Murder in the Servants' Hall

by Addison, Margaret

  A second or two later she wished that she had been more reticent in her actions, had paused for a moment or two to listen for sounds within the room before she opened the door. For the room was occupied by a lady of obvious consequence. The woman in question, her dark hair elaborately styled, her face expertly made up, was dressed in an evening gown of royal blue silk satin, cut on the bias with a slight cowl neckline and sleeveless except for ruffled panels of silk satin, which descended from the shoulders in an uneven fashion, giving almost a feathery effect. The woman’s attention had been given exclusively to staring at her reflection in a full-length looking glass. So preoccupied was she in this pursuit that she was for a moment unaware that she was being observed. This provided Rose with an opportunity to study the woman more closely. Of one thing she was certain. It was not Millicent Grayson-Smith that stood before her. If she believed in ghosts, she might have thought the woman to be the first Mrs Grayson-Smith, so closely did her appearance match Lavinia’s description of the great portrait that hung downstairs in the drawing room.

  The noise of the door opening, accompanied as it was by the sound of Rose’s sharply drawn intake of breath appeared to have struck the woman belatedly. Or perhaps she had become aware of Rose’s eyes focused on her, staring at her quite mesmerised. Whatever it was, it had the effect of making the woman abandon her perusal of the looking glass. In one sudden, frightened movement she turned to confront the newcomer. With a jolt of surprise, Rose discovered that the woman’s identity was known to her. For she found herself looking into the face of Velda Cooper.

  Nothing was going right, thought Millicent. Worse than that, it was all going wrong. A dark miasma hung about her like a shroud, suffocating her so that she found it an effort even to breathe. It was not just the loss of the diamond necklace. She had now become resigned to never seeing it again. It was not even the thought of breaking the news to Edwin so that he might acknowledge her own carelessness and unpopularity with his servants. There had been a time when to see disappointment in his eyes had been the thing that she dreaded most. Now it seemed no more than the inevitable conclusion to an unwise marriage.

  She stole a glance at her companion. Lady Lavinia Sedgwick was looking decidedly bored. She had given up all pretence of finding her hostess’ company amusing and it was this situation above all else that Millicent was finding an unbearable strain. It had been a mistake to invite her to Crossing Manor, and then she remembered that of course, she hadn’t. Her invitation had been intended for Rose Simpson, whose background was not so very different from her own. It had been at her guest’s insistence that she come in advance of her friend’s arrival and now it seemed that Miss Simpson would not come. What other explanation could there be for why Lavinia was being so elusive as to the date of her arrival?

  Millicent could not bear another night of being alone with Lavinia, surreptitiously stealing glances at the clock on the mantelpiece, trying to rack her brain for something interesting to say. She had long exhausted what little conversation they had. If only she did not care what her guest thought of her. Now all she could do was smile and pretend to be gay when all the time she nursed an inner dread of failure. The situation was too frightful to contemplate and so she had surrendered. Tonight their numbers would be swelled. They would be joined at dinner by the vicar and his wife, despite the unfortunate association of them in her mind with her poor necklace. Millicent was not fool enough, or sufficiently deluded, to pretend that Lavinia would find their company amusing. But Mrs Kitchen could be relied upon to keep the discourse flowing with little, if any, contribution from her listeners. The old woman was quite happy to monopolise the conversation if circumstances so demanded.

  Having exhausted all that the village of Crossing had to offer, the two women set off back towards Crossing Manor. If it had been up to Millicent, that is to say, if she had undertaken the journey alone, she would certainly have dawdled, keen to prolong her return. Lavinia, she noticed, had other ideas and was walking earnestly, with a spring in her step.

  All too quickly for Millicent, the strange half-timbered, red-brick building that was her home came into view and they were walking down the drive. Before they had a chance to pause for a moment on the great pillared porch, the front door was opened to them by the ever attentive butler and they were ushered inside like two wayward children. Their coats were taken from them in a similar fashion by the footman. How Millicent wished she had Lavinia’s spirit and confidence and could hand them her hat and gloves with complete indifference. Why must she, Millicent, catch their eye and wonder what they were thinking of her.

  It was easy enough to read the thoughts of the tall, dark footman they called Albert. He always stared at her with such an insolent look upon his face. His eyes seemed to penetrate her soul so that she was forced to look away lest he read her thoughts. She shivered. She knew his type. He was dangerously good-looking. That was to say, he knew himself to be handsome and would use it for his own ends. She did not doubt that he left a trail of hearts broken and stamped on in his wake. He caught her eye and involuntarily she blushed. She was rewarded with a sneering grin that made her cringe inwardly.

  In that moment, she felt the danger in the house as if it were a real, tangible thing. Afterwards, she wondered if she had had some sort of premonition that something awful was about to happen. Had she but known, it was about to put the loss of the necklace totally in the shade.

  Chapter Eleven

  Rose went quickly into Millicent Grayson-Smith’s bedroom and shut the door behind her. She turned and faced the lady’s maid, whose expression was a mixture of emotions, foremost of which appeared to be outrage. Gone was the façade of elegance and breeding. Instead a strange combination of feelings fought to show themselves on the woman’s face. The effect was to dull and distort her natural beauty. The layers of refinement had been peeled away, and Rose found standing before her an anxious, angry servant, full of bluster, in fear of losing her job.

  ‘What do you want? Why didn’t you knock?’

  Velda Cooper almost spat the words out. She was trembling and a vein throbbed in her neck. Now that the lady’s maid had turned to face her, Rose saw that the woman was holding in one hand, rather awkwardly, the corner of a cape of silver fox fur, which she had no doubt intended to drape over her shoulders to complete the ensemble. Now, however, she threw it aside in one swift movement to land on her mistress’ bed and stared at it with something akin to distaste. It was almost as if the fur had burnt her fingers. The next moment, she had gathered it in her arms and was stuffing it haphazardly back in the wardrobe. It occurred to Rose that it was an expensive fur and really warranted better treatment. She said nothing, but puzzled over the maid’s sudden aversion to the cape.

  Rose was roused from her musings by the slamming shut of the wardrobe door. This was followed by Velda Cooper leaning back against it, as if she feared it would fly open of its own accord.

  ‘I didn’t think there would be anyone here,’ Rose said quietly. ‘Lady Lavinia was curious to know whether this room was decorated in the same gold tones as her own. I promised her I’d take a look.’

  ‘I see.’ The lady’s maid took a deep breath. She appeared to relax a little, but still did not release her grip on the wardrobe door. ‘Well, you’ve had your look. You can go now.’

  ‘Do you always dress up in your mistress’ gowns when she’s not here?’ asked Rose. She paused a moment before continuing to allow the words to linger in the air. ‘Doesn’t she mind? Lady Lavinia would mind awfully. She’d have a fit if I tried on one of her dresses.’

  ‘I suppose you’re off to tell Mr Mason?’ There was a note of bitterness in the woman’s voice. ‘You’d like to see me lose my job, I don’t doubt.’ Despite being frightened, a defiant look had crept upon her face.

  ‘No.’

  It was as if a spring had suddenly snapped. As Rose looked on, the woman half slumped against the wardrobe door. It looked now as if she were leaning against it for s
upport. There was something rather pitiful about Velda Cooper. The fine gown, which now drooped and creased, looked strangely at odds with the pale, anxious face of the wearer.

  ‘You don’t know what it’s like dressing someone like madam. You’re not a real lady’s maid. You wouldn’t understand.’ A pained expression showed itself on the woman’s face. ‘I trained, I did. Hairdressing and sewing. I scrimped and saved and paid to put myself through courses and have lessons. Good at them too, I was. Thought it would put me in good stead for a proper position. I fancied I would travel and see something of the world.’

  ‘You still might.’

  ‘Not with Mrs Grayson-Smith, I won’t.’ Velda Cooper made a face. ‘She’s a poor specimen to dress. No eye or interest in fashion and travel; she hardly leaves this house. I thought she’d be like Mr Grayson-Smith’s first wife. She was a one for having her picture in the society pages. A proper socialite she was and a real beauty. Elegant too. She liked her clothes, you could just tell. A bit like your Lady Lavinia. Madam’s not a bit like that. If I’d known I’d never have taken this job. Never.’

  ‘Why don’t you get another position if you’re not happy here?’

  ‘It’s not as easy as all that.’ The woman turned away slightly and caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. She looked down at the gown and played idly with the fabric, running it between her fingers.

  ‘Tell me, Miss Denning, what did you think when you first opened the door? You didn’t recognise me, did you?’

  ‘Not at first,’ admitted Rose.

  ‘I looked like a proper lady, didn’t I? One that would have her own house and servants to wait on her. All it took was the right clothes. And I’d make a much better go of it than madam. She’s no better than the rest of us. Worked in a shop, that’s what we reckon downstairs. If Mr Grayson-Smith had chanced to meet me on his holiday, happen I’d be the second Mrs Grayson-Smith now.’

  ‘But he didn’t,’ said Rose quietly.

  ‘No, more’s the pity. And there aren’t that many gentlemen with his means and so heartbroken about the death of his wife as to marry the first woman who shows him a bit of sympathy.’ She sighed. ‘If only I could set myself up in some lodgings. With clothes like this, I could pass for a distressed gentlewoman, a widow perhaps. I’d secure a wealthy husband, I can tell you. Just see if I couldn’t.’

  ‘You caught her doing what?’ exclaimed Lavinia, later that day. ‘Oh, how frightful! It’s always been a fear of mine that a servant would try on my clothes while I was out visiting. It’s one of the reasons I chose Eliza to be my lady’s maid. I knew she wouldn’t be able to fit into any of my dresses without bursting a seam.’ She giggled. ‘Are you going to tell Mason?’

  ‘I promised her I wouldn’t. And I can’t say I wholly blame her. It must be an awful temptation. But you do see what this means, don’t you?’

  ‘That she doesn’t like or respect Millicent?’ Lavinia yawned in an uninterested fashion. ‘We knew that already, didn’t we? Millicent told us as much herself.’

  ‘It means that Cooper had a very good motive for stealing the necklace. Don’t you see? She would like to secure a wealthy husband and believes all she requires to do so is a little money. With the proceeds from the necklace, she could set herself up in a modest house and employ a servant. Why, I wouldn’t put it past her to take some of Millicent’s gowns with her.’

  ‘How dreadful. Do you think I should warn Millicent?’

  ‘No. It’s only a theory,’ said Rose, slumping down on to her friend’s bed. She took off her spectacles, gave them a look of disdain, and flung them across the eiderdown. ‘I need to see Mrs Grayson-Smith’s bedroom in daylight. Do you think you could think up an excuse for me to go there? I don’t fancy running into Cooper again. I think she may already be a little suspicious of me.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure I can think of something.’

  ‘I say, it feels awfully strange just sitting here with nothing to do.’

  ‘Is that what you are doing? Sitting, I mean. I would have said you were lying down. Definitely lounging.’

  ‘What I meant,’ continued Rose, ignoring her, ‘is that if I were on the other side of the green baize door now, I would be running about with no time to call my own. I really don’t think you have any idea, Lavinia, of what it’s like to be a servant. I wish I could take you with me to the servants’ hall so you could see for yourself.’

  ‘Perish the thought,’ exclaimed Lavinia, looking horrified. ‘Now, do you think you could press that chiffon dress for me? I want to wear it tonight. You will be careful with it, won’t you? The fabric’s very delicate.’

  ‘If you are that worried,’ said Rose, scooping up the dress in her arms, ‘I suggest you do it yourself. I can show you to the ironing room if you like.’

  Millicent gave a furtive glance at Lavinia’s lady’s maid. The girl seemed all right, agreeable even. Certainly her face was pleasant enough and the eyes behind the spectacles looked kind, if half hidden. Really, the girl was not at all what she had been expecting. She realised now that she had been half afraid that she would resemble Cooper, only worse. But this maid had nothing of her arrogance. She seemed an ordinary sort of a girl. Millicent certainly did not feel judged or intimidated by her, as she had thought she would.

  ‘It’s awfully kind of Lady Lavinia.’ Millicent paused to pick up and fiddle with the hairbrush on her dressing table, running her fingers over the bristles. ‘Oh dear, I’m sure you must be awfully busy. It’s a frightful imposition, I …’ Her words faltered into nothing.

  ‘Not at all, ma’am,’ said Rose Simpson, gently but firmly, removing the hairbrush from Millicent’s grasp.

  Secretly, Rose wondered what Lavinia could have been thinking of, suggesting that she do this woman’s hair. Her hairdressing skills were minimal at best and Lavinia, an expert in the field herself, had seen fit to do her own hair while at Crossing Manor. For Lavinia to think that she could in some way replicate her own elaborate hairstyle … Still, it gave her the chance to see Millicent Grayson-Smith’s bedroom in the daylight. It also provided her with an occasion to see the woman in the flesh. For her first sight of the hostess on their arrival had been fleeting to say the least. Rose had been too preoccupied with locating the servants’ entrance to give the woman more than a cursory glance. Now that she had the opportunity to study the mistress of the house more closely, she found that Lavinia’s description of her was born out. The woman was nervous and self-effacing. She was not at ease in this house, even here, in her own room. Her friend had described the woman as insipid and certainly she was very pale. Her skin was almost translucent, but not in the luminous way that Lavinia’s was. Instead it had a sickly pallor to it and there were dark smudges under her eyes. In build she looked insubstantial, as if the smallest gust of wind would blow her over.

  Hurriedly, Rose brushed Millicent’s thin, dry hair and arranged it in an approximation of Lavinia’s hairstyle. She stole a glance around the room. She could see no obvious place that might possibly have been overlooked during the intensive search for the necklace.

  ‘Thank you. Very nice. Yes, very nice indeed,’ said Millicent, putting a hand to her hair when Rose had finished, a shy smile of gratitude upon her face.

  It was a relief that the woman did not ask her to hold up a hand mirror so that she might see the back which, even to Rose’s inexperienced eyes, looked far from neat. Fortunately, she seemed content just patting the back of her head with her fingers. Rose walked over to the window and looked out. The view was marvellous. The room overlooked a gravel terrace, decorated with great stone flowerpots, standing on plinths, leading down to neat, formal gardens, reached from the terrace by stone steps sunk into the lawn. There was, however, no convenient ivy or creeper growing up the side of the house, where a thief might lean out of the window and stow a piece of illicit jewellery.

  Millicent gave a delicate little cough and Rose returned her attention to the room. Her eye was drawn immediat
ely to the dress hanging on the wardrobe door. The woman appeared to follow her gaze, for she said immediately:

  ‘Cooper put that dress out for me to wear tonight. She says it suits my colouring.’

  Rose disagreed. There was nothing very wrong about the dress itself; it was beautifully made and of a fine material. But it was all wrong for Millicent. The colour was far too pale, too indifferent. If the woman were to wear that dress tonight, she would fade into the background, a shadowy, ghostlike figure, half hidden from her guests. Rose thought of the rich scarlet-coloured gown that Lavinia intended to wear that evening and shuddered. In that moment she remembered the evening dress of royal blue silk satin. She had not worked in a dress shop without knowing which shades and styles suited a woman’s figure and colouring. The rich blue, the bias cut, the slight cowl neckline and ruffled panels of silk satin would do more for Mrs Grayson-Smith than the gown hooked on the door of the wardrobe ever would.

  ‘I think a stronger colour would suit you better, ma’am. If I may …’

  Before Millicent could say anything to the contrary, Rose had pulled open the wardrobe door and begun searching through the clothes until she came upon the blue dress. She held it up for the woman to inspect. Millicent looked flustered and a little taken aback. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words came out.

  ‘I think you should wear this dress tonight,’ said Rose firmly.

  ‘Oh, do you think so?’ Millicent said at last. ‘Of course, it is a lovely dress. But Cooper did look out that other dress for me. Oh dear, I think she might be a little offended if I –’