An ooh of sympathy came from the women present. ‘What was she like?’
I considered. ‘The same as usual, really.’
‘Susan says milady’s a real Tartar when she’s dressing to go out alone.’ Ada moved round the table to sit beside me. ‘What did she wear?’
‘An evening dress, burgundy satin with a train and ruffles.’
Ada whistled. ‘Very nice.’
‘Oh, and she said she’ll be back late. I’d better tell Cookie about dinner —’ I half-rose, but the gnarled hand of Mr Craddock forestalled me.
‘You stay where you are, Bessie, and get your breath back. I will inform Mrs Harper of the change in plan.’ Mr Craddock was the only person in the whole house who called Cookie by her proper name. He levered himself to a standing position, and weaved towards the kitchen.
Half a minute later Cookie stormed in, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘That woman and her bloody jaunts!’ she cried. ‘“A special supper, Cookie, because I shall be all alo-o-o-ne!”’ she wheedled, in a passable imitation of milady’s honeyed tones. ‘A salmon mousse, an individual Beef Wellington, and a lemon tart, and she sends word as she’s going out the door!’
‘Maybe it was a last-minute invitation,’ I said, calmly.
Cookie’s eyes bulged with fury. ‘Maybe my foot! Milady plays her cards close to her chest, and well she might. Never when Sir William’s at home, but when the cat’s away —’ Mr Craddock shot her a warning look, which bounced off Cookie as harmlessly as an india-rubber ball. ‘Although of the pair of them, milady’s the bigger cat by far.’ Her piece delivered, she stomped back to the kitchen, muttering that she would have a fine supper tonight, see if she didn’t.
Mr Craddock leaned across to me. ‘Don’t pay any mind to Mrs Harper,’ he said, in a whisper that reached to the corners of the room.
‘I won’t, sir,’ I said.
‘You’re a good girl,’ said the butler, and winked at me. He loved to be called sir, and I made sure to slip a ‘sir’ in whenever I could.
‘I nearly forgot!’ Ada ran to the stove and brought me a piece of apple pie. ‘I saved you this. You must be half-starved.’
I stayed in the servants’ hall until fully ten o’clock, listening to the jokes and gossip while drinking cups of tea. I went up a few minutes after Susan’s return, making my excuse that I would nap while I could, in case I needed to come down and open the door for milady. I wanted to be alone; and I did not want to be there when Susan discovered I had usurped her.
I lay fully-clothed on the bed and thought. Milady had said she would be late. Whatever she was doing, it clearly wasn’t innocent. The special perfume meant that she was meeting a man, a secret man, but a man who had been here, if he had written the note to Effie Stanley…
How late would she dare to stay out? And this was not the first time. Did Susan know where milady went, who she saw?
I lay like a figure on a tomb, plotting errands I could invent to get out of the house and telegraph Mr Poskitt, till everything became tangled and I was running through London, chased by Cookie and her frying pan, while milady cheered her on from the sidelines —
I was woken by Ada coming to bed. ‘Give up, Bessie, do,’ she said cheerily. ‘Milady has her own key. She won’t knock you up after midnight.’
‘I’ll wait till then,’ I said sleepily.
‘Suit yourself,’ said Ada, folding her apron ready for tomorrow.
I woke in the dark. What time was it? I had no way of knowing, not without waking the whole corridor. I listened to the silent house.
And through our small, draughty window, a neigh.
Milady was home.
The household stirred perhaps half an hour later. Beds sighed, boots clumped, doors creaked, and Mr Craddock’s morning call advanced down the corridor.
Milady had stayed out all night. And at that moment I would have given a year of my life to know where she had been.
CHAPTER 34
The next morning I crackled with energy. Not even a thorough perusal of Sir William’s abandoned newspaper could soothe me; there was nothing useful in its pages. The study, too, was as tidy and shut-away as ever. Whatever Sir William’s opinion of my reading skills, he continued to be careful.
But I could write to Mr Poskitt. I had smuggled a folded sheet of paper, a stamped envelope, and my dip pen downstairs in my petticoat pocket. I composed a note in my head as I completed my chores, and when I was sure I had it right I went to the desk. I opened the lid of Sir William’s silver inkwell, keeping my back to the door.
Dear M,
King in capital for weekend. Queen made unexpected move last night, wearing jasmine. Will continue to observe the game. Mercury
I hoped my simple attempts at disguise would be understood by Mr Poskitt, while if the note did fall into another’s hands, it would not give me away. Only when I had the letter safely hidden did I feel the least bit calm; and how would I manage to post it?
Even with considerable caution I had managed to get ink on my forefinger. My morning duties complete, I went to the scullery to wash. I was scrubbing at my hands and nails with a stiff brush when Susan came in. ‘Breakfast in bed for milady please, Cookie.’ Susan’s day off seemed to have done her good.
‘Did milady say what she would like?’
‘A boiled egg, with toast soldiers, some fruit, peeled, and a pot of tea.’ Susan examined herself in the back of one of the copper pans hanging from the rack, twisting a strand of golden hair around her finger.
My fingers were irreproachable now, and I dried my hands on the rough towel. I stretched out my fingers to examine them. My nails were a little longer than when Evie had cut them, but still very short, and the skin round them was ragged. My hands looked battle-scarred. The heels of my hands were hard with callouses, and the near-constant immersion in water had made the skin crack and peel. When I get out of here, I thought, gazing at them, I shall treat you so well… I gave them a final wipe on my apron, and went back to the kitchen.
‘You go up, Susan,’ said Cookie. ‘Bessie can bring the tray.’
‘I’ll wait,’ said Susan, sitting on a chair near the fire and stretching her legs out.
‘Did milady ask you to wait?’ Cookie asked, frowning.
Susan got up and walked out, muttering to herself.
‘I don’t know what gets into that girl,’ said Cookie to no-one in particular. ‘Bessie, fill the small pan for me, would you?’
Between us we had the tray ready in a few minutes, and Cookie held the door open for me. ‘No sense in upsetting it, is there?’ After her outburst the night before, she seemed to have recovered her good humour. I would have loved to ask her about what she had said, but I knew a closed book when I saw one.
There was a small table outside milady’s room, and I set the tray down with a sigh of relief before tapping at the door. ‘I’ll get it, milady,’ Susan’s voice rang out.
‘Nonsense,’ said milady. ‘You’ll carry on with that handkerchief.’ I took that as my signal to enter and opened the door, wedging it with my foot while I steadied the tray.
Milady was in bed, wrapped in the kimono she had worn the previous day. ‘Ah, breakfast. Have you brought jam and marmalade, Bessie?’
‘Yes, milady.’ Though milady had not asked, Cookie had put two small glass bowls of preserves on the tray, with a whole rack of toast.
‘Excellent. Now, can you take the top off the egg for me? I always make a mess, and Susan is no better.’
‘Of course, milady.’ I set the tray on the table by the bed. I felt Susan’s eyes as I tapped the top of the egg with a spoon and carefully lifted it off, separating the cooked white dome from its eggshell cradle.
‘You are as neat with eggs as you are at dressing me, Bessie.’ Milady laughed. ‘You shall be lady-in-waiting to the eggs.’
‘Thank you, milady,’ I curtsied with a smile. ‘Will there be anything else?’
‘That will do,’ said milady. ‘For now.’
I
bobbed again and left the room. The look that Susan gave me slid straight off.
Cookie was sitting with her own pot of tea when I went downstairs. ‘Do you need any help, Cookie?’ I asked.
‘Everything’s in hand, thank you,’ said Cookie, comfortably. ‘I shall put my feet up, for no doubt something will come along to put a spanner in the works. Sit down and have a cup of tea, why don’t you.’
I accepted gratefully and took a seat opposite. A hot cup of tea, and nothing to rush off to, was a luxury. I blew on my tea to cool it — everyone in the servants’ hall did it. There was no time to wait, and even at comparative leisure I could not break the habit.
Suddenly Cookie leaned across the table. ‘Sir William isn’t happy, you know,’ she said, in an undertone.
‘Oh?’ It seemed the safest reply.
‘He never got over his first wife,’ she confided.
‘Ohhhhh.’ I sipped my tea. ‘What happened?’
‘She died in childbirth; the baby too. They’d married quite late, for Sir William’s mother had wanted him to find someone grander. Not that she told me any of it, you understand, but — when you live in, you see things. Sir William was heartbroken. He threw himself into his work. It was years before he’d look at another woman.’
‘How did he and milady meet?’ I steeled myself, in case Cookie thought me forward for asking.
‘In London, at a fundraising ball. Those were the only sort of jolly events he would go to. About seven years ago, it was.’ She sighed. ‘No use crying over spilt milk, though.’ She poured herself another cup, and meditated silently.
Milady appeared for lunch and made a reasonable meal. After a few minutes she turned in her seat. ‘Go over there, will you.’ She pointed to the corner opposite her. I took my place next to the china cabinet, wondering. Why had milady asked me to move? I studied the table, but every so often my eyes strayed to milady and found her watching me, a little smirk on her face. I cast my eyes down, but I knew that she had seen me, and knew that I had seen her. I think my blushes amused her even more. What if she has seen who you are? Her amusement reminded me exactly of the day I had caught her stealing. It was the mischievous twinkle of a little girl who knows that she is being naughty, and that she will get away with it. I did not look again until I heard milady’s knife and fork clack onto the plate. I pulled out her chair, and she rose. ‘Don’t forget my flowers this afternoon,’ she said, and left without a backward glance.
I fidgeted through lunch, joining in the chatter as a way to distract myself from what might be going on in milady’s head, and from Susan’s glowering. Eventually I excused myself and went to the garden. The children were on a walk with Nanny; I had the place to myself. I was eager to see milady again.
I tackled the big vases downstairs first, pulling out the dying blooms, changing the water, and moving the flowers to make it seem a different arrangement. I had cut a spray of creamy tea-roses for milady, and I put them in a glass of water whilst I went upstairs to fetch the vase.
Milady was in her boudoir, curled in her armchair. ‘Ah, here is Bessie.’ Susan was sitting in the corner, embroidering a handkerchief. ‘Susan, fetch my book. Oh, and I want a cup of tea. Wait, and bring it up.’
‘Bessie could do that when she brings the flowers,’ grumbled Susan.
‘I daresay she could.’ Milady’s voice was a cat’s paw; velvet with a suggestion of razor sharpness beneath. ‘But I asked you.’ Susan left without another word.
I walked to the bureau and picked up the little flower vase.
‘Put that down.’ Milady’s voice was level. ‘Open the bureau. Do you see my letter case?’
‘Yes, milady.’
‘Are your hands clean?’
I inspected them. ‘Yes, milady.’
‘In the case is a letter which I want you to post in the village. Put it in the box outside the post office; do not take it inside. If anyone asks where you are going, I have asked you to buy me a quarter-pound of lemon bonbons from the shop. Do not mention the letter. You will find coins in the dish on my dressing table.’
I opened the case and the letter gazed up at me. Professor J. Moriarty, 45 Chiltern Square, Belgravia, London SW. I put it in my apron pocket, then crossed to the dressing table and took a half-crown from the dish. ‘I will bring you change when I return, milady.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’ Milady watched me, narrow-eyed, from the armchair. ‘The vase, Bessie. That is why you are here.’
I returned to the bureau and picked it up. ‘I will leave this in the flower room and go to the village for your bonbons, milady.’
‘Excellent.’
On the way back I stopped at my room. I put on my hat and coat and found another envelope and a stamp, which went into my petticoat pocket with my own letter. I stuck my head into the kitchen as I went past. ‘I’m just going to the village. Milady wants bonbons from the shop,’ I called, and hurried off.
I breathed easier once I was outside; but I waited until I was out of sight of the house before I pulled the letter from my apron pocket. Milady had sealed it with wax, so there was no way of opening it without the recipient seeing immediately that it had been tampered with. The seal was not the usual family seal, but a little ship. My own letter was still in my petticoat pocket — I had something new to add now.
The walk to the village took half an hour. I should have enjoyed it, for the countryside was pleasant and the road was quiet, but I was too excited and nervous to do anything but hurry.
The clerk behind the counter looked up as I entered. ‘Can I help you, madam?’
‘Oh you can, sir,’ I said, in a flurried manner. ‘I had a letter ready to post, and now I find that I have left something out of it! Could I perhaps borrow your pen?’
He grinned. ‘Of course, madam.’ He passed it over. I ripped open my letter and scrawled Queen sends private letter to Prof Moriarty, and added the address. I put it in my spare envelope, addressed it, and passed back his pen.
The clerk held out his hand and I had no choice but to give him the letter. Doing anything else would seem odd, and the last thing I wanted was to be memorable.
He dropped the letter into the bag. ‘Good day to you, sir,’ I said, turning to leave.
‘Good afternoon, madam.’
I walked outside, waited for the door to close, and posted milady’s letter in the postbox. Then I bought bonbons from the general store next door, where the assistant weighed them into a brown-paper bag. She took my money and gave change without a second glance. My heart was a little lighter, but my letter, lying in the post-bag, worried me. What if milady had had me followed, and I had been seen entering the post office? Then I shook myself, and started for home. I was seeing trouble everywhere.
‘You’re quick,’ said Cookie when I arrived back in the kitchen. ‘Susan usually takes a good half-hour longer.’
‘I expect she does,’ I grinned. ‘Does milady like her bonbons in the bag, or a dish?’
‘I have no idea,’ said Cookie, casting her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Leave them in the bag, and take a dish up with you.’
I selected a small glass bowl from the dresser. ‘I’ll just cut milady some flowers.’
When I entered the boudoir milady was reclining on the daybed and staring out of the window, while Susan was still working on the handkerchief. ‘Your flowers, milady, and your bonbons,’ I said, putting the vase back on the bureau. ‘Do you require a dish?’
Milady shook her head and stretched out a hand for the bag. She took one and wedged it in her cheek, then raised her eyebrows at me. I nodded, and she smiled, her eyes half-closed. ‘Here,’ she said, taking another bonbon from the bag. ‘Open wide.’
My eyes were wide already; but I opened my mouth and bent down, and she fed me the bonbon. ‘Say thank you, Bessie,’ she said.
I pushed the bonbon into my cheek. ‘Thank you, milady,’ I said, as clearly as possible, and she giggled. I couldn’t look at Susan for fear she would turn me to
stone.
The rest of the day ran at half-speed. I did my chores, I helped in the kitchen, I waited at table, I was a model servant. Yet when I lay in bed that night my head was full of what-ifs … what if the clerk had opened the letter, decided it was nonsense, and destroyed it? What if Mr Poskitt did not call for the letter? What if my information was worthless? But fatigue was closing in, and my questions became fainter as they were smothered in a blanket of sleep.
CHAPTER 35
I awoke feeling stiff and sluggish. I did not want to move. To be honest, I did not usually want to get up, but after the excitement of yesterday I really did not want to drag myself out of bed and face the day again so soon.
‘Come on sleepyhead,’ called Ada, who was already dressed. She came across the room and I felt her warm hand on my shoulder.
She shrieked. ‘Oh my!’
‘What is it?’ I was still half-asleep. I rolled towards her and —
Something wasn’t right. My head felt — odd.
I ran my hand over my hair. Just below the nape of my neck, it ended. The hair at the bottom felt coarse, bristly, not like mine.
I sat bolt upright and tried with my other hand, as if it could tell me a different story, but it only confirmed the truth.
My hair had been cut off.
I scrabbled in the bed and found my plait. It had unravelled at the top. I cradled it in both my hands, as if it were an animal that had died, and burst into tears.
Ada was there at once, her arms around me, soothing. ‘It’ll grow back, it will, we could pin it back on and no-one would know —’
‘For God’s sake, Ada, everyone probably knows already,’ I sniffled. I rubbed my eyes, and the plait blurred.
‘You think —’ Ada whispered.
‘I know.’
Susan. After milady’s teasing yesterday she had crept in, scissors in hand, while we were sleeping, and cut off my hair. What better way to get her revenge than to mutilate her rival?
‘Get dressed, Bessie.’ Ada dashed her face with cold water. ‘We’ll show her up for what she is.’ She saw me glance in the direction of the mirror, and turned me gently away.
In Sherlock's Shadow (Mrs Hudson & Sherlock Holmes Book 2) Page 18
