‘Good. That’s to say, good if I decide to go along with this ludicrous idea of yours,’ said Rose rather grudgingly.
‘There’s nothing ludicrous about it,’ retorted Lavinia. ‘Why, I can see that you are rather taken with the idea.’
‘I’m no such thing. Does Mrs Grayson-Smith have a view on this proposal of yours?’
‘Oh, of course not! I haven’t told her about it. She’d never be able to keep it to herself. She’s the sort of woman who is quite transparent in her emotions. She’d give you away in no time. The poor thing would probably fuss over you, make sure that you were comfortable in your room, that sort of thing … No, I wouldn’t breathe a word about it to her. As I told you, I informed her you would be joining me in a day or so. I thought that would put her mind at rest. What she won’t know is that you will, in actual fact, be arriving with me, but as my maid, not as Rose Simpson.’
Cedric had quite doubled up with laughter when Rose told him Lavinia’s idea. She had returned to him in the formal gardens, where he had been awaiting her arrival impatiently. He had put his arms around her and they had stayed like that for a while until, with some reluctance, Rose had pulled away from him to deliver her news, wondering how it would be received by the young man.
‘That sounds just like my sister,’ Cedric said, chuckling. ‘Everything is a bit of a game to her.’
‘Tell me it’s quite out of the question,’ said Rose. ‘Please do. I’m almost tempted.’
She held his hands in hers and squeezed them, imploring him to do as she asked. There was a seriousness about her eyes and her face looked flushed with anything but amusement. Her demeanour unnerved the young earl for a moment or two and he remained quiet as he contemplated his response.
‘You know what your sister is like. She can be quite convincing when she sets her mind to it,’ Rose said quickly, to fill the silence. ‘I was almost persuaded. She made it sound quite plausible, you see, fun even. In her boudoir, it didn’t sound so very strange. But out here in the garden where everything appears so real, it seems quite the most ludicrous suggestion.’
‘Well, it does sound rather a daft idea. But, saying that, I don’t say it wouldn’t work,’ Cedric said, recovering his composure somewhat and adopting a more solemn tone. ‘It would seem a sensible way to go about recovering the necklace, or identifying the thief at the very least. Servants do gossip and I daresay one or two of them have their suspicions. From what you have said, it must have been one of them that took the necklace and they won’t be very happy knowing that they’re all under suspicion.’
‘Yes. Nobody else was in the house besides Mrs Grayson-Smith and the servants. So you see, it couldn’t be anyone else. There were no guests staying or some convenient visitor who happened to drop by.’ Rose looked resigned. ‘When one puts it like that, it makes the most dreadful sense to fall in with your sister’s plan, doesn’t it?’
‘I say, Lavinia hasn’t gone about dressing you up as a lady’s maid, has she? It’s just the sort of thing she would do.’
‘Of course she has. It was one of the first things she did.’ Rose sighed. ‘You should have seen me, darling. She put me in the most frightful old, black rag that had been darned umpteen times. Eliza would never wear such a thing. I looked as if I was in widow’s weeds. Your sister was worried that I might be recognised from the society pages, so she went about changing my hair style too. She gave me a middle parting and scraped my hair back into the most awful bun, which aged me terribly.’
‘I’m sure I would still have recognised you, whatever you wore. And of course I should still have been madly in love with you,’ said Cedric gallantly.
‘I’m not so sure on both counts. Not after Lavinia had made me wear some wire spectacles with little round lenses,’ said Rose shuddering. ‘Apparently she went through a phase where she wanted to appear studious and intellectual and had the spectacles made up with plain glass. I will say this for her, they were very effective in changing my appearance. I hardly recognised myself in the mirror.’
‘Well, I do hope you will give me a demonstration,’ Cedric said, putting an arm around her and pulling her closer towards him.
‘Probably. You see, darling, I think I am going to do it after all. I half hoped you would talk me out of it, say it was all nonsense and all that. But you didn’t. Because there is some method in the madness, isn’t there? And, I know it sounds ridiculous, but poor Mrs Grayson-Smith is quite wretched with the worry of it all. I feel frightfully sorry for her and … well … if I am to be honest, Lavinia said something that made me stop and think.’
‘Oh? What did my sister say?’ asked Cedric curiously.
‘She said that when I am the Countess of Belvedere I won’t be able to do such things. That it was my last opportunity to do something exciting.’
‘Oh, I say, I wouldn’t have quite put it like that myself,’ said Cedric. He had turned away from her and looked distinctly put out.
‘She only meant in terms of dressing up and going about in disguise,’ said Rose quickly. ‘Being the Countess of Belvedere will be exciting, but in a different way. But don’t you see? This may be my last chance to go about sleuthing. Well, unless murders keep happening about me, that is. You do see that, don’t you, darling?’
‘I suppose so. I say, Rose, I wish I was coming with you. But I daresay that you don’t want me to, do you?’
‘It wouldn’t work if you did. I would find your presence too distracting.’ She stroked his cheek and laughed. ‘In a wonderful way of course, but I would be put off from doing what I was there to do. And I’ll only be gone a couple of days, three or four at most.’
‘Well, I shall keep you to that,’ Cedric said, rallying. ‘Whatever you do, promise me you will be back for the wedding!’ He tried to put a brave face on it. ‘I daresay it will give me an opportunity to finish off some of the estate work before the ceremony. Things that I’ve been putting off. My estate manager will be pleased. But I should certainly like to see you done up in your disguise before you go. I might even wave you off. Now, darling,’ he paused a moment to put an arm around her shoulders, ‘are you really quite sure that you want to go to Crossing Manor as Lavinia’s maid? She’ll run you ragged, you know, you mark my words if she doesn’t!’
Rose returned to South Lodge somewhat preoccupied. The house in question was located in the grounds of Sedgwick Court, beside one of the many gates to the park. During its long existence the premises had been occupied by a succession of gatekeepers and more recently by the head gardeners. Like Sedgwick Court itself, the house was Georgian in origin and surprisingly spacious for a lodge house. In addition to its original generous proportions, it had benefited from a couple of small extensions that had been made by previous occupiers to increase its dimensions. This had been done to accommodate the large families of one or two of the former residents. To add to its various merits, the house also boasted a particularly lovely and well-stocked garden, the legacy of having been occupied for years by professional gardeners.
Rose did not stop to knock on the front door. Instead, without a pause, she lifted the latch and walked straight inside.
As she had expected, she found Mrs Simpson on her knees in the sitting room, looking up at a dressmaker’s dummy which loomed above her. Her mother was so engrossed in her task that at first she did not spy her daughter and, when she did, her mouth was so full of pins that it was a moment or two before she could speak.
‘Oh, there you are, dear,’ said Mrs Simpson, removing the pins from her mouth and stabbing them into a pincushion. ‘I’ve made quite a bit of progress today, as you can see.’
She got to her feet and stood back to admire her handiwork. Rose joined her in this occupation and together the two women stared at the full-length dress that clothed the dummy. The gown was of a pale gold satin, cut on the bias. It draped beautifully. So fluid were the lines, the overall effect was of a liquid metal. The gown had a cowl neck and full, puffed sleeves which tapered in
at the elbow. Each cuff was fastened with ten tiny satin covered buttons.
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Rose.
‘It isn’t finished yet of course,’ said her mother. ‘There are some little details I should like to add. I intend to embellish the neckline with some glass beads, which should catch the light beautifully.’
‘That sounds a bit fiddly to do.’
‘Oh, yes, it will be. But I think it will be worth the effort. I may even add some diamanté if it doesn’t look too much.’ Mrs Simpson sighed. ‘Oh, Rose. Am I being quite ridiculous? I may be a seamstress, but really I wonder whether I should have insisted on making your wedding dress? It’s always been a dream of mine, of course. But on reflection perhaps you should have gone to one of the great fashion houses. It would be different if it wasn’t going to be a great society affair. I thought the pattern and colour would suit your figure and complexion perfectly. But now I am wondering whether the gown doesn’t look a little too simple and plain.’
‘I think it looks beautiful. It’s elegant. I don’t want anything too fancy. Chantilly lace wouldn’t have done me at all.’ Rose hugged the older woman. ‘I mean it, Mother. It’s quite perfect. Cedric will love it and I will feel like a princess in it on my wedding day.’
‘If you really are certain,’ replied Mrs Simpson looking relieved. ‘I think it will look well in the photographs that will no doubt appear in the illustrated papers.’
‘Mother, Lavinia has asked me whether I would like to accompany her on a visit to a friend of hers. A Mrs Grayson-Smith. She lives a few miles away in Crossing. We would only be gone a couple of days or so. But of course if you need me to stay here for another fitting, or if you don’t want to be left alone –’
‘Nonsense,’ said Mrs Simpson. ‘That sounds to me like a very good idea. You are just twiddling your thumbs here waiting for the wedding to take place. It will give you something to do. The beading on the gown will take me a day or so to complete. And I need to get used to living here in this house alone. After all, it is what I’ll be doing after you are married.’
Rose had thought it wise not to mention that she would be visiting Crossing Manor in the guise of a servant. For one thing, she did not want her mother to worry. It had been a constant anxiety to Mrs Simpson that her daughter frequently became embroiled in murder cases and, to make matters worse, insisted on taking an active role in solving them. For another thing, Rose was of the view that her mother was unlikely to approve of this particular venture, especially if she were informed that it had been Lavinia’s idea. Rose sighed. The sad truth was that Mrs Simpson did not much like her daughter’s friend. She adored Cedric, but she found his sister wanting. Perhaps understandably, on such a brief acquaintance, she considered Lavinia to be shallow, spoilt and self-centred, attributes which did nothing to make her feel favourably towards the girl.
‘Have you given any more thought to what Cedric said?’ asked Rose tentatively.
‘Really, Rose, I don’t need hordes of servants. You and I have managed quite well enough by ourselves with only a daily woman coming in to help. I really don’t need a butler in a house this size, though I daresay it would have been different if I had taken up residence in the Dower House as Cedric suggested.’
Mrs Simpson had been quite adamant that the Dower House, located on the very edge of the village of Sedgwick, was far too large for her modest requirements. Rose had been in complete agreement. The Dower House, a splendid Georgian mansion in its own right, may well have been fitting for a dowager countess, used to living in a stately pile, but really it was far too grand for someone used to living in a mean little house in a poor part of town. The South Lodge was much more suitable to her mother’s needs. It reminded Mrs Simpson more of the sort of house that she had lived in with her husband, before her reduced circumstances following his death had necessitated the sale of the family home.
‘Perhaps you could have one or two more servants, like we used to have. Do you remember Doris and Mrs Dobson? I wonder what became of them.’
Before they had fallen on hard times, Mrs Dobson had been the Simpsons’ cook and Doris their daily help. As Rose recollected, Mrs Dobson had been most reluctant to leave them.
‘Well, I did think about having a housemaid as well as a cook,’ conceded Mrs Simpson,’ now that there has been a change in my circumstances, so to speak. As you know, I’ve kept in touch with Mrs Dobson over the years, Christmas cards and birthday cards and the like, and the odd letter when I’ve had any particular news to impart.’
‘Such as my engagement to the Earl of Belvedere?’ teased Rose.
‘Well, of course. It goes without saying that Mrs Dobson was delighted by that news. I thought she might have reservations about your marrying outside your class. However, she wrote me a very nice letter in which she said that she had seen you grow up from a babe to become a very fine young woman and it was no surprise to her at all that a member of the aristocracy should decide to choose you for his wife.’
‘Dear Mrs Dobson.’
‘She wrote that Doris is married now. Apparently she has done quite well for herself.’
‘I’m glad. And Mrs Dobson?’
‘Working as cook for a family she doesn’t much like.’
‘If that’s the case, why don’t you –’
‘I already have, my dear.’ Mrs Simpson beamed. ‘She is coming the day after tomorrow. I was intending that it be a surprise. So you see, Rose, you have nothing to worry about. I shan’t be by myself after all. It will be just like old times.’
Chapter Five
The next day loomed clear and bright. Had it been an ordinary morning, Rose, in all probability, would have awoken eager and refreshed, keen to start the day. But there was nothing usual about this particular day. To compound matters, she had slept badly the night before, tossing and turning in her bed so that she awoke feeling tired and a little irritable. That she had certain misgivings about the venture that lay before her, there was little doubt. In the early hours of the morning, when sleep had evaded her and a headache had threatened, she had been overcome with apprehension. In those unsettling hours of three or four o’clock in the morning when all worries are heightened and appear insurmountable, she had been fully resolved to inform Lavinia that she had changed her mind, that the whole idea that she impersonate a lady’s maid was preposterous. With no experience of life in service, she would not be able to pass herself off as a servant. It was an occupation that was foreign to her. Even if she were to be successful, there was no reason to suppose that her detecting skills, such that they were, and which had been used exclusively to investigate murders, would prove fruitful in securing the safe return of the necklace.
The morning light, however, while doing little to lift her spirits, restored her determination to see the matter through. She still had doubts and reservations, but they no longer ate away at her confidence as they had during the hours of darkness.
Later that day, as she stood in Lavinia’s bedroom in what she still thought of as her black widow’s weeds, but which her friend had assured her was appropriate dress for a lady’s maid, she could not help but think how much more appropriate her sombre wardrobe would be to inclement weather. The sunlight that streamed through the window seemed too bright in comparison with the drabness of her gown. It did nothing but accentuate the shabbiness of her dress, making it appear dusty and faded, highlighting the odd darn that had been made to the material during its long life. She tried to rise above her attire and focus her mind instead to watching what the industrious Eliza Denning did, heeding her words with regard to her mistress’ clothes and how to arrange Lavinia’s hair. Eliza appeared to manage the latter with quick, swift movements. Rose, when she tried to copy her example, was all fingers and thumbs, even managing to jab Lavinia in the head with a hair pin, much to the girl’s annoyance.
It was therefore with some trepidation that Rose embarked with Lavinia on the journey to Crossing Manor. The Sedgwicks’ chauffeur drov
e them and she wondered what he made of it all, Rose dressed as she was in servants’ garb. But if her appearance surprised him, the man was careful not to show it on his face. Rose, meanwhile, sat clutching on her lap a bag that had seen better days, and which held her few servant’s possessions. She knew herself to be quiet and withdrawn. Lavinia, apparently oblivious to her friend’s anxieties, spent the entire journey chattering happily and requiring little, if any, encouragement from Rose to keep her end of the conversation flowing.
Rose’s first impression of Crossing Manor, as they turned a corner of the drive and came upon it suddenly, was that it was a rambling old house that had undergone so many renovations and been extended so often that its original structure was hard to determine. Certainly the house managed to combine both Tudor and Queen Anne architecture in a curious fashion, with half-timbered parts coupled with others that comprised classic proportions of red brick and white paint. The porch with its Ancient Greek influenced pillars looked distinctly Georgian. Certainly an impressive looking dwelling, imposing even, but not particularly attractive; some might have called it rather ugly.
A rather thin and delicate looking woman, who had what could best be described as a washed out sort of beauty and whom Rose took to be Mrs Grayson-Smith, hovered in front of the house. She, together with the butler and the footman, greeted them on their arrival or, more accurately, they greeted Lady Lavinia Sedgwick. Rose’s own arrival appeared to go unnoticed. The footman proceeded to take Lavinia’s luggage, stopping for a moment to direct Rose to the servants’ or tradesmen’s entrance.
Rose took one last look at Lavinia, who appeared engrossed in conversation with her hostess, and made her way to the back of the house, clutching her bag to her as she went, as if for moral support. Each step she took, she felt more and more exposed, as if she were in very obvious fancy dress and would any moment be found out. It was, however, encouraging that her appearance had occasioned not even a second glance from the butler or the footman who seemed to have taken her for what she purported to be.
Murder in the Servants' Hall Page 4
