Millicent Grayson-Smith was also awoken from her sleep at an unaccustomed hour. Instinctively, before she had opened her eyes or a word had been uttered, she knew that something was afoot. It had nothing to do with the earliness of the hour, more with the tread of the person who came to wake her. It was not the loud, impatient tread of Cooper, more a light, hesitant step, which she considered surprising. She opened one eye to discover that it belonged to the rotund little housekeeper.
‘Mrs Field, what are you doing here? Where’s Cooper?’
‘Madam, I regret to inform you that Miss Cooper is currently indisposed.’
‘What do you mean indisposed? Has she walked out?’ Even as the words left her lips, Millicent felt a lightness of spirit. Of course it was too much to hope for. The woman probably just had a head cold or some minor ailment.
‘I am afraid there has been … an accident, ma’am,’ said the housekeeper quietly, hesitating slightly over her words.
‘An accident? What sort of an accident? Has Cooper been hurt?’
‘Yes, madam. I’m afraid … I’m afraid it’s worse than that … she’s dead.’
‘Dead?’ Millicent said stupidly, as if the word were foreign to her. She had sat up in bed and was rubbing her eyes. ‘What do you mean … dead?’
Before Mrs Field had a chance to explain, the door to the room was flung open and Lavinia bound in like a gust of wind, dressed in a negligée thrown carelessly over her silk pyjamas.
‘Oh, Millicent, you poor thing,’ exclaimed Lavinia, running over to her and draping herself on the edge of the bed. She patted her hostess’ hand in what she considered to be a comforting gesture.
‘Lavinia, Cooper’s dead,’ Millicent said weakly.
‘Yes, I know. Murdered. Dreadful, isn’t it … Denning’s just told me all about it.’
‘If you don’t mind my saying so, m’lady, she had no right to gossip. No right at all,’ Mrs Field said rather stuffily. ‘Mr Mason won’t be best pleased. He doesn’t want to upset the servants, the younger ones, that is. He is saying how Miss Cooper has had an accident.’
‘Nonsense,’ replied Lavinia, glaring at the housekeeper. ‘My maid had every right to tell me. And if your Mr Mason thinks he can keep all this quiet, well, he had better think again.’
Mrs Field went a deep shade of crimson and looked at the floor. Perhaps the woman’s distress touched a nerve, or Lavinia just wished to display her superior knowledge of how such an occasion should be dealt with, for when she spoke next, it was in a kinder tone.
‘Believe me, Mrs Field, I know what I am talking about. One might say I have been rather unfortunate. I have, what one might call, some experience of murder.’ Lavinia gave the woman what she intended to be a sad little smile. ‘You see, I have been involved in two previous murder investigations.’
‘Murder?’
Millicent spoke the word so quietly that the two other women had an effort to hear her. However, it drew to their attention that they had all but forgotten her presence in the room. Mrs Field was quick to remedy the situation, going to stand at the woman’s bedside, momentarily obscuring Lavinia from Millicent’s view. This slight was not lost on Lavinia. She drew herself up from her lounging position and went around the bed to sit on the other side so that she might remain visible to her hostess.
‘Murdered?’ repeated Millicent, apparently oblivious to the shenanigans going on about her. ‘Why would anyone want to murder Cooper?’
‘Well, that of course is what we shall need to find out,’ said Lavinia. She gave the housekeeper a haughty glance. ‘Thank you, Mrs Field. You can go now. I’ll look after Mrs Grayson-Smith. I’ve asked my maid to bring us some hot tea with plenty of sugar in it.’ She turned her attention to her hostess. ‘That’s what you need, Millicent. Hot, sweet, tea. It does wonders for the shock.’
Mrs Field pointedly looked at her mistress for acquiescence before moving from her position, making it abundantly clear that she had no intention of taking her orders from Lavinia, even if she was the daughter of an earl. Millicent gave a faint nod and closed her eyes. Even then, the housekeeper showed a reluctance to leave, hovering for a moment in the doorway, before closing the door softly behind her.
‘Ah, that’s better,’ said Lavinia. ‘What an annoying woman. She really doesn’t know when she’s not wanted, does she?’
‘She was just being kind,’ said Millicent. She passed a hand across her brow. Her head throbbed and she felt both hot and cold, if that were possible. ‘I can’t believe it. Cooper murdered! It all seems so ridiculous, like a bad dream. I keep thinking that I am going to wake up in a moment and find that none of this is real.’
‘Well, I’m afraid it is,’ Lavinia said, more firmly than she had intended. She found the woman’s overt weakness in the face of adversity frustrating. Millicent could be rather pathetic when she chose to be. She really did put women in a poor light. It was no wonder that her servants took advantage of her placid nature. What the woman needed was a little backbone.
‘Edwin!’ All of a sudden Millicent became animated. She grasped Lavinia’s arm, her fingers pinching the flesh so that the girl winced. ‘Edwin must be told.’
‘I’m sure your butler is doing that now,’ said Lavinia, retrieving her arm. ‘He seems a capable sort of a fellow. He’s already telephoned the police. Rose told me. They will be here shortly.’
‘Rose? Do you mean Rose Simpson? How does she know what has happened? Have you telephoned her? Is she coming down?’ Millicent sounded eager, as if a weight were being lifted from her shoulders, or else she saw a light at the end of a very long tunnel.
‘Er … no,’ began Lavinia, desperately trying to decide how best to reply. ‘No, she –’
‘She’s already here.’
Both women looked up in surprise. They had not heard the door open.
It’s Lavinia’s lady’s maid, thought Millicent dully. She’s bringing in the cups of tea. But how does she know about Rose Simpson?
‘Oh, thank goodness we don’t have to pretend any more,’ exclaimed Lavinia, jumping up and taking the tray from Rose. ‘It has been very trying. Now, I’ll be mother and pour, shall I?’
Millicent looked from one to the other of them in something akin to bewilderment.
‘I’m Rose Simpson, Mrs Grayson-Smith,’ explained Rose, coming forward and extending her hand. ‘You must forgive me. I’m not really Lavinia’s lady’s maid. I’ve been playing a part. I’ve been in disguise, you see. I thought it was the best way to find out which of your servants had stolen your necklace.’
‘You’re Rose Simpson?’
‘Yes, I am Rose Simpson. And I am very pleased to meet you properly, Mrs Grayson-Smith.’
‘But you did my hair …’
‘Yes, and what an awful job of it she did too,’ said Lavinia, making a face as she poured out the tea, spilling some in one of the saucers. ‘It was just as well I was on hand to sort it out. Now, let me see. Plenty of milk I think, that would be best, and lots of sugar. That’s good for shock, isn’t it?’
‘I can’t take it all in, said Millicent, rather weakly. ‘It’s all too much …’
‘Well, I daresay it is,’ said Lavinia. ‘But you have got to try, Millicent. You must pull yourself together. I mean to say, it’s not as if you liked the woman very much, is it? Cooper, I mean?’
‘Lavinia!’ Rose said appalled. She had removed her spectacles and her resemblance to a lady’s maid was diminishing before Millicent’s eyes. ‘May I call you, Millicent?’ she said kindly. Millicent nodded vaguely. ‘What Lavinia is trying to say,’ she paused to glare at her friend, ‘is that this will all be very unpleasant, perfectly horrid in fact, but we shall be here to give you support.’ Rose smiled. ‘You really mustn’t worry. It won’t do any good.’
‘But how can I not worry?’ asked Millicent rather feebly. ‘It’s all so awful. I suppose they will think I did it, won’t they?’
‘Who will think what?’ asked Lavinia sharply, looking up, her han
d paused in the act of putting sugar into one of the teacups.
‘The police, of course. They’ll think I murdered Cooper, won’t they? They’ll think I’m the murderer.’
Chapter Fourteen
‘Why should they think that?’ asked Rose sharply.
She stared at Millicent curiously. From what Lavinia had said, and from what little she had seen of the woman herself, Millicent Grayson-Smith appeared to have a natural tendency for nervousness. Rose wondered if this was her usual condition, for it was perfectly possible that this propensity towards anxiety had only developed following the theft of the necklace. Particularly as it had occurred hot on the heels, as it were, of a rather hasty marriage and a significant change in Millicent’s social position. With this in mind, it was tempting to dismiss Millicent’s words as the normal apprehension experienced by anyone of a nervous disposition on finding themselves embroiled in a murder investigation. Rose reasoned that it was unlikely to be an admission of guilt as such, more a genuine fear at the prospect of being considered a suspect. Even so, there had been a note of genuine distress in Millicent’s voice. Her eyes had been large and the words had appeared to slip from her lips instinctively, before she had had the sense to check them. Now the woman looked close to tears. Rose could feel the desperation in the room.
It was perhaps fortunate that at that very moment Lavinia, never one to keep her thoughts to herself, intervened before Rose could probe further or Millicent could say anything more self-incriminating.
‘Millicent, do stop talking such nonsense.’ Lavinia spoke with some scorn in her voice. She rose from her seat and began to pace the room as if to emphasise that she found such melodramatic statements to be irritating. ‘Why ever should the police suspect you of killing your lady’s maid? I have never heard of anything so ridiculous.’ An unpleasant thought suddenly occurred to her. ‘I say, I do hope you won’t make a similarly foolish comment to the police when you are interviewed?’
‘No … Of course not.’
Millicent clawed miserably at her bedsheet, pulling it this way and that. The spectacle appeared to further annoy Lavinia, for she marched over to the bed and tore the sheet from Millicent’s hand.
‘For goodness sake, do stop that, Milly, and listen to me. Really, you must pull yourself together. She must, mustn’t she, Rose?’
Lavinia turned to look at her friend for affirmation. However, if she had hoped that Rose would offer support, then she was to be bitterly disappointed. Rose was in a reflective mood and said nothing. It was even possible that she had not heard what Lavinia had just been saying.
‘Rose? Rose, did you hear what I said? Tell Millicent how ridiculous she is being.’ There was an impatient note to Lavinia’s voice now. She had ceased to look imploringly at Rose. Instead, her eyes flashed with annoyance.
‘It is not ridiculous to suppose that the police might consider you a possible suspect,’ Rose said after a while, addressing Millicent. She chose her words carefully. ‘They are unlikely to rule out anyone at first. However, I think, particularly given where Cooper’s body was found, they will be focusing their efforts primarily on your servants.’
‘Well, of course they will. There you are, Millicent,’ said Lavinia, having decided to make the best of it. ‘You are no more a suspect than Rose is. Or I am myself, come to that.’ She sighed wearily, thoroughly bored of the conversation.
‘I suppose it does stand to reason that it must be one of them. I wasn’t thinking properly … Really, I don’t know what I was thinking. You must think me very silly,’ stuttered Millicent apologetically. No one said anything. The silence appeared to unnerve her. ‘I can’t bear to think about it,’ she said hurriedly. ‘In this very house … but who could have done such a thing? Surely it can’t have been Mason or Mrs Field or … or one of the housemaids? They are so very young. Oh, I don’t think I can bear it … really I don’t.’
‘You see what I have had to put up with?’ said Lavinia a little while later, when she and Rose were alone. ‘Millicent really is impossible. It’s a pity that the police will have to interview her at all. She’s frightened of everything. Who knows what she will say?’ She paused a moment to give her friend something of a hard stare. ‘I say, Rose, you weren’t much of a help just now. Couldn’t you see that the woman needed reassuring? Really, if I’d known I was going to have to play nursemaid, I don’t think I would have come here at all.’
Rose did not reply at once. It occurred to Lavinia that her friend had been unusually quiet since they had left Millicent’s room and entered her own. She shut the door behind them and turned on her friend.
‘Look here, Rose, this really won’t do.’
‘Do remember, Lavinia, I’m not really your lady’s maid,’ said Rose, with a spark of her usual spirit.
‘I realise that. But I say, Rose, why did you behave as you did just now? It wasn’t like you at all.’
Rose answered Lavinia with a question of her own.
‘Didn’t it strike you as very odd what Mrs Grayson-Smith said?’
‘Of course it did. I said as much at the time.’
‘No. I mean … I don’t think she said what she did just because she was nervous –’
‘Really, Rose, must you insist on talking in riddles? I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.’
‘I think she said what she did because she has something to hide,’ said Rose. The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them. ‘Didn’t you see the look on her face? She looked horrified at her own stupidity.’
‘Well, I did think she looked rather upset,’ conceded Lavinia.
‘It made me wonder.’
‘Wonder what?’ asked Lavinia, though the look on her face suggested that she knew the answer already.
‘It made me wonder whether Mrs Grayson-Smith did do it. Murdered her own lady’s maid, I mean.’
‘Oh, Mr Mason!’ Mrs Field exclaimed, bustling into the butler’s parlour.
The housekeeper’s complexion was deprived of its natural high colour. Instead, her face looked strained and was tinged an unhealthy shade of grey. Her hands, always busy at the best of times, played with the fabric of her black dress, clenching it between her hands repeatedly and then releasing it, leaving the material scrunched and creased. Had the butler been more himself, he would have noticed and thought how it set a bad example to the lower servants.
‘What is it, Mrs Field?’
Mason passed a weary hand across his brow. In appearance, he was similarly pale to the housekeeper, though this was not vastly at odds with his usual complexion. However, Mrs Field thought there was a tiredness about him and, when he looked up at her, she was aghast. It was as if he had aged ten years in the space of a few hours, so dull and lifeless was his face. In her surprise, she clutched a hand to her chest. On his part, the housekeeper’s intrusion on his solitude was most unwelcome. Had he been a different man, he might well have asked her to leave.
‘Why, Mr Mason, you do look awful, if you don’t mind my saying,’ said Mrs Field. Immediately her own worries were forgotten. She saw a rare opportunity to put a caring arm around his shoulders. ‘You come with me and sit in my sitting room for a while. You can rest your feet and we’ll have a nice cup of tea just like madam and that Lady Lavinia. It must have been something of an ordeal, talking to the police on the telephone. Did you manage to get hold of the master?’
The butler said nothing, but allowed himself to be steered to the room in question. He did not throw off the housekeeper’s arm or insist that he was quite all right. A part of Mrs Field rejoiced, another part of her worried at his wretched condition. It was not like him at all, this melancholy. She had seen him discipline errant servants and see off unwelcome guests. True, murder was a particularly nasty business, but even so she had expected him to take it in his stride, and deal with it in his usual efficient and professional manner.
It was while the housekeeper was dwelling on this point and finding the butler sadly wa
nting, that to her relief she remembered that only a short time before he had performed his role admirably, keeping his inner turmoil well hidden. No one could have asked for more. The way he had gathered the servants together and informed them in the quietest and most gentle tones of Miss Cooper’s unfortunate accident. There had been no hint that the death had been intentional. The word “murder” had not escaped his lips. Mrs Field made a face, instinctively shying away from the word herself. They had had to use the kitchen, the body still residing untouched in the servants’ hall. Cook had complained that the presence of so many in her domain was a hindrance to her work, until Mr Mason had rather sharply pointed out in something of an icy voice that it was unlikely that anyone would require much breakfast. He had spoken kindly but firmly to the servants, some of whom were in tears, with the authority that became his position. He had made it quite clear that questions were neither invited nor would they be welcomed. The servants would be told only what they needed to know. Meanwhile, he had instructed them to go about their business as best they could. Mrs Field had been proud of him.
Only in her presence had he seen fit to let down his defences and show his real emotions. It was another side of him that she had not known, and she found that it rather appealed to her. He was still the same upright and respectable man whom she looked up to, but now she saw a sensitive, vulnerable side to him, that brought out her maternal instincts. It was this side of the butler that had compelled him to take in his sister’s wayward son and give the boy a job against his better judgement.
She steered him into one of the old armchairs and he fell heavily on to its seat as if his frame had been large and ungainly, not tall and thin. The housekeeper glanced at him a moment to satisfy herself that he would not leave as soon as her back was turned. She had decided to make the tea herself rather than call for one of the maids. Much better that no one else should see him in this state. He’d feel awkward about it later when he came to his senses.
A few minutes later they were sipping their tea. The housekeeper was relieved to see that a little colour had returned to the butler’s cheeks. He was still distant, brooding in his own world, but in a short while she felt certain she would be able to coax him into speech. For the moment, however, she was content just to watch him surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye. She was sorely tempted to lean back in her own armchair, close her eyes and imagine what things might have been. With a considerable effort, she did not give way to her inclination, but brought herself back to the present. It did not do any good to wish for what could never be. And this was not the time to daydream. It was enough that they were sitting here together either side of the hearth enjoying a quiet companionship.
Murder in the Servants' Hall Page 12
