The Maid’s Secret

by Emily Organ

  “They have never understood what I want. They’ve already decided how my future should be.”

  “I think you need to speak to them, Miss Sophia. You can’t just creep out of the house at night, hoping that the situation will somehow improve. What of Dudley Lombard?”

  “Don’t mention his name to me!” she hissed. “If you mention a single detail to anyone else in this house, I shall do something far worse to you, just wait and see!”

  “Please don’t worry, Miss Sophia, I won’t say anything. And there’s no need to be angry with me. I have no wish to upset you. But please speak to your mother and father about your concerns regarding Mr Lombard. They wouldn’t want you to be unhappy.”

  “How do you know what they want? How long have you been working here? A few days, is it not?”

  “It hasn’t been long, but I’m already developing an understanding of your family, Miss Sophia. I have an idea of what interests and motivates you. I heard you mention Dorothea Heale at breakfast earlier this week. My sister knows her.”

  “Does she?” Her face softened and she turned her head to one side, as if interested to hear more.

  “Yes. Don’t tell anyone this, but my sister is the chair of the West London Women’s Society. Perhaps you would like to join them? She will be attending the march this weekend.”

  “I’ve heard of them! Your sister is Mrs Billington-Grieg?”

  I nodded slowly, aware that I had given too much away. “I’ll keep your secret, and you can keep mine.”

  “But why is it a secret that she’s your sister? I should think you’d be very proud of her!”

  “I am, but she’s not particularly proud of me.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m a maid, and she’s a lady. Our family is rather complicated, I’m afraid. I try not to talk about it. You will keep it to yourself, won’t you?”

  I felt angry with myself for the risk I had taken in my efforts to befriend her.

  “Do we have an agreement that neither of us says anything?” I asked.

  “Yes.” She sighed. “Thank you for keeping quiet about this. Perhaps I can explain the situation to you a little better sometime soon.”

  “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help, Miss Sophia.”

  “I’m not sure there is, but thank you for your kind thoughts.”

  She pulled the hood of her cloak down onto her shoulders, prompting untidy strands of red hair to fall around her face.

  “Have you ever felt trapped, Flo?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how did you get out?”

  “I had to listen to my head instead of my heart.”

  “I’m not sure how that would help me.”

  I sighed, trying to think how I could explain myself better. “Your heart will only tell you what is best for today and tomorrow. Your head will tell you what is best for the years ahead.”

  “I will think about that. Good night.” She turned to the door and pushed it open.

  “Be careful, Miss Sophia,” I whispered after her, but she didn’t seem to hear me.

  The door closed behind her.

  I readied myself for bed and felt grateful that everything in my room appeared to be as I had left it earlier that evening. I hoped that Mrs Craughton hadn’t been snooping around a second time.

  I thought about Sophia and felt sorry that she was betrothed to a man she didn’t love. And to worsen matters, there seemed to be another man whom she truly loved. I felt sure that her furtive, late-night excursions would only lead to trouble.

  And what of the man who was wooing her, and leading her astray? It was rather irresponsible of him to encourage her to act in this way. Surely he was encouraging her into even more trouble.

  I wondered what Mr and Mrs Glenville would make of their daughter’s predicament. Would they show some understanding if she told them she had no wish to marry Dudley Lombard? It would thwart their plans to unite the Glenville and Lombard businesses, but would they not value their daughter’s happiness above that?

  Despite what I had heard about Alexander Glenville, he struck me as a caring father. Did I have a duty, as their employee, to inform them that I had encountered Sophia on the stairs late at night? I felt I shouldn’t, as I had told her I would keep it a secret.

  But was it the right thing to have done?

  I climbed into bed and blew out the candle. As I lay there in the dark, I thought I heard someone creeping up the stairs. I held my breath, my entire body becoming as stiff as a board.

  Could it be Sophia again?

  I sat up and strained to listen in the dark. Who could it be? The only other room on my floor was Maisie’s.

  I heard the slow creak of floorboards in the corridor outside. It sounded as though the wanderer was walking about in stockinged feet. As I readied myself for a tap at my door, I heard someone turn the handle of Maisie’s.

  Then the door quietly clicked closed again.

  Chapter 16

  “Were you awake late last night?” I asked Maisie as we tidied the drawing room.

  “Last night?” She paused to think about it. “Nah, I’m never awake late. I’m the first one up in the mornin’ ain’t I?”

  “That’s odd,” I replied as I dusted the china plates on the mantelpiece. “I thought I heard your door open and close last night. Early this morning, actually.”

  “What time?”

  “The clock had just chimed one.”

  “One? Nah, you’re ’earin’ things, Flo. I ain’t never awake at that time.”

  “It’s rather strange, because I was sure I also heard footsteps.”

  I wondered if I should tell Maisie that I had encountered Sophia on the stairs, but I remembered that I needed to keep to my word and not mention it to anyone.

  “Footsteps?” said Maisie, pausing her dusting of the cabinet. “Now yer just scarin’ me with them ghost stories again!” She shuddered.

  “There’s no ghost. I feel sure there were footsteps, and then your door opened and closed.”

  “Stop sayin’ it! Yer fright’nin’ me!”

  “I wonder whom it might have been.”

  “It can’t of been no one. All I can think about now’s them ghost girls in that picture. What if they comes out of it and walks round the ’ouse at night?”

  “That’s not possible, is it, Maisie? What nonsense! There’s no need to be frightened of the twins.”

  Despite my confident manner, I recalled that I had purposefully averted my eyes from their portrait in the library the previous evening.

  “Mrs Craughton told me ter clean the china in ’ere,” said Maisie, peering into the cabinet. “This one’s locked. I’ll ’ave to go and get the key from ’er office.”

  “I’ll go,” I said quickly, mindful that I could look for the key to Mr Glenville’s desk while I was there.

  As I left the room, I wondered whether Maisie was telling the truth about the previous evening. If it hadn’t been her opening and closing the door to her room, whom might it have been?

  “That drawing room needs to be perfect,” said Mrs Craughton, handing me the key to the cabinet. “And once it’s done, the dining room will need to be thoroughly cleaned in time for Saturday.”

  I glanced again at the other keys on the wall as she spoke. Where were the study keys kept? I wondered.

  “Not that Miss Sophia will thank you for your hard work. I can tell you now that she won’t give any thought to the preparation taking place for her birthday celebration. She has no idea of the work that goes into these things.”

  I saw a large key and three smaller ones, each labelled ‘Study’. The desk key had to be one of those.

  “I have to go and see Cook about this menu again,” continued the housekeeper. “Miss Sophia has decided that she no longer wishes to have oysters served. Is there another key you require?” She fixed me with her slow-moving grey eyes.

  This was my chance to ask for the key to Mr Glenville’s desk dra
wer. But how could I justify asking for it? What reason could I give? I could think of none.

  “No, only this one. Thank you, Mrs Craughton.”

  I took my leave of her and felt angry with myself for missing the opportunity.

  The next chance to borrow the key presented itself on Saturday morning. I passed Mrs Craughton’s office and saw that the door was ajar. I knew she had taken something to Mrs Glenville and, unusually for her, had forgotten to lock the door.

  Checking that no one else was nearby, I slipped into the office and peered at the keys on the wall. The only light available for me to see by was the dim lamplight of the hallway, but despite the gloom I managed to locate the study keys.

  The largest of the four was presumably for the door to the room. Of the other three, I decided the smallest would most likely be the one to open the drawers of a desk. I quickly removed it from its hook and pushed it into the large pocket at the front of my apron.

  Back in the corridor, I saw that there was still no one else around. I strolled towards the study humming a nonchalant tune to myself. The study was usually unlocked during the day. I reached the open door and saw that the room was empty. Checking around me once again, I slipped inside and tiptoed over to the desk.

  My heartbeat thundered so loudly in my ears that I worried I would be unable to hear any other sound. I glanced over my shoulder, moved back towards the door and quietly closed it. Then I skipped over to the desk once again and hurriedly pushed the key into the lock of one of the drawers. It twisted satisfactorily and the drawer slid open. My stomach flipped with excitement as I peered inside. A small, leather-bound book rested on a pile of correspondence.

  Surely there was something in this book which would be useful to James.

  My fingers trembled as I reached into the drawer and lifted the book out. I flicked through the pages, which were filled with dense, sloping handwriting.

  What was I to do with this? It would take a long time to read. Could I remove it for a few days without Mr Glenville noticing?

  I turned to the back of the book and saw that it contained a list of names and addresses. Were these the people Mr Conway wanted to know about? Did the answer to the investigation lie within my hands?

  I didn’t have time to lock the drawer as I heard the handle of the door turning. I sprung over to the fireplace and fell to my knees, as if examining the recently laid fire.

  “Flo!” exclaimed Mr Glenville. “What are you doing in here with the door closed?”

  “Oh, hello, sir.” I stood to my feet and hoped that the book wasn’t visible in the pocket of my apron. “I couldn’t remember if Maisie and I had arranged the fire in here this morning.”

  He stared at me as if he were unsure that I was telling the truth. I felt an uncomfortable heat seeping into my face and prayed that he wouldn’t notice. He glanced around the room, and I didn’t dare look at the desk to check that the drawer was properly closed. He looked back at the fireplace.

  “It looks like a well-laid fire to me.”

  “It does, doesn’t it, sir? Would you like it lit?”

  “Not yet, thank you. I came in here to fetch something.”

  I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. What if he’d come for the book and found that it wasn’t there? What had I done?

  I began to feel light-headed.

  “Very well, sir. I shall leave you to it.”

  “Thank you, Flo.”

  I walked out of the room on unsteady legs. If he discovered that the book was missing, he would know that I had taken it. There would be a confrontation and I would be found out. The entire investigation would be ruined.

  I made my way along the corridor and hummed the nonchalant tune again. It was so off-key that I sounded like a person who was beginning to lose her mind.

  Chapter 17

  The Lombard family arrived at seven o’clock that evening. The guests gathered in the drawing room, providing my first opportunity to catch sight of Sophia’s suitor. I found myself sympathising with the poor girl. Dudley Lombard looked to be about thirty-five, with pale, wispy, mutton-chop whiskers covering his saggy cheeks. His eyes and lower lip drooped a little, and he removed his top hat to reveal a scant layer of mousy hair. He seemed pleasant and convivial, however. For Sophia’s sake, I hoped that what he lacked in appearance, he compensated for in personality.

  His father, Ralph Lombard, was a tall, broad man with a large stomach and a huge nose. Thin hair seemed to run in the family. His own was swept towards his face to create the impression that he had more than he actually did. He had a commanding presence, and was so well-practised in his manners that I imagined he had conducted himself in this way since he had been old enough to walk.

  His wife, Mary Lombard, was also tall, and a weak smile was fixed permanently to her long face. She had large, violet eyes, which flicked adoringly between her son and the long-haired, white dog which she carried under one arm. Her dress was of rustling turquoise silk, trimmed with lace where it was cut low at her ample bosom.

  “Where’s the birthday girl?” asked Ralph Lombard in a loud voice.

  “She’s still getting ready,” replied Mrs Glenville with a smile.

  She was resplendent in a gold and white dress, which was tightly laced with a large bustle. Her red hair was pinned neatly on top of her head and decorated with little gold and white bows. With her arched, painted eyebrows, she bore a passing resemblance to Queen Elizabeth.

  I couldn’t deny that there was something rather handsome about Mr Glenville that evening. He wore a black frock coat over a dark red velvet waistcoat, and a red silk cravat was knotted around his upright collar. The jagged scar somehow complimented rather than detracted from his looks. His dark eyes surveyed the room, and he was the only person who acknowledged me as I stood by the servants’ door with my hands clasped nervously in front of me.

  The missing book hadn’t been mentioned. Had Mr Glenville noticed that it wasn’t in the desk drawer? Had he noticed that the drawer was unlocked?

  My plan was to read through the book that night and return it early the next morning. I hoped it would provide the answers needed for Mr Conway’s investigation so that my job at the Glenville residence would be complete.

  Mr Perrin announced Viscount Wyndham, and a short, jovial man bustled into the room accompanied by a petite, wan-faced wife. With them was Maurice Glenville, who was leaning on his walking sticks for support.

  “Wyndham! What a surprise!” boomed Ralph Lombard. The men shook hands heartily, and the dog under Mary Lombard’s arm barked enthusiastically.

  “Quiet, Tipsy!” she scolded.

  “What a fine dog!” said Wyndham, his chest puffed up like a pigeon’s. “Although I must admit to preferring mine a little larger. He’s smaller than a rat!”

  “She,” corrected Mary Lombard, but Wyndham appeared not to hear as he helped Maurice to a chair.

  “Maurice and I have had a fine day in the dark room, haven’t we, Maurice?”

  Maurice nodded and Wyndham rested the boy’s walking sticks against the back of his chair. I admired Wyndham’s avuncular manner towards the boy.

  “We took some photographs in the garden and developed quite a number of them,” Wyndham continued.

  “You’re quite the photographer now then, Wyndham?” commented Mr Glenville.

  “It keeps me out of trouble,” he replied with a chuckle. “My next plan is to set up a photographer’s studio. Then I can photograph my beautiful wife reclining on a chaise longue. You know those pictures, don’t you, Glenville? Where she’s dressed in some sort of floaty attire, looking like a sylph-like nymph!”

  He slapped his thigh and laughed. Lady Wyndham seated herself and rolled her eyes. Her fair hair was swept back from her pale, heart-shaped face, and she wore a dress of rose pink and lace. She appeared to be ten or fifteen years younger than her husband.

  “You’ll have to find another nymph for your photographs, Napier,” she said haughtily. “I shall
do nothing of the sort.”

  “Darn it. Camilla, perhaps?” said Wyndham with an infectious laugh that made me smile.

  “Never!” replied Mrs Glenville frostily.

  I recalled Mr Sherman telling me that Mr Glenville and Viscount Wyndham were estranged, so I wondered what manner of change had come about in their relationship.

  “Here she is!” shouted Ralph Lombard as Sophia entered the room with her sister Jane. Sophia wore a simple, green satin dress and smiled politely as she greeted her guests. However, all eyes in the room were on Jane, whose flowing scarlet dress was covered in all manner of elaborate ruffles and bows. Her dark hair had been curled and pinned up, and sparkled with tiny jewels. She grinned broadly from ear to ear, and I felt sure that her appearance had been designed to diminish that of her sister.

  Mr Perrin poured out glasses of champagne and everyone drank a toast to Miss Sophia. For a brief moment, she caught my eye and we exchanged a smile. She seemed grateful that I hadn’t mentioned her night-time excursion to anyone in the household.

  The three younger Glenville daughters were accompanied into the drawing room by the governess and nurse. Much fuss was made of them before they were taken back to the nursery.

  I kept expecting friends of Sophia’s to arrive, but as everyone moved into the dining room for dinner I realised that the number of guests was complete.

  Chapter 18

  “I’ve had to take on an extra hundred workers over the past year,” said Ralph Lombard. “There’s no room on the premises for any more, so I’m looking at a new site in Fulham.”

  “It will be a terrible shame if you move the distillery there. It’s extremely convenient having you so near to Blundell’s,” replied Mr Glenville.

  They were dining on turbot with lobster sauce.

  “But Fulham is near Dudley and Sophia in Barnes,” replied Lombard. “It’s important to be always thinking about the future. Perhaps you could move Blundell’s out there. You could consolidate the Bermondsey and Vauxhall factories into one. It would help you economise.”