The Maid’s Secret

by Emily Organ

  Maisie and I walked around the table, collecting up plates and dishes which were no longer required. As I passed Lady Wyndham, I noticed that she held her glass of wine on her lap and was pouring a few drops of something into it from a small bottle. I recalled an aunt of mine who had a habit of doing something similar, and wondered whether Lady Wyndham was a laudanum addict as my aunt had been.

  “Don’t forget the costs, Lombard,” said Mr Glenville. “You speak as though I can conjure up the necessary funds from nowhere.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Wyndham interrupted. “I’ll talk to Burroughs at Coutts again. They’d be more than happy to lend you the money.”

  I committed the name to memory. Was Mr Burroughs at Coutts bank one of Glenville’s friends in high places?

  “Very generous of you, Wyndham,” said Mr Glenville.

  “Don’t mention it, Alexander,” replied Wyndham.

  Mary Lombard leaned forward to address Jane. “Your mother has told us all about your beautiful voice, Miss Jane. We must hear it after dinner.”

  Jane’s face flushed almost as red as her dress. “Thank you. I must confess I am a little shy to sing in front of an audience.”

  “Oh, come, don’t be shy,” replied Mrs Lombard. “We shall be an extremely appreciative audience.”

  “How about piano?” piped up Ralph Lombard. “You’re quite adept at that as well, I hear, Miss Jane. Perhaps we can hear a short recital.”

  I watched Sophia, wondering if she felt envious of the attention her sister was receiving. Her face belied no sign of it. Instead, she picked at her meal with a countenance that suggested boredom.

  Dudley Lombard wiped his droopy lower lip with his serviette.

  “Miss Sophia,” he said. “Ma would like you to visit the house next week to choose the wallpaper.”

  “Oh, I’m sure any wallpaper will do,” she replied sulkily.

  I noticed that Mrs Glenville shot Mrs Lombard an apologetic glance.

  “Miss Sophia, you are to be the lady of the house,” said Mrs Lombard as she fed a piece of bread to Tipsy on her lap. “I know you are unaccustomed to choosing wallpaper, but it is one of the privileges a lady has, among many others of course. The house must be decorated in the colours you like!”

  “Not red,” said Sophia, giving her sister a fleeting glance. “I don’t like red.”

  Dudley Lombard wiped a piece of bread around the lobster sauce on his plate and watched his fiancée rather sadly.

  “To think that the next time Sophia and Dudley dine together they will be married!” said Mrs Glenville with forced cheer.

  “Indeed! The wedding day is almost upon us!” Ralph Lombard cried.

  I noticed Lady Wyndham had a little more colour in her cheeks. Maisie walked behind her and Lady Wyndham seemed to pass her something, which the maid swiftly put into the pocket of her apron. I felt puzzled by this.

  “I remember our wedding day as though it were only yesterday, Lily,” said Wyndham, grinning at his wife across the table.

  She smiled demurely and took a large gulp of her wine.

  “The house will be so empty without you, Dudley darling,” sighed Mary Lombard.

  “You’ll just have to get some more dogs!” said Wyndham with a loud laugh.

  “I’m sure I will. But dogs are no replacement for a child, are they? We only have the one, and he is so very precious.” Her violet eyes rested adoringly on her son once again.

  “Better one than none at all,” said Wyndham. “Still, perhaps we can adopt young Maurice!” He grinned at Master Glenville.

  “There is no need for that,” replied Mrs Glenville stiffly. “He has a perfectly suitable home here.”

  “He’s not going to inherit anything, though, is he?” said Wyndham.

  “Napier...” his wife warned.

  “Wyndham, we’ve discussed this before, haven’t we?” said Mr Glenville. “Now let’s leave that conversation well alone and remember why we’re all here.”

  He stood and raised a glass to his daughter.

  “Happy birthday to my darling Sophia!”

  The tension which had been building in the room dissolved away as everyone stood and raised their glasses.

  “Happy birthday, Sophia!”

  Mrs Craughton instructed me and Maisie to accompany the ladies into the drawing room while the men remained in the dining room. Most of the conversation was about the wedding, but I noticed Sophia hadn’t joined in. Instead, she made a great fuss of Tipsy, who enjoyed lying on her back and having her underbelly tickled. A large vase of lilies filled the room with a scent which was almost cloying.

  The men entered the room a short while later, and Jane was called upon to sing and play the piano. Among her repertoire were the parlour song favourites, including ‘I’ll Sing Thee Songs of Araby’, ‘It was a Dream’ and ‘Oh Mother! Take the Wheel Away’. Dudley Lombard watched her with an expression of rapture on his face, the drink in his hand untouched. I realised that he quite possibly longed to marry the younger daughter instead of Sophia.

  Sophia sat next to Maurice and watched her sister with vague interest, stifling a yawn at times. I wondered if she had managed to attend the women’s suffrage march in Hyde Park earlier that day. Eliza would have expected to see me there, but I knew there would have been little chance of me being granted leave to attend. I had accomplished something, however. I had one of Mr Glenville’s notebooks to read, and I was pleased that the birthday celebration soon would be over so I could escape to my room to peruse it.

  My hopes were dashed when Mr Glenville instructed Mr Perrin to bring out more champagne glasses and fill them for his guests.

  “Well, that was a marvellous piece of entertainment. Thank you, Jane!” cried Viscount Wyndham, his cheeks red from the good food and fine wine. “Who will entertain us next?”

  “I’ve heard the dog has a few tricks up her sleeve,” said Mr Glenville.

  “Does she now? A dog with sleeves is a trick in itself!” laughed Wyndham.

  “She can indeed do a few tricks,” said Mary Lombard.

  “Show them what Tipsy can do, Ma!” her son said encouragingly.

  “I’ve heard she can walk on her hind l-legs,” said Maurice.

  “The dog walks on its hind legs?” asked Wyndham. “This has to be seen!”

  “Show them, Ma!” Dudley Lombard cheered.

  With plenty of encouragement, whooping and clapping, Mrs Lombard managed to get her little dog waddling along the rug on her hind legs. Everybody cheered and laughed, including Maisie and myself. Mrs Craughton applauded, and even Mr Perrin managed a smile.

  Sophia also found it funny, but then I heard her make an odd noise which wasn’t laughter. I looked at her and saw that her face was quite red, as if she were struggling to breathe.

  “Miss Sophia?” I said quietly, dashing to her side.

  I knelt beside her and held her hands. She pulled them away and clutched at her throat, her dark eyes fixed on mine.

  The laughter at the sight of the little dog subsided as everyone began to notice that something was wrong.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Dudley Lombard.

  Mrs Glenville stood up. “Sophia?”

  Mr Glenville dashed over to us.

  “Is she choking?” he asked me.

  Sophia let out a cry and slumped down off her chair. Mr Glenville and I just about caught her between us, but she seemed quite unable to breathe.

  We laid her on the floor. Her eyes were wide with terror as she stared first at her father and then her mother, who had flung herself down by her daughter’s side.

  “Sophia!” she screamed, slapping her daughter’s cheek. “Help!” she cried out. “What can we do?”

  I stepped back so that Mr and Mrs Glenville could get closer to their daughter. Jane joined them and Maurice stood over them all, looking concerned.

  “Good grief! What’s happening?” entreated Dudley Lombard.

  Tipsy yapped and Mary Lomba
rd tried to quieten her.

  “She needs some air! Give her air!” Mr Glenville cried out.

  “Here, give her my salts!” Mary Lombard pulled out a little bottle from her purse.

  I stood back, unsure what to do. I could barely see Sophia now that she was surrounded by people. The room felt too warm, and I wanted some cool air on my face. I fought an urge to open the heavy velvet curtains and pull up one of the windows.

  Maisie looked up at me, her eyes welling with tears. I put my arm around her shoulder to comfort her.

  “Fetch a doctor!” shouted Mr Glenville.

  Mrs Craughton and Mr Perrin ran out of the room.

  Mrs Glenville cradled her daughter’s head while Mr Glenville paced the room, wiping his face with his hand.

  “She’ll be all right, old boy,” said Wyndham, giving him a comforting pat on the back.

  “I hope so. Good God, I hope so,” said Mr Glenville. “I don’t understand it.”

  Dudley Lombard sobbed openly. His mother clung onto his arm, her face white.

  Lady Wyndham seemed to be stuck to her seat, her delicate features frozen in horror.

  “Where is the doctor?” barked Glenville. “This is taking too long!”

  Mrs Glenville rocked her daughter and sobbed, the skirts of Sophia’s green silk dress spread in a crumpled pool around her. The salts had produced no effect, and I knew that a fainting fit would have come to an end by now.

  It was probably only ten minutes before the doctor arrived, but it seemed like an eternity. He was a portly, grey-whiskered man, and he dashed into the room with a large leather bag in one hand. He knelt beside Sophia and tried to rouse her, but there was no response.

  “Has she eaten or drunk anything recently?” he asked.

  “We’ve just had dinner and drinks,” said Mrs Glenville in an urgent, shrill voice.

  Everyone else stood silently as the doctor attended to Sophia. I was unsure whether to watch or avert my eyes. Then he sat back on his heels before slowly getting to his feet. My legs felt weakened by a horrible sense of dread.

  “I’m sorry.” The doctor’s voice was quiet and sombre. “I’m afraid we’ve lost her.”

  Mrs Craughton and I rushed to Mrs Glenville’s aid as she fell to the floor.

  Chapter 19

  We helped Mrs Glenville onto a chair and the doctor attended to Sophia for a short while longer. Then he asked for a blanket. Maisie quickly fetched one and the doctor carefully draped it over Sophia’s body.

  My eyes filled with tears and my spectacles misted over. I removed them and wiped my face with my apron. Surely this was nothing more than a bad dream?

  Mrs Glenville flung herself down by her daughter’s side again, sobbing uncontrollably. Mr Glenville stood silent and unmoving by the fireplace, his face drained of all colour. Everyone else had moved to one side of the room, looking on in horrified silence.

  I felt myself trembling. Surely the doctor was mistaken. There must have been something more he could have done. Sophia had to be given another chance at life.

  I stared at the cream woollen blanket beneath which she lay, and I willed it to move. Surely she would come round and wonder what all the fuss had been about.

  “Stop all the clocks, please, Mr Perrin,” said Mr Glenville, his voice tremulous.

  The doctor seemed puzzled by something, and rubbed his grey whiskers while he processed his thoughts.

  “Please can someone show me the glass from which Miss Sophia was drinking?” he asked.

  “It was this one,” I said, pointing to the glass on the occasional table next to the chair she had sat on. There was only a small amount of champagne left in it.

  The doctor picked up the glass and sniffed its contents. Then he dipped his little finger into the remainder of the champagne before carefully placing his finger on the tip of his tongue. He closed his eyes and made a smacking noise with his lips for a moment.

  We all watched him intently.

  “Oh dear. This is most worrying,” he said.

  “What is?” asked Mr Glenville. “What’s the matter, Doctor Dalglish?”

  Mrs Glenville lifted her head and tried to calm her sobs so that she could listen.

  “I’m afraid I can detect the taste and smell of bitter almonds,” replied the doctor. “I fear that your daughter may have been poisoned by potassium of cyanide.”

  “Poisoned?” Mrs Glenville cried out.

  “That’s impossible!” said Mr Glenville. “How? By whom?”

  “Never!” Dudley Lombard shouted.

  Everyone began talking all at once. Mary Lombard held her face in her hands and began to cry. Jane buried her face in Maurice’s chest and he held on to her, his expression wretched.

  “The police will need to be involved,” continued Dr Dalglish. “You’ll need to send someone down to Church Court police station.”

  “The police?” said Mrs Glenville.

  “Cyanide,” muttered Mr Glenville. “Where would cyanide have come from? I think you’re mistaken, Doctor.”

  “If only I were,” replied the doctor.

  “May I have a look at that glass?” Mr Glenville asked.

  Dr Dalglish gave it to him. “I would caution you to be careful with that, Mr Glenville. Please don’t make any attempt to drink it.”

  Mr Glenville held the glass up to his nose and inhaled deeply several times. “I can’t smell anything, damn it!”

  “Not everyone is able to detect the smell of cyanide,” replied the doctor.

  “Well that’s darned convenient, isn’t it?” Mr Glenville replied scornfully.

  “I’m not sure what you mean by convenient.”

  “How do we know that the cause is cyanide if no one else can smell it?”

  Dr Dalglish held up his hands apologetically. “Perhaps someone else in this room will be able to detect the smell. I can only report on what I find, Mr Glenville, and sadly I deduce that someone has poisoned your daughter with cyanide. It is not for me to comment any further. The police must be called, and if they require my help I shall be happy to assist them.”

  Mr Glenville walked over to his wife and bent down to hold the glass under her nose. “Can you smell cyanide?” he asked.

  She sniffed at the champagne.

  “What does it smell like?” she asked.

  “Almonds, the doctor said.”

  “Bitter almonds,” corrected Dr Dalglish.

  “Well, there’s a smell of something,” replied Mrs Glenville. “I can’t say I know what bitter almonds smell like, but there is a smell of something other than champagne, I think.”

  “But cyanide?” Mr Glenville asked his wife incredulously. “You really think it could be poison in there?”

  “Oh, darling, I don’t know.” Tears sprung into her eyes again. “It was something, that’s for sure, and now our daughter is dead!”

  Inspector Herbert Trotter was a barrel-shaped man with a long, wide chin and a light brown moustache. He stood in front of the fireplace in a grey suit with his pipe in his mouth, taking down notes as the doctor explained his suspicions.

  The inspector nodded and glanced at each of us in the room in turn as he listened. Then the doctor took him over to the body of poor Sophia beneath the blanket. I looked away as the doctor lifted it for the inspector to see her body. Once the doctor had finished giving his explanation, the inspector spoke. He had a lisp.

  “Doctor Dalglish informs me that Miss Sophia Glenville has died from suspected cyanide poisoning. Consequently, I shall need to interview everyone in the house about the events of this most unfortunate evening. Mr Glenville, would you have the honour of speaking to me in private first?”

  “Now hold on, Inspector. You’re not going to waste time discussing this with me, are you? We need to catch the chap who’s poisoned my daughter!”

  Mr Glenville’s appearance had become quite dishevelled. His hair was untidy, and he had removed his cravat and unbuttoned his collar.

  “I need t
o interview everyone who was in Miss Sophia’s company today,” continued the inspector. “It’s imperative that I establish the facts of this evening’s events.”

  “Well, I’m sure my guests and staff will be more than happy to help you, but I can’t bear to have precious time wasted, Inspector. He could strike again!”

  “And may I ask what causes you to think that, Mr Glenville?”

  “Someone may be planning to poison the lot of us!”

  “If that is the case, Mr Glenville, I am sure you would agree that it is most urgent that I interview everyone who is in the house. It seems likely to me that the culprit is under your roof at this very moment! Unless one or more guests were here earlier this evening and have since departed, that is. Has anyone visited today and since left?”

  Mr Glenville scratched the back of his neck. “Not this evening. No, there were no other guests. We receive deliveries and visitors during the day, I can’t specifically remember any in particular, but then I’ve not been home for the entire day, so you’d need to ask the servants about all the comings and goings.”

  “In summary, then, if I understand you correctly, Mr Glenville, there were no other guests invited this evening who have since left?”

  “No,” said Mrs Glenville. Her eyes were circled with grey where the kohl liner had smudged. “There has been no one else here, has there, Alexander?”

  I glanced around the room. Could the person responsible for Sophia’s death be one of these people here now? I wondered. I studied their faces for any sign of guilt, but saw none. What about the staff? I looked at Mr Perrin, Mrs Craughton and Maisie. It couldn’t be one of them, either. I couldn’t understand it.

  “If I manage to establish that everyone in this house is innocent,” said Inspector Trotter, “then there is only one further option, which is rather a distressing one to consider.”

  “She took her own life!” interjected Mrs Glenville.

  Everyone in the room looked at her, clearly as surprised by her comment as I was. Her face was taut and pale, her lips thin.

  “It’s something to consider, isn’t it, Inspector?” continued Mrs Glenville. “I don’t wish to think that’s what happened, but I know that you must consider all possibilities.”