It’s all clean. I’ll introduce you to Mr Grantham, the butler later and Miss Hannah, who is Mrs Rosling’s maid, for the moment, until Verna returns from honeymoon.’ The last comment was made as if she was chewing a troublesome wasp.
‘Very good, Miss Carlisle,’ replied Mary rising.
‘One other thing, Mr Rosling’s nephew is staying with us. He’s a young man and his manner is decidedly American,’ said Miss Carlisle with something approaching a shudder, ‘which is to say highly familiar. Such familiarity should not be misinterpreted nor encouraged. Am I clear?’
‘Yes, Miss Carlisle,’ responded Mary. This was new news. She wondered what the young man would be like. Mary suspected that this was potentially a complication. She hoped she would not have to deal with any droit de seigneur ambitions the young man might have when it came to female members of the staff.
‘I should also add that Mr Rosling, although no longer a young man is, shall we say, of a robust manner.’
Mary nodded at Miss Carlisle’s flailing attempt at euphemistically describing a man with overly libidinous proclivities but said nothing. This was becoming more complicated by the minute. Although not vain in any sense, Mary was not unaware of her own appeal. Working in the field hospital had been a daily exercise in fending off the advances of doctors, soldiers and, on occasion, some nurses. Luckily her manner, whilst not prurient, nor stand-offish, was sufficiently forceful to avert any serious misconduct or embarrassment. She briefly considered if Kit had ever had to deal with unwarranted attention from women in the course of his work as a spy. She concluded, unhappily, it was probably different for men.
Miss Carlisle led Mary to a room to change into her livery and soon she was clad in a manner like Polly back at Cavendish Hall with a long black cotton dress and a white pinafore. She looked at herself in the mirror and pondered what Kit’s reaction would be to seeing her dressed thus. This made her smile. Perhaps something to store away for the future. Miss Carlisle met her outside the changing room.
‘Come this way. You’ll start with the bedrooms. Make the beds and tidy the rooms. That should take you up to lunch time when I can introduce you to the others. The Rosling family are all out this morning and won’t be back until late afternoon. Follow me.’
Making beds, thought Mary, this detective lark isn’t all beer and skittles. She wondered what Kit was doing at that moment. Playing schoolboy games in his club no doubt.
Chapter 15
Although Kit felt certain that the recent shared experience with the Chief Inspector had meant they had developed an acquaintance of sorts, he still felt distinctly uncomfortable about seeing him again. Unquestionably, he felt at loose end without Mary and wanted to fill his time. However, this mission was one part imposition and two parts messenger-boy from Lord Wolf. The latter was a means to an end and might help achieve the first object, that of getting involved in the case, although it ran the risk of doing exactly the opposite.
At the reception desk Kit asked to see the Chief Inspector. He sat in the reception area and waited for a few minutes. Then he saw Detective Sergeant Ryan. The young detective made his way straight towards him. Kit rose to meet Ryan and they shook hands.
‘Lord Aston,’ said Ryan, ‘I’m afraid the Chief Inspector is with the Commissioner now. Can I help?’
‘I quite understand. I only came on the off chance he might have a spare few moments. I was hoping to be updated on the case. In fact, if I’m being honest, I met Lord Wolf earlier and he was somewhat disappointed with progress. I’m here at his behest although I must admit to curiosity about the latest.’
Ryan nodded gravely, ‘Yes, sir, we’re aware that Lord Wolf is displeased.’
‘Yes, I had a feeling you might be. I tried to reassure him that you were the best men to be investigating this but, well I’m sure you can imagine.’
In fact, Ryan could not begin to imagine what the loss of a diamond necklace worth tens of thousands of pounds might feel like. Unwittingly, the look on his face may have betrayed this for he saw Kit grinning back at him.
‘Perhaps not everyone has had a diamond necklace stolen,’ said Kit. ‘Are you able to tell me how things are going? I promise I will be circumspect in what I tell Wolf.’
Ryan nodded, and the two men walked outside into the afternoon air. The rain had eased off, but the cold lashed their faces.
‘We have no new leads, which is the problem. Anything we’ve had has turned out to be a dead end. The diamonds haven’t surfaced in any of the usual places. Nobody seems to know anything or, at least, is saying anything. It all feels like it is news to everyone.’
‘Have you mentioned the Phantom?’
‘No, the Chief Inspector is still adamant that we shouldn’t. As far as he’s concerned, the Phantom is in prison. Any mention of him is a distraction or, more likely, misdirection by the real criminal.’
Kit nodded in agreement. He thought so too but it still troubled him as to why the robber would go to the trouble of printing and leaving the calling card and, more pertinently, how he obtained a card that was in every respect identical to Hadleigh’s.
‘Have you any theories on how the new Phantom came by
an identical card? This might be the key.’
‘Well, it’s certainly been troubling the Chief Inspector. We investigated the printer, but he went out of business years ago. I think he’s dead now, anyway.’
‘And there’s no other potential source for these cards?’
‘I understand all of Hadleigh’s cards were either seized or destroyed from both his house as well as the printer’s. That includes the printing plates. This was before my time, obviously.’
‘Of course,’ replied Kit eyeing Ryan. One of the things Kit realised about himself was his ability, as he grew older, to deceive more easily and to comprehend when someone was lying to him. The very nature of his work in Russia was to live a lie, to recognise its form, its texture, and its tone. This was a matter of survival as much as it was a tool of the trade. When Ryan replied to him, Kit’s senses tingled. Something in the young detective’s manner told Kit he was either lying or more likely, not telling the full truth.
The two men turned and walked back in the direction of Scotland Yard. When they arrived at the steps, Kit said, ‘Thank you for sharing this, sergeant. Would you be kind enough to let the Chief Inspector know I called. I think you can tell him what you’ve told me. He’ll want to know and I’m sure he won’t mind.’
Kit returned to the car.
‘Anything new, sir?’ asked Miller.
‘No, they’re floundering somewhat. No clues, no lead, nothing.’
‘None of the stolen items have surfaced?’ By the tone of his voice, it seemed extraordinary to Miller.
‘Apparently not,’ replied Kit.
‘Well, either there’s a new fence that no one is aware of or the person stealing the jewels doesn’t really need to sell them.’
‘I agree, Harry, it’s a very good point. Hadleigh was a gentleman thief. It could be we have another.’
‘Not a lot they can do then,’ pointed out Miller. ‘It sounds like they need a break badly. No trail, no catch the criminal.’
Kit nodded and added, ‘And this is the nub of the problem for the Chief Inspector. They need a break. In my limited experience, these things usually come from the area one least expects.’
-
Nearly two years nursing in France meant Mary was more than capable of managing a handful of bedrooms. She moved methodically through each room changing sheets, cleaning floors and windows, tidying clothes away. It was almost a surprise how quickly it all came back to her. The memory in her arms, muscles and sinews acting independently of thought, with an economy and speed that was almost gratifying. Almost. It was also deadly dull, and Mary was keen to meet up with Caroline.
Each bedroom was large and, she noted with disbelief, Mr and Mrs Rosling slept separately. This situation was certainly not going to be the case for her and Kit. She stopped for a moment to consider the delightful prospect of spending the night in Kit’s arms before the sound of Miss Carlisle’s footsteps jolted her back to the job in hand.
There were some photographs of the family in Mrs Rosling’s bedroom. Out of sight from Miss Carlisle, Mary picked up the pictures to study the family members. Mr Rosling appeared to be in his fifties. Beyond a certain point she found it difficult to be precise. He had a well-manicured beard with flecks of grey around the chin which twinned nicely with the grey at the sides of his head. Rosling’s eyes were his most distinctive feature. They were hidden under bushy eyebrows, which made him quite compelling. She nicknamed him Svengali.
Mrs Rosling looked every bit as imperious as Aunt Agatha or Aunt Emily. Her dress was as fashionable as it was obviously expensive. Notwithstanding her apparent manner, she appeared to be quite a bit younger than her husband. Mary would have said she was in her early forties. Her hair was still long but done with some awareness of current style albeit with an innate conservatism.
There were no photographs of nephew Rosling, but it was clear when she was tidying his room that he was quite a tall gentleman, and every bit as untidy as she assumed the weaker sex to be. One thing that Mary noticed on his tuxedo was a strand of hair that suggested either a man of bohemian appearance or, more likely, fast out of the gate when it came to the fairer sex.
After less than two hours she had completed her task and descended the back stairs to the servant’s quarters. Miss Carlisle’s demeanour was a little more relaxed having seen Mary’s work. If there were any complaints, Mary hadn’t heard any.
Rose greeted her with a big smile and handed her a cup of tea. At least one person in the staff was friendly, thought Mary. There was a knock on the door of the kitchen and in walked Caroline Hadleigh.
Caroline looked at Mary in surprise and then glanced at Miss Carlisle.
‘Miss Hannah, this is Miss Tanner. She’s taking over from Gibson.’
-
‘So, what was she like?’ asked Betty as she, Mary and Agatha sat around the dining room table in Grosvenor Square later that afternoon. Mary frowned a little and spent a moment to collect her thoughts. There was so much to take in, distil and discuss.
‘It was difficult at first to gain an impression, I was so struck by her ridiculous disguise. I mean it was patently obvious that it was a disguise. I was amazed no one could see through it. She’s wearing a wig to hide her blonde hair, which is ironic, given I’m doing the opposite. The glasses are obviously meant to hide the fact that she is quite beautiful. They fail abysmally of course. I wonder if the young Mr Rosling, or indeed the elder, has spotted this fact yet. If they’re half the men I think they are, I’m sure they’ll have noticed. Her voice is certainly not what one would describe as working class. She’s made little or no effort to hide that she’s educated.’
‘How was she with you?’ asked Agatha.
‘Polite but wary. There was something, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. It seems we will room together tonight, so I may have a better opportunity to know her better.’
‘Do you think she’s planning a job? Perhaps your arrival has upset the proverbial apple cart? She may be sore at you for this,’ pointed out Betty.
Mary nodded in agreement and said, ‘Yes, I wondered about that also. Anyway, we shall see. Right ho, I think I’d better get a shake on. They’ll be expecting me back soon.’
‘Good idea, I’m sure Helen has packed your things now,’ said Agatha, rising from her seat.
They exited the dining room and, as Agatha had forecast, two suitcases sat in the entrance hall. Noticing Mary’s surprise at the two unfamiliar bags, Agatha said, ‘I took the precaution of buying slightly less expensive bags than the two you brought originally, Mary. Your bags might’ve aroused suspicion.’
-
Miss Carlisle seemed relieved when Mary reappeared at the Sloane Gardens house in the early evening. However, she made no comment on this and said to Mary instead, ‘We’ll go up in a few minutes to meet Mr and Mrs Rosling. I’m not sure if their nephew has returned. He keeps strange hours.’ The way she said the final part of the statement suggested, unsurprisingly, disapproval.
Caroline Hadleigh was not around so there was no chance to renew her acquaintance. Rose, however, was and asked her if she had eaten anything. Mary admitted she had not adding that the stew in the pot smelled awfully good.
‘Sit down,’ ordered Rose, ‘I’m sure you’ve time to have a spot of dinner. There’s hardly a pick on you either. You young girls, I really don’t know.’
Mary laughed. It was clear Caroline had been at the receiving end of a similar admonishment from Rose. Miss Carlisle didn’t look happy about the arrangement but, as so often, she deferred to the common sense of the cook rather than her own more mean-spirited inclinations.
The stew was every bit as nice as the aroma had suggested it would be. Even Elsie would have been hard pushed to improve on it. Or, perhaps, the hard work of the day had meant she had built up a healthy appetite. Only her innate good manners prevented her from wolfing down the delicious meal.
When she’d finished, she offered to wash the dishes, but Rose wouldn’t hear
of it telling her to think of her hands. This comment meant nothing to Mary, but she nodded sagely anyway. A few minutes later Grantham, the family butler, appeared.
‘Miss Tanner, the family are ready to meet you now.’ It seemed he was every bit as formal as Miss Carlisle. Something in his seeming piety reminded her of Curtis, her own butler. She smiled at the thought of him back at Cavendish Hall.
A few butterflies appeared in Mary’s stomach as she followed Grantham up the stairs, with Miss Carlisle following just behind. They arrived in the main entrance hallway and went from there to the drawing room. Grantham knocked lightly on the door and went in when he heard an American voice.
‘Enter.’
Mr and Mrs Rosling were sitting in the drawing room. Neither turned around to look at the new arrival. For a moment Mary was surprised and then she remembered who she was supposed to be. As she walked towards the couple, she wondered if she had always been so rude. It was possible. Although as a rule she would acknowledge the servants when they were in the room with her, she realised it was by no means certain she did so every time. A feeling of shame descended on her momentarily and an aspiration that she would never do as the Rosling’s had done in the future.
Miss Carlisle walked to a certain spot, not quite in the centre of the room. She stopped and remained silent, waiting for one of the Roslings to speak. Finally, both looked up. Each registered Mary with a degree of shock, which had Mary smiling inwardly. It required no mind reader to understand what they were thinking.
‘You’re Gibson’s replacement?’ said Rosling.
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Mary. For fun, she accompanied this with a delicate curtsy, tying desperately not to laugh. This seemed to please the elder Mr Rosling. The first hurdle had been cleared. She recognised this was the lower of the two hurdles, however. From the moment she’d entered the room, it was clear who the master of the house was. The master spoke.
