Silence in Hanover Close tp-9

by Anne Perry

  Redditch smirked slightly; admiration was very pleasant.

  “Control yourself, Libby,” he said sententiously. “No call for all that. Yes, Mrs. Crawford, I think Amelia might mention it to Mrs. York.”

  “Yes, Amelia,” Nora agreed with a little sniff. “Why don’t you do that?”

  Joan opened her mouth to say something, then changed her mind. But she stared at Emily and shook her head so slightly it might have been an illusion of the gaslight, except for the expression of warning in her eyes.

  “Scorch any slips today?” Nora asked sarcastically.

  Emily smiled back. “No, thank you. Did you spill any soup?”

  “I never spill soup! I know my job!”

  “You used to,” Albert said with satisfaction. In his opinion Nora was a step above herself. He had tried to be friendly with her, and she thought herself too good for a junior footman. And she had ticked him off in front of the tweeny. “I remember when you dropped a potato in the French ambassador’s lap.”

  “And I remember a few of your mistakes, too!” Nora said fiercely. “Do you want me to begin?”

  “Do as you please, I’m sure,” Albert said airily, but his face was bright pink.

  “I will! How about the day you stood on Lady Wortley’s train? I can still hear the taffeta rip!”

  Redditch decided to take control. “That’ll do!” The butler straightened himself in his chair and fixed them with a stern eye. “I won’t have name-calling and interfering with other people’s jobs. Nora, what you said was uncalled for!”

  Nora made a face behind his back.

  Emily stood up. “The wind’ll change and you’ll get stuck like that!” she said simply, betraying to everyone what Nora had done. “Anyway, it’s time I went upstairs.”

  “It’s more than time!” the housekeeper added. “Seeing as you have both ladies to care for. Should have gone quarter of an hour since.”

  “I didn’t know Edith would be taken with one of her spells again,” Emily answered back. “Although I suppose I might have guessed, seeing how often they happen.”

  “I’ll have none of your impertinence!” the housekeeper snapped. “Watch your tongue, miss, or you’ll be out on the street without a character!”

  “And there’s only one way to make your living then,” Nora added spitefully. “We all know what ’appened to Daisy. Not that you’d be much good at that either. You’re too thin, and you’ve no color at all.”

  “And I should imagine you’d be perfect!” Emily returned instantly. “You’ve just the face for it. You’re wasted here- at least, I suppose you are.”

  “Oh!” Nora flushed scarlet. “I’ve never been so insulted!” She stood up and flounced out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

  Albert started to giggle and Libby slid down under the table again, burying her face in her apron. Only Fanny stared in horror; she understood the power of jealousy instinctively, and she had seen enough to be frightened of it.

  Emily left the room on the crest of her victory, but she had only got as far as the doorway when she heard the whispers start behind her.

  “She’s a bad lot, that one!” the housekeeper said sharply. “She’ll have to go! Mark my words. Airs above herself-trying to talk with a fancy voice!”

  “Nonsense!” The butler was very quick. “She’s got a bit of spirit, that’s all. Nora’s been queening around here too long; time someone matched up to her. She’s just not used to having another girl as handsome as Amelia is.”

  “Handsome! Amelia?” Mrs. Crawford snorted. “Thin as a tuppenny rabbit, she is, and all that pale hair, and skin like a dish of whey. If you ask me, she’s not healthy!”

  “She’s a sight healthier than Edith!” Redditch said with evident satisfaction.

  Emily closed the door on Mrs. Crawford’s gasp of temper, and went along to the green baize door and up the main stairs.

  By the time Emily had laid out Veronica’s clothes and gone to Loretta’s room, Loretta was already waiting for her. For several minutes she merely gave instructions, almost absent-mindedly, then at last she seemed to make up her mind to speak.

  “Amelia?”

  “Yes, ma’am?” Emily heard the difference in her tone, something peremptory in it. Or perhaps she was anxious?

  “Is Miss Veronica unwell this evening?”

  Emily considered her answer for a moment. If only she knew more about Loretta and her relationship with her son. Had the marriage been arranged? Had Loretta selected Veronica? Or had she and Robert fallen in love, against Loretta’s wishes? Perhaps she had been one of those possessive mothers for whom no woman could have been good enough to marry her son.

  “Yes ma’am, I think she was.” She must be careful. If Veronica herself said otherwise she would create trouble by betraying her to her mother-in-law and at the same time destroy the trust she needed in order to learn anything. “I didn’t like to ask her, in case I intruded.”

  Loretta was sitting on the stool in front of the dressing table. Her face was grave, her blue eyes wide. Cascades of deep, wavy hair framed her perfect pink and white skin.

  “Amelia, I must confide in you.” Her eyes met Emily’s in the glass. “Veronica is not very strong, and her health needs care, at times perhaps more than she realizes. I hope you will help me to protect her. Her happiness is very important to me, you understand. Not only was she my son’s wife, but in the time she has lived here we have grown very close.”

  Emily was startled into attention. She had been mesmerized for a moment by the steady, almost unblinking gaze in the glass.

  “Yes, ma’am,” she agreed hesitantly. Surely it was a lie-wasn’t it? Or could the violent emotion between them be a form of love, of dependence and resentment? How should she answer this? She must behave like a maid and yet not lose the chance to learn. Did Loretta already know about Pitt’s visit? Emily must not be caught in a lie, or she’d be thrown out and would fail completely. “Of course I will do whatever I can,” she said, smiling back nervously. “The poor lady does seem …” What word should she use? Frightened-terrified was the truth-but of what? Loretta was watching her, waiting. “Delicate,” Emily finished desperately.

  “Do you think so?” Loretta’s perfect eyebrows rose. “What makes you say that, Amelia?”

  Emily felt ridiculous. She could not possibly respond with the truth; she was left with fatuous answers. Was she being tested for loyalty, to see if she would recount Veronica’s fainting that afternoon, which Albert had seen and might have reported? There was no time for judgment. She answered instinctively.

  “She was overcome with a faint this afternoon, ma’am. It passed quickly, and she seemed quite well again afterwards.” That would not be so remarkable. Ladies did faint; tight stays, waists pulled into a handspan often made one ill.

  Loretta stopped fiddling with the pins in the silver tray on her dressing table. “Indeed? I didn’t know. Thank you for telling me, Amelia. You have done the right thing. In the future you will tell me anything else concerning Miss Veronica’s health and inform me if she is distressed or seems nervous, so I may give her all the assistance I can. This is a most important time in her life. She is shortly to become engaged to marry a very fine man. I am deeply concerned that nothing whatsoever should jeopardize her happiness. You understand me, Amelia?”

  “Oh yes, ma’am,” Emily said with a sickly smile. “I’ll do everything I can to help.”

  “Good. Now you may dress my hair, and you had better hurry because you have Miss Veronica’s to do as well.”

  “Yes ma’am. It seems Edith is poorly again.”

  Emily met Loretta’s eyes in the glass, and there was a dry humor in them, startling and unexpected; it indicated a sharpness of perception that was unnerving.

  “She’ll be completely better tomorrow,” Loretta said with conviction. “I promise you.”

  Edith was indeed up with the lark the next morning, but she was in a vile temper. Whatever had been said to
her, she blamed Emily for it and held a bitter grudge. She followed Emily around, overseeing her work-especially the ironing, which she knew was her weakest point-criticizing the slightest error, until Emily lost her temper and told her she was a fat, idle, mischief-making slut, and if she put half as much effort into doing her own job as she did into meddling in other people’s, then no one else would need to cover for her.

  Edith threw a bucket of cold water at her. Emily’s first thought was to retaliate by hitting Edith as hard as she could across her stupid face. But that would undoubtedly get her dismissed, and then she would discover nothing. She took the opposite course and stood in the middle of the laundry room floor, shivering and dripping. Joan, who had heard Edith shriek in fury, appeared in the doorway and saw Edith with the empty bucket in her hand and Emily’s pathetic state.

  Emily thought for a moment what she must look like, how furious her mother would be and how absurd the whole situation was, and was terrified she would burst into giggles. To smother the slight hysteria she felt rising inside her she pulled her apron up to cover her face and stifled her laughter in its ample folds.

  Joan disappeared, and two minutes later the butler came in, his face pink, his sideburns bristling.

  “Edith! Whatever’s come over you, girl? You can stay here till Mrs. York wants you, and iron all the rest of the sheets.”

  “That’s not my job!” Edith protested with outrage.

  “Hold your tongue, and do as you’re told! And there’ll be no dinner for you today, or tomorrow either, if you give me any impertinence!” He turned to Emily gently and put his arm round her, holding her far more firmly than necessary. “Come now, get out of those wet things and then Mary’ll get you a hot cup of tea. You haven’t been hurt. You’ll be all right soon. Come, come. Stop crying, you’ll make yourself ill.”

  Emily did not know if she could; her laughter was too close to tears to stop easily. After the loneliness, the cold, the tension and the strangeness it was a relief to let go and pour her feelings out. She felt Redditch’s arm around her, warm, surprisingly strong. It was really quite pleasant and she relaxed into it-then the appalling thought struck her that he might well misread her compliance. She had already noticed he seemed to like her a great deal, and had championed her more than once. That would be all she needed to lose control of this altogether!

  She sniffed fiercely, commanded herself to behave, dropped her apron from her eyes and straightened up.

  “Thank you, Mr. Redditch. You are quite right; it is nothing but shock because the water was cold.” She must not forget she was supposed to be a maid. She could hardly afford arrogance, or the kind of distance a lady might affect. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

  His arm fell away reluctantly. “Are you sure?”

  “Oh, yes-yes, thank you!” She moved away slowly, keeping her eyes averted. This was preposterous! She was thinking of him as a man, not a butler! Or on second thought, he was a man! All men were men! Perhaps it was Society that was preposterous?

  “Thank you, Mr. Redditch,” she said again. “Yes, I’ll go and get changed. I’m frozen, and a hot cup of tea would be lovely.” She turned and all but ran out of the room and along the corridor to the stairs.

  By the time she came down into the kitchen again everyone had heard of the affair, and she was met with wide-eyed stares, whispers, and a snigger or two.

  “Ignore them!” Mary said softly, bringing her a steaming cup and sitting down beside her. Her voice dropped till it was barely audible. “Did you really call her names? What did you say?”

  Emily took the tea carefully, her hands still shaking. “I told her she was a fat, lazy slut,” she whispered back. “But don’t repeat that: Mrs. Crawford would have me out! I expect Edith’s been here for years and Mrs. Crawford’s always known her.”

  “No, she hasn’t.” Mary moved a little closer. “She’s only bin ’ere two year, and Mrs. Crawford fer three.”

  “Everyone seems new,” Emily said artlessly. “Why? It’s a good place; lovely house, fair wages, and Miss Veronica’s not hard.”

  “Dunno. I suppose it must be the murder. I didn’t ’ear no one say as they would leave; all the same, everyone did.”

  “That’s silly.” Emily kept her voice down, but she was excited. Perhaps she was on the verge of some real detecting. “Did they think the murderer would kill someone else-oh!” She affected amazement and horror, swinging round on her wooden seat to look at Mary directly. “You don’t think Dulcie was murdered, do you?”

  Mary’s eyes, blue as the rings on the kitchen china, stared at her in disbelief. Then gradually the possibility took hold, and Emily was afraid she had gone too far. A second maid in hysterics in one day would certainly get her thrown out without any excuses. Even Redditch could not save her. She could have bitten her tongue for being so hasty.

  “You mean pushed ’er outa the window?” Mary’s voice was almost inaudible. But she was made of sterner stuff than Edith; she did not hold with hysterics. They usually made people cross, and men hated them. And her mind was quite sharp; she could read, and had a pile of penny dreadfuls under her pillow upstairs. She knew all about crime. “Well, Dulcie was ’ere when poor Mr. Robert was killed,” she said with a tiny nod. “Mebbe she saw summink.”

  “So were you, weren’t you?” Emily sipped her tea gratefully. “Well, you’d better be careful. Don’t speak to anyone about anything that happened then! Did you see anything?”

  Mary was apparently unaware of the contradiction in Emily’s instructions. “No, I never did,” she said regretfully. “Important people never come into the kitchen, and I ’ardly never got out of it. I was only scullery maid then.”

  “You didn’t see any strange people upstairs ever? People who shouldn’t have been?”

  “No, I never.”

  “What was Mr. Robert like? The others must have talked.”

  Mary’s brow puckered in thought. “Well, Dulcie said ’e was very partic’lar, never untidy like, an’ always polite-least, as polite as Quality ever is. But then old Mr. York is always polite, too, although ’e’s terrible untidy. Leaves ’is things all over the place, and forgets summink awful! I know ’e was out a lot. James as was footman then, ’e was always sayin’ Mr. Robert was out again, but that was Mr. Robert’s job. ’E was summink very important in the Foreign Service.”

  “What happened to James?”

  “Mrs. York got rid of ’im. Said as since Mr. Robert was dead there wasn’t no need. Sent ’im off the very next day, she did, on account of Lord somebody-or-other was lookin’ for a valet, and she spoke for ’im.”

  “Mrs. Loretta?”

  “Oh yes o’ course. Poor Miss Veronica weren’t in no state to do anything. Terrible grieved, she were; in an awful state, poor soul. Mr. Robert were ’er ’ole world. Adored ’im, she did. Not that Mrs. Loretta weren’t terrible upset, too, o’ course. White as a ghost, Dulcie said.” Mary leaned so close her hair tickled Emily’s cheek. “Dulcie told the she ’eard ’er crying summink wicked in the night, but she didn’t dare go in, ’cause she couldn’t do nuffink! People ’as to cry; it’s natural.”

  “Of course it is.” Suddenly Emily felt like an intruder. What on earth was she doing here in some unfortunate woman’s house, deceiving everyone, pretending to be a maid? No wonder Pitt was furious! He probably despised her as well.

  “Come on,” Mrs. Melrose interrupted briskly, breaking her train of thought. “Drink up your tea, Amelia. Mary’s got work to do, even if you ’aven’t! An’ I’d watch your tongue, if I were you, my girl. Don’t do to be too smart! Edith’s a lazy baggage, an’ you got away with it this time-but you made enemies! Now drink that up an’ get along with you!”

  It was excellent advice and Emily thanked her for it meekly and obeyed with an alacrity that surprised them both.

  The next two days were uncomfortable. Edith was nursing a resentment which she did not dare exercise, but it was the bitterer for that, and Emily knew she w
as only biding her time. Mrs. Crawford felt she had somehow been bested, and constantly found tiny faults with Emily, which provoked Redditch into criticizing the housekeeper until everyone was on edge. The laundry room became her only sanctuary, since once again Edith had contrived to get out of the ironing. She had bruised her wrist and the flatiron was too heavy for her. Mrs. Crawford let her get away with that, but she could not overrule Redditch on the matter of dinner, and two delicious midday meals went by without Edith’s presence. Mrs. Melrose seemed to have made a special effort. As was customary, the servants shared the fine wine in the family cellars. In the evening, after supper, they drank hot cocoa and played games in which Edith did not join.

  Emily’s only immediate problem was how to fend off Redditch’s friendship without hurting his feelings and thus forfeiting his protection. She had never had to be so diplomatic in her life, and it was a considerable strain. She sought refuge in unnaturally diligent attendance upon Veronica. That was how she came to be in the boudoir in the middle of the afternoon when Nora announced that a Mr. Radley had called, and would Miss Veronica see him?

  Emily suddenly felt flushed; the book she had been reading aloud slid off her lap onto the floor. All this had begun as an adventure, but she was not sure she wanted Jack to actually see her as a maid. Her hair was back in a style far less flattering than usual, and there was no color in her face-as a servant it was not allowed unless it was natural, of course-and because she was inside all the time, sleeping in that cold bed, up too early, there were shadows under her eyes, and she was sure she was thinner. Perhaps she did look like a tuppenny rabbit! Veronica was thin, but in her gorgeous clothes she merely looked delicate, not bloodless.

  “Oh, yes please,” Veronica said with a smile. “How nice of him to call. Is Miss Barnaby with him, too?”