In Sherlock's Shadow (Mrs Hudson & Sherlock Holmes Book 2)

by Liz Hedgecock

  CHAPTER 32

  I went in to lunch a little late; I wanted to listen, not talk. I had waited on milady at lunchtime, but she seemed the same as always, pecking at her meal while turning the pages of a magazine. She showed no signs of distress or anxiety. I wondered what, if anything, Sir William had told her.

  Most of the talk was of the grand fun planned when our wages were given out, which was not far away. ‘We’ll get jugs of beer from the village, and a bottle of spirits or two, and live like kings for an evening!’ crowed Tom.

  ‘Make sure you’re fit to work in the morning, that’s all,’ said Ada, darkly.

  ‘Don’t fuss so, Ada,’ Tom snapped. ‘The family will give us a bit of leeway, they always do.’

  ‘What if you have an early start like today, Tom?’ Cookie wagged her spoon at him. ‘I don’t think Sir William will give you a bit of leeway if you tip him into the ditch.’

  ‘How often is he up and out that early?’ Tom argued. ‘Once in a blue moon.’ I longed to ask questions, but bit my tongue. Whatever had happened must be very serious indeed.

  A telegram arrived for milady at half past three, and I took it straight up. Milady took it from the tray, ripped it open, and scanned the contents. ‘Tell Cookie it’s just me for dinner tonight,’ she said, and returned to her letter-writing.

  I relayed the message to Cookie, who sighed. ‘More leftovers for us, I suppose.’ She glanced at the oven. ‘Or he can have it cold for supper when he gets back.’

  ‘Is it to do with Sir William’s business?’ I asked, as innocently as I could.

  Cookie laughed. ‘Sir William isn’t a merchant, you goose! He’s an important Government man — a minister!’

  ‘Oh!’ I opened my eyes as wide as I could to convey how impressed I was. ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘I’d be surprised if you did. Sir William’s a modest man, but if you’d seen the people we’ve had here — the Prime Minister, no less!’ Cookie opened the oven door and examined the joint roasting within, then slammed it shut. ‘He could be consulting with our Sir William right now.’ She nodded sagely.

  The doorbell rang just after ten o’clock that evening, and I hastened to answer it. Sir William stepped in, handing his hat and coat to me. ‘Where is Lady Sophia?’

  ‘She is in her boudoir, sir,’ I said.

  ‘Bring me a supper tray in the study, please.’ He went upstairs without another word. Oh, how I wished I could be a fly on the wall to hear what he said to milady!

  ‘Was that Sir William?’ Cookie asked, as soon as I entered the servants’ hall.

  I nodded. ‘He would like a supper tray.’

  ‘How did he seem?’ she asked, her face full of maternal concern, though she was probably the same age as her master, if not younger.

  ‘Much as usual.’ My answer was a lie. Sir William had looked as if he desperately needed to talk to someone. But I could not tell the truth without revealing myself as observant.

  It did not matter; Cookie was already up and examining the contents of a covered dish. ‘It’s a little dry, but at least it’s warm.’ She set the dish on a tray. ‘Bessie, get a plate and cutlery, and I’ll put some chutney in a bowl. There’s plum duff for pudding, too.’

  I took the tray to the study. Sir William was not there yet, and I busied myself in putting a mat down to save the fine desk and setting a place for him. He came in as I was setting down the covered dish. ‘Ah, very good.’

  ‘There is plum duff for pudding if you wish, sir,’ I ventured.

  Sir William lifted the cover and sniffed the rising steam. ‘I shall see how I get on with this. No need to wait.’ I curtsied and withdrew, noting how stiffly he held himself, and how he did not meet my eyes.

  He did not ring again that night. Eventually Cookie dismissed me to bed. ‘You can’t wait for ever, Bessie. It’ll have to be cleared in the morning.’ I lay awake for some time, wondering what Sir William was thinking, what he might be doing, in his study so late.

  Mr Craddock’s voice shocked me awake the next morning. As ever, I opened my eyes to blackness. I could hear the rustle of Ada getting ready. I swung my legs to the floor purposefully, ignoring the chill. Today I would be down on time, to give me a chance to read the paper — and perhaps I might find something significant in the study.

  I secured a large slice of toast and jam and a steaming mug of tea, and worked through them quickly. ‘Hungry are we, Bessie?’ Cookie laughed.

  ‘Eats like a horse,’ murmured Susan, at the other end of the table. She was dressed to go out for her day off, otherwise she would never have been up so early.

  ‘Works like one too,’ I retorted, which brought a few guffaws round the table.

  Susan’s nose wrinkled. ‘That would explain the smell.’

  I stared at her until she dropped her eyes to her plate.

  ‘That will do, Susan,’ snapped Cookie. ‘You know the rule.’

  ‘Be polite to one and all,’ Susan recited, pushing back her chair. ‘Don’t I just.’ She left the room without bothering to put her chair in.

  I dropped my head and surreptitiously sniffed at myself. I honestly couldn’t tell. ‘Ada,’ I muttered, ‘I don’t smell, do I?’

  ‘Don’t let that cow rattle you,’ Ada whispered back. ‘You don’t smell any more than the rest of us.’ And with that I had to be content. I resolved to give myself a thorough scrub in the tub at the next opportunity.

  I had actually remembered to put my cap on, which meant I could start work immediately. I brushed Sir William’s coat and hat, then went to the drawing room. I whipped around it, and then the breakfast room, checking that all was neat and clean and laying the cloth. A few flowers were beginning to droop. I nipped them off with my fingers and dropped them into the wastebasket concealed in the sideboard.

  A thud in the hallway. The newspaper! All thoughts of flowers vanished as I ran to get it. I wanted to open it then and there, but the risk was too great. I would take refuge in the study, read in comfort at Sir William’s desk, and try the desk drawers and pigeonholes yet again before removing last night’s tray and taking the paper to be ironed. I could hear footsteps and chat through the connecting door nearby. The household was going about its business, and in any case, I intended to make no noise. I smiled to myself as I pushed open the door. The smile faded in an instant as I came face to face with Sir William.

  ‘So sorry, so sorry, sir —’ I backed away.

  ‘What do you mean, coming in without knocking?’ His voice was low, and furious.

  ‘I didn’t — you’re not usually up at this time, sir, and I thought —’

  ‘What did you think? Why have you got my newspaper? That doesn’t belong in here!’ His voice was rising, and panic rose in my chest. I could not afford to panic; my position depended on keeping a cool head. ‘Answer me!’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, it will never happen again, I swear it —’ I gabbled, casting through my mind for an excuse.

  ‘That isn’t an answer.’ Sir William’s voice had quietened, but it had an edge to it that made me want to weep. ‘Answer me, Bessie.’

  I blinked, and felt a tear run down my cheek. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I — when no-one’s about, and it’s quiet, I try to read a bit of the paper, sir.’

  ‘You try to read the newspaper?’ Now he sounded puzzled, not angry.

  ‘Yes, sir. I never was good at reading, and I wish to get better.’

  Sir William chuckled. ‘So you want to read, Bessie?’

  I nodded, and bit my lip.

  ‘Give me the paper.’ He beckoned me forward, and I put the paper into his hand. He unfolded it and placed it on the desk. ‘Read, Bessie.’

  I leaned over the paper. Sir William’s anger had unnerved me, and I knew I had to give a good performance. I blinked again, and a tear dropped on the paper. ‘Don’t make me read, sir. I’m — I’m ashamed.’

  ‘Try, for me.’

  My finger shook as I put it under the large ‘The’ of The T
imes. I recalled the hundreds of children I had taught their letters; their stumbles, their mispronunciations. ‘Th—eh… The?’ I looked at Sir William, who nodded encouragingly. ‘The.’

  ‘Try the next word.’

  I moved my finger along. ‘Tuh … tuh—ih—mmm. Tim … ee … sss. Tim—ee—sss.’ I hung my head. ‘I don’t know it, sir.’

  ‘The word is Times, Bessie. It is the name of the newspaper. The Times.’ Sir William refolded the paper; but he did it calmly.

  ‘I can’t read fancy words, sir,’ I said in a rush. ‘I can read easy words, words you meet every day, like cat and dog, egg and bacon, flour and salt. But I don’t know book words. Don’t shame me, sir.’

  ‘It isn’t your fault, Bessie,’ Sir William said, soothingly. He tapped the paper. ‘You should try something easier. This is full of — fancy words.’ I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. ‘I didn’t mean to shout at you, Bessie. I am tired, and my work is a little difficult at the moment.’ He smiled. ‘You are a good girl, Bessie.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ He nodded, which I took as dismissal.

  I went to the drawing room, as far from everyone else as I could get, and wept out my tension. I had got away with it, for now. I had fooled a cabinet minister into believing that I could scarcely read. What if he remembers the Bradshaw, a voice asked as the tears ran through my fingers. What will you say if he ever catches you reading? But I was in no state to think of answers. My nerves were shredded by the shock I had received.

  I looked up and almost cried out. Sir William was standing in the doorway, watching me. ‘Go and wash your face, Bessie, and then bring a simple breakfast. Oh, and tell Craddock I want him.’ He closed the door.

  I rose, brushing down my skirts, and did as I was told, peering at myself in the piece of mirror over the basin. What I could see was not encouraging. My cheeks were blotchy, and my eyes rimmed with red. The only thing that made me feel better was that my eyebrows were beginning to grow back, and the querulous expression I had worn constantly was fading. I tried a smile, and while pathetic, it looked more like my own than it had for some time. I winked at my reflection, which nearly made me laugh outright, and set off downstairs to place an order for breakfast.

  CHAPTER 33

  The servants’ hall was full of chatter that evening. We were nearing the end of a long day in a long week — indeed, the earliest risers were finished, and enjoying a mug of beer with their fried fish and chipped potatoes. I was still on duty, since I must answer the door, and I would be required to wait at dinner later, though milady would be dining alone. Mr Craddock had told us, very importantly, that Sir William would be away, and returning on Sunday. ‘With the Prime Minister in London! He asked me to pack, and…’ he lowered his voice, ‘to put in his tail-coat.’ There were oohs and aahs around the table, and I joined in, but I would have staked a sovereign that the weekend would not be a social affair for Sir William.

  A bell jangled, and all eyes looked to see which it was. Milady’s boudoir. I glanced automatically towards Susan’s place, but there was an empty chair.

  ‘Day off,’ said Mr Craddock, to me. ‘Up you go.’

  ‘Me?’ I faltered. ‘But milady —’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. You’re the parlourmaid, you cover the lady’s maid. Besides, you’re dressed.’ I was pristine in my uniform, while several of my companions were wearing slippers and missing aprons and caps.

  The corridor was chilly after the warmth and noise of the servants’ hall. I checked that my hair was tidy and my cap on straight. I was halfway up the back stairs when the bell jangled again. I broke into a run, only stopping to collect my breath before tapping on the door.

  Milady turned from her dressing table and her face fell. ‘Where’s Susan?’ she demanded. She was wearing a silk kimono, and her black hair cascaded down her back.

  ‘It’s her day off, milady.’

  She looked me up and down. ‘Fish and chips tonight, I take it, from the reek you’ve brought in with you.’

  ‘I apologise, milady. I didn’t think I would be needed until your dinner time.’

  ‘Well, you are needed. I’m going out, and I need you to help me dress. I wanted Susan, but I shall make do with you.’ Her emphasis on make do made me feel gnat-sized.

  ‘I didn’t know you were going out, milady,’ I said, to fill the silence.

  She snorted. ‘I didn’t realise I had to report in.’ She turned back to the glass. ‘Now get on with it. Oh, and ring for the carriage. I leave in half an hour.’

  ‘Are you going somewhere nice, milady?’ There had been no mention of a trip out tonight, either by milady herself or in the servants’ hall.

  ‘Of course.’ I waited for an elaboration. ‘Or I wouldn’t bother to go.’

  I laced milady into her corset, and rolled her stockings on. When I knelt at her feet I could feel her eyes on me. ‘You’re not as clumsy as I thought you would be.’

  I wasn’t sure how to respond. In the end I settled for ‘Thank you, milady.’

  ‘Can you put my hair up without making me look a fright?’ She gazed at my own hair, scraped back under its cap.

  ‘I’ll do my best, milady.’

  She sighed. ‘You know how I usually wear it. Like that, but a bit higher.’

  I set to work with hairbrush, rats and pins, feeling as if I needed another pair of hands. Ten minutes later the last hairpin was in, and she patted it critically. ‘Not a bad effort. Considering.’ She eyed me, a little sneer spoiling the line of her upper lip.

  I let the jibe wash over me. ‘Which dress would you like, milady?’

  ‘The burgundy satin. But not yet. Perfume first.’

  I reached for the cut-glass bottle on the dressing table.

  ‘Not that one.’ Milady’s voice was sharp as a knife. ‘Second drawer on the left.’

  The drawer slid open silently. Inside was another, smaller, glass bottle. ‘Careful with that. Break it, and you’ll be working for free for the rest of the year.’

  I set the bottle down and eased out the stopper. The scent of jasmine flowers rose; exotic, heady, powerful —

  I almost cried out. I saw myself reflected in the dressing table mirror, eyes wide. I composed myself and dabbed the stopper onto milady’s neck and wrists.

  ‘There,’ she said, drawing a deep breath and smiling at herself. ‘You may fetch my dress now.’

  Milady’s dress was brought. Milady was helped in, the neckline settled, the ruffles shaken out, the train draped over her arm. Milady’s jewel case was fetched, her jewellery selected and put on. Milady’s feet were eased into her little satin boots, and the hooks fastened. Milady’s fur cape was put on, and adjusted. Milady’s hat was placed and replaced on her head till she was satisfied, and her bag put into her waiting hand. But as I dressed her I was somewhere else entirely.

  I was looking at a sheet of cheap white notepaper printed with the words Tell your husband to keep his mouth shut. Notepaper which, beneath the smell of meat and straw, was scented with jasmine.

  I was standing by the winter jasmine bush under which Emmett Stanley had been found.

  I was backing away from Emmett Stanley as he screamed and writhed at the perfume I wore.

  ‘Don’t stand gawking.’ Milady walked to the cheval glass and admired herself. ‘Although you have exceeded my expectations.’ Her lips curled in a mischievous smile. ‘Perhaps I shall tell Susan that I have found a better lady’s maid.’

  ‘Oh no, please don’t, milady,’ I stammered, hoping that my show of reluctance would appeal to her perverse nature. I was desperate to be given free rein in milady’s boudoir; to range through her things, read her letters, examine her boots… ‘I wouldn’t want to cause trouble.’

  Her smile broadened. ‘No, I don’t suppose you would, but I think I’ll leave things as they are. Neat-fingered you may be, but I couldn’t look at you every day.’ She beamed at me, and swept out. ‘Tell Nanny not to keep the children up. I’ll be late,’ she c
alled over her shoulder.

  I moved around the room, closing the drawers of the jewel case and replacing it on the tallboy, shutting the wardrobe doors, doing everything expected of a careful, efficient lady’s maid, in case milady came back. I plumped the cushions, I dusted the mantelpiece with my handkerchief, listening for a step, a creak —

  All was quiet. Then from outside, the slow crunch of wheels turning on gravel, and Tom’s voice, ‘Hup!’ He would know where milady was going. How could I get him to tell me?

  I shook myself. She was gone. I picked up the small, delicately-worked perfume bottle and sniffed the stopper again. Exquisite, but deadly.

  I had perhaps two minutes. I opened the dressing-table drawers, gently lifting cosmetic boxes and moving gloves aside, but nothing unusual came to light. I opened her letter case, which held nothing but notepaper and envelopes of thick cream stock. No cheap white paper for milady, I thought, and looked for a sample of her writing. The blotter on her bureau showed in reverse a firm, flowing hand, nothing like the block printing of the note I had seen. But her pen tray held a Cross stylographic pen, and a bottle of Stephens’ black ink stood next to it. It was not absolute proof; but it was enough to make me sit down abruptly. I must get a message to Mr Poskitt. But first I must go downstairs before anyone had a chance to miss me. I closed the lid of the bureau, and got up. Reflected in the dressing-table mirror, my cheeks were pink and my eyes shone. Perhaps I could pass it off downstairs as excitement because I had tended to milady.

  I descended to the servants’ quarters much more slowly than I had come up. Dinner had been cleared and a game of rummy was going on at one end of the table, with Mr Craddock holding forth at the other end, closest to the fire. He paused at the creak of the door and turned his rheumy eyes on me. ‘Yer back, then. Took yer time.’

  I pulled out a chair and poured myself a cup of tea from the pot. ‘Milady wanted dressing.’