The Maid’s Secret

by Emily Organ

  “Yes, and that’s what I’ve communicated to the inspector. He has to consider it, you know.”

  “If she met another man the night that I saw her, what would Dudley Lombard have done had he found out?”

  “He would have been exceptionally angry, and rightly so,” replied the housekeeper. “The entire Lombard family would have been livid. Now, you must excuse me while I go and see to my lady. She spends far too much time in that room with her daughter. There are funeral arrangements to be made.”

  As we stepped out of the office and Mrs Craughton locked the door, I pondered over what she had told me. Was it possible that Sophia had accidentally taken her own life? Or had the Lombards discovered her love affair and poisoned her as an act of revenge?

  “You remember me complaining about those reporters outside yesterday, don’t you?” asked Mrs Craughton.

  “Yes.”

  “Some of the newspapers are already carrying the news of Miss Sophia’s death. Have a look at Mr Perrin’s Morning Express on the kitchen table when you find the chance. It’s not right, is it? The press should have left the Glenvilles alone. Is the fire in the study lit yet?”

  “I’ll see to it, Mrs Craughton.” I noticed that my voice had an odd, strangulated tone when I spoke.

  I had been so distracted by our conversation that I had forgotten to return the desk drawer key or give notice of my resignation.

  On my way to the study I passed the governess and the nurse with the younger Glenvilles. They were all wearing their overcoats, as if they were about to go out for a walk. How could Sophia’s death be explained to children who were so young? My heart felt heavy at the thought.

  The study was dark. If only I had brought Mr Glenville’s book with me I could have replaced it in his desk drawer. Instead, it was still lying in the trunk in my room. I cursed my lack of organisation, placed my oil lamp on the hearth and lit the fire. I watched the flames burn brightly for a moment and enjoyed their warmth.

  “That’s better, isn’t it, Flo?”

  I leapt to my feet and spun around to see Mr Glenville’s dimly lit form in the chair by his desk.

  “Mr Glenville! You have a habit of startling me!”

  I wondered why he had sat there for several minutes without informing me of his presence.

  His eyes were wide and dark. Was he about to confront me about the missing book?

  “You frighten easily, don’t you? You look terrified,” he said.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t deny that Miss Sophia’s death has shaken me rather.”

  “I’m not surprised,” he said sadly. “I’ve often thought that the loss of a person has a sort of rippling effect, like dropping a stone into the middle of a still pond. The ripples move outwards.” He slowly spread out his hands as he spoke. “And disturb everything in their wake. Does that make sense, or am I talking nonsense again? It’s probably nonsense, you know. I haven’t been sleeping at all well.”

  “No, it makes sense, sir.”

  “Thank you, Flo. I knew you’d understand. He smiled. “The inspector tells me you saw Sophia return to the house late one night.”

  “Yes, sir. I was desperate to tell you and Mrs Glenville about it,” I said, feeling flustered. “But Miss Sophia swore me to secrecy. She made me promise and I didn’t want to betray her confidence. I had always planned to tell you, and she gave me her word that she would explain it to me in greater detail. I wanted to wait until then and hear the full explanation. Then I should have known whether or not it would have been appropriate to draw the matter to your attention. I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you about it. I certainly wish now that I had done so. More than anything, I wish I had! But sadly, it cannot be undone.”

  “It would certainly have been helpful if you’d mentioned it to us at the time,” replied Mr Glenville. “Perhaps we could have intervened. But there’s little use in dwelling on what might have been. That doesn’t help us now, does it? We must leave it up to the two detectives.”

  I swallowed nervously. What would Mr Glenville think if he knew that Trotter suspected him?

  “If truth be told, I’m completely thrown by this,” he continued. “I have coped with many things in my life, but never something like this.” His voice began to sound choked. “Being present in the room as she died, and being able to do nothing about it whatsoever...”

  He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face with it. “I will never be able to explain to anyone what that’s like. I’m her father. I should have been able to protect her, and yet I was helpless.” He fixed me with his dark, damp eyes. “For the first time in my life, Flo, I felt helpless.”

  I felt deeply sorry for him and was unsure what to say. How was a maid supposed to comfort her employer?

  “You did all you could have, sir. It’s natural to feel helpless.”

  “Yes, I suppose it is. That poor boy Dudley is devastated. He doesn’t know, by the way.”

  “Doesn’t know what, sir?”

  “That she went out that evening to meet someone else. That’s the assumption, anyhow. Why else would she have been so secretive? I can only assume it was another man, and that’s what the inspector also thinks.”

  He got up out of his chair, walked over to the fire and stared into the flames. As he stood closer to me, I could smell his exotic scent again.

  “If Dudley ever found out it would destroy him,” he said. “He was desperately in love with her. Perhaps I was naive, but I never expected anything to get in the way of their marriage.”

  He turned to me and fixed me with his dark gaze. “If she was meeting someone else, I’d like to know who that chap is. I wonder if he has any idea of the upset his actions have caused. What man in his right mind would encourage a young lady to leave her house late at night to meet with him? He has no scruples whatsoever. I wonder if he even knows what has happened to her.”

  I thought of the dark figure I had seen standing in the street the previous night, but chose not to mention it lest it angered Mr Glenville further.

  “I think the inspector is making enquiries into the identity of the man.”

  “I hope he is able to find him. It doesn’t help in the search for the murderer, though, does it? The more I consider it, the more I believe that the murderer may have been trying to harm me. I think Sophia’s poisoning was a mistake.”

  “Why do you think someone should want to harm you?”

  “There are numerous reasons, but I shan’t bore you with them. There are many in the establishment who begrudge me my success. They cannot understand how a man who was born into poverty could rise through the ranks; especially a man with a scarred and broken body. It’s not the done thing, is it?”

  He held my gaze, and my eyes moved to the scar on his left cheek.

  “How did you injure your face?” I asked.

  “It happened when I was eighteen.”

  “In the factory?”

  “No. Someone attacked me with a broken bottle.”

  I gasped, and he smiled at my concern.

  “Don’t worry, Flo. At least I survived to tell the tale. He almost finished me off, but not quite.”

  I found myself wondering what the scar would feel like if I were to reach up and touch his cheek with my fingertips. We watched each other silently and the ticklish sensation returned to my stomach. I pulled my eyes away from his and quickly turned to look at the fire, embarrassed and horrified that I had even entertained the thought of touching him.

  “I shouldn’t detain you any longer,” he said very softly. “That Craughton creature will no doubt come looking for you shortly.”

  I felt heat in my face and knew that it wasn’t just from the fire.

  “I shall go and find the Craughton creature before she finds me,” I replied with a meek smile.

  Chapter 26

  Jane’s voice was so loud that I could hear it quite clearly through the library door.

  “Sophia was never happy or content!” />
  I checked the corridor around me and then paused.

  “And do you know what might have been the cause of her unhappiness?” I heard Inspector Trotter ask.

  “She was born like that.”

  “So you’re not aware of any particular reason for your sister’s perceived discontent?”

  “No.”

  “Did you get on well with her?”

  “No, not really.”

  “Did she confide in you?”

  “Never.”

  “May I ask the purpose of these questions, Inspector?” I heard Mrs Glenville ask. “I should think it obvious to anyone that my fifteen-year-old daughter cannot possibly be involved in her sister’s death.”

  “Please bear with us, Mrs Glenville. We won’t detain either of you any longer than is necessary,” said James.

  “You suggest that your sister was an unhappy individual, Miss Jane,” Inspector Trotter continued. “Was she prone to upsetting other people?”

  “I’d say!”

  “Who exactly?”

  “All of us! Her entire family!”

  “It was her age, Inspector,” explained Mrs Glenville. “Sophia was at a difficult age.”

  “She was a difficult age every year of her life, Ma.”

  “Some people are more difficult than others, dear.”

  “You mention, Miss Jane, that your sister upset everyone in your family. Is there anyone in particular she upset the most?”

  “No. It was the same for all of us. She did it on purpose, you know.”

  “Thank you, Miss Jane.”

  I heard sobs, and then Jane’s distressed voice. “I didn’t like my sister, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy she has died. She didn’t deserve it. She would have changed when she got married, but he didn’t give her the chance.”

  “Who didn’t?” James asked.

  “Master Lombard.”

  “What do you mean when you say that he didn’t give her the chance.”

  “He wanted to marry me!”

  “Jane!” scolded Mrs Glenville.

  “It’s true, Ma! He told me so!”

  I walked away from the library door before someone caught me eavesdropping there. I had initially thought that Dudley Lombard was a harmless fool. But could he have harmed Sophia in the hope that he could become betrothed to Jane?

  I encountered Maisie on the servants’ staircase. She appeared to be loitering there.

  “What’s the matter, Maisie?”

  “Everythin’, Flo.” There were tears on her freckled cheeks.

  “Miss Sophia wouldn’t have wanted you to be sad like this.”

  “But she ain’t ’ere, is she? ’Ow does she know? I don’t feel right. I feel like everythin’s all twisted up inside me.” She held her hands to her stomach. “I can’t work or do nuffink, and Mrs Craughton keeps tellin’ me what ter do, and I can’t do none of it! I don’t feel right at all!”

  “Why don’t you go to your room and get some rest, Maisie?”

  “’Cause Mrs Craughton won’t let me! She keeps givin’ me things ter do. I can’t do ’em.”

  “What has she asked you to do?”

  “Fill up the coal buckets.”

  “I’ll do that for you. Go and get some rest.”

  “But what about Mrs Craughton?”

  “I’ll tell her you’re not well. Please don’t worry. It’s important that you get better.”

  “I ain’t never gonna get better. I’m gonna feel like this forever, I know it. Miss Sophia ain’t never comin’ back again!”

  “You’ll feel more like yourself after some rest, Maisie. Go quickly before I change my mind about filling up the coal buckets for you.”

  She smiled weakly. “Thank you, Flo. You’re good ter me, yer are.”

  I lifted the lid of the coal store in the yard, but there was no sign of the small shovel used to fill the buckets. It was a pleasant spring day with birdsong in the air, and the spreading branches of a nearby oak tree had new green leaves on them. I stood there for a moment, enjoying the sunshine on my face and listening to the horses whinnying in the mews.

  “You’re still here then, Flo?” I turned to see James in the yard behind me, filling his pipe. He gave me a wink and then grinned.

  “Yes, I am, Inspector.” I looked up at the windows of the house, hoping nobody could hear our conversation. “Has the future Mrs Blakely found out about your secret pipe smoking yet?”

  “Not yet. Have you changed your mind about staying here?”

  “No. I simply haven’t had the opportunity to speak to Mrs Craughton as yet.” I looked around for the shovel again and found it inside one of the buckets.

  “You still won’t consider one more week?” he asked.

  There was something about the twinkle in James’ blue eyes which made it difficult to maintain my stubbornness. Besides, I had already made a vow to myself that I would somehow prove Mr Glenville could not have been behind Sophia’s death.

  “Inspector Trotter is rather clumsy,” he said as he lit his pipe.

  “What does that have to do with me?” I dug the shovel into the coal and noisily tipped it into the bucket.

  James waited for the sound to subside. “He spilled his coffee over his notebook,” he said. “And I’m afraid some of it has spilled onto the chair and carpet. I’ve tried to mop up as best I can with blotting paper and my handkerchief, but we need someone to help clean it up.”

  I felt my jaw tighten. “You’re asking me to clean up after you and Trotter?” I hissed. “You consider me a real maid now, do you?”

  “Penny...”

  “For the past week I have done nothing but fetch and carry and clean for other people. It’s the most back-breaking, demeaning work I have ever done. I am a news reporter, James! I shouldn’t even be here!”

  “Shush,” he said, glancing around nervously. “Someone will hear you.”

  “Quite frankly, James, I don’t think I care any longer.”

  “Penny, you’re missing the point of what I’m trying to tell you. Don’t you see? Inspector Trotter’s notebook is half-ruined by coffee. He needs to transcribe its contents onto dry paper.”

  “Good luck to him. I’ve seen how slowly he writes.”

  “If he were to find someone who could do that for him, he could get on with his detective work. It would need to be someone discreet and trustworthy, as the notes are highly confidential.”

  I began to listen more carefully.

  “Yes, Penny, you could do it. You could find out what he knows so far and then you would be able to assist us with the case.”

  “You’re assuming that I’ll agree to stay here for another week.”

  “Well, won’t you?”

  I delayed my reply while I considered the matter.

  “And as for the spilled coffee on the rug and chair, it will take some time to clean that up properly. The person attending to it will be in the room while the interviews are taking place. We can’t just ask any member of the household to clean it up, you know.”

  I considered the thought that I might hear more of the interviews without having to listen through the door.

  I watched James for a while, leaving him to wonder what my reply would be. Then I wiped my hands on my apron and picked up the coal bucket.

  “I suppose another week won’t be the complete ruin of me,” I said eventually.

  His face broke out into a smile.

  “And it’s possible that we may find the culprit during that time,” I added.

  “Thank you, Penny.” James gave a relieved sigh. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’ve agreed to do this. You’ll be such a great help.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  We exchanged a smile.

  Chapter 27

  “Here’s Flo to the rescue!” announced James as I entered the library with a cloth and a bowl of water. Then he turned to Inspector Trotter and said in a whisper, “Penny is happy to rewrite your notes, Trotter.
”

  Inspector Trotter removed his pipe from his mouth and gave me an appreciative nod. “Thank you, Miss Green,” he lisped. “I don’t suppose more coffee and toast is allowed, is it?”

  “Let’s get through these next few interviews first,” said James.

  Inspector Trotter was about to argue when a knock sounded at the door.

  “That will be Maurice,” said James. “Come in!” he called out.

  Maurice Glenville walked slowly into the room, supported by his walking sticks.

  “Can you understand what I’m saying, Master Glenville?” asked Inspector Trotter in a loud, careful voice.

  “I understand you p-perfectly,” replied Maurice, taking a seat at the table with them.

  He gave me a puzzled look.

  “Don’t mind Flo, Master Glenville,” said James. “She’s clearing up after a spot of carelessness on Inspector Trotter’s part. Everything you tell us will be kept confidential. I can assure you of that.”

  “I am going to ask you some questions about your sister’s tragic death,” bellowed Inspector Trotter.

  “There’s no need to speak so loudly, Trotter. The boy’s not deaf,” said James.

  Inspector Trotter glared at him before continuing. “Please don’t worry, Master Glenville. We’ll keep this as short as possible and I’ll ask you the questions quite directly, if that’s all right. Please can you tell me what you did on the fateful day of Saturday the twenty-ninth of March?”

  I got to my knees and began scrubbing the carpet under the watchful gaze of the ghost twins. In slurred and stuttering words, Maurice described his visit to Viscount Wyndham’s home; how they had taken some photographs in the garden and developed them in the dark room. Inspector Trotter fidgeted with his pen as Maurice spoke, as if frustrated by his slow speech. James listened patiently and I slowly mopped the coffee stain on the rug.

  “Thank you, Master Lombard,” said Inspector Trotter when he had finished speaking. “Now, let us discuss what you saw at the party. Did you see anyone put anything into your sister’s glass of champagne?”

  “No.”

  “Can you think of anyone who would want to cause your sister harm?”