The Maid’s Secret

by Emily Organ

  Hot tears pricked the backs of my eyes. I glanced at Mrs Glenville but was unable to discern her reaction beneath her veil. I wanted to apologise again and explain my behaviour, but I could see that Mr Glenville had no wish to hear any more. I felt Mrs Craughton’s fearsome gaze upon me, so I took pains not to look at her.

  “Of course, Mr Glenville,” said James convivially. “It’s a great shame you no longer wish us to find your daughter’s killer, but I feel certain my superior at the yard will continue the work we have begun. As this is a house of mourning, I have no wish to cause any further upset. Shall I ask Chief Inspector Cullen to call round later today?”

  Mr Glenville nodded. “I want to catch my daughter’s killer. This Cullen chap needs to find him before we hold her funeral next week.”

  Chapter 38

  I sat with James and Inspector Trotter in the restaurant of the Carlingford Hotel on Kensington Road. It was a small, comfortable place, and the white tablecloths gleamed brightly in the morning sunshine, which came flooding through the paned window.

  Inspector Trotter tucked into his breakfast of mutton chops, but I could muster no appetite. Instead, I sipped at my coffee and watched James spread marmalade onto his toast. I still wore my black maid’s uniform, and my trunk was upright on the floor beside my chair.

  “I didn’t have the chance to tell you that someone found the key to my trunk and discovered my true identity last night,” I said.

  “I suppose you were bound to be found out at some stage. You lasted a decent length of time,” said James, poking about in the marmalade pot with his knife. “Look on the bright side, Penny. At least you’ve escaped the house!”

  “I have.” I breathed deeply and tried to enjoy the sense of freedom. “Although Mr Glenville is extremely upset with me, isn’t he?”

  “He’s upset with all three of us,” said James. “But please don’t worry, Penny. You did everything we asked of you.”

  I removed my spectacles and wiped my eyes with my handkerchief. I felt a lump in my throat.

  “Poor Maisie. I can’t stop thinking about her,” I said. “You were right, James. She was in danger. Did you see the bottle of laudanum next to her note?”

  “Yes, I spotted that. It was empty.”

  “I wish I could understand what has happened. How on earth are we going to find out what befell Sophia and Maisie now? It feels as though I’ve thrown everything away. I was careless. I should never have taken that book. I was going to give it to you as part of your investigation on behalf of Mr Conway. But when Sophia died I forgot all about it. I’ve been so foolish.”

  “I have a feeling that someone suspected you weren’t who you said you were right from the start,” said James. “That’s why they continued to search your room. It was only a matter of time before they found the key to your trunk. You did well to stick it out for as long as you did. And you did enough for the investigation, so please don’t worry any more about it. Cullen will do a good job of picking this up with Glenville.”

  He bit into his toast.

  “I hope so. Cullen won’t want my help, though, will he? We’ve had too many disagreements in the past.”

  James laughed. “He doesn’t bear grudges. Now, would you like to cheer yourself up with a slice of toast? I’ll put some marmalade on it for you, if you like?”

  I smiled. “Thank you, James.”

  Inspector Trotter finished off his mutton chops, then wiped his mouth and fingers on the starched serviette.

  “It’s all very well handing over this case to Cullen,” he said. “But where does that leave T Division? I’m supposed to be the chap investigating Miss Glenville’s death.”

  “This is where we can be clever, Trotter,” said James. “We give Glenville the impression that Cullen is now looking after the case, but in reality we continue with our investigations. It won’t be difficult to speak to the Lombards and the Wyndhams again. The only difficulty we have is our inability to look for clues within the Glenville home.”

  “The important thing is that this continues as a joint investigation between T Division and the Yard.”

  “Absolutely, Trotter. You have my word.”

  “So what do we do now?” asked Inspector Trotter.

  “Good question,” said James. “We need to formulate a plan.”

  “Did you have any success in finding Betsy’s brother?” I asked.

  I wiped my spectacles with my serviette and put them back on. James passed me a slice of toast and marmalade.

  “Mr John Morrison? Yes, I have,” he said. “I had to promise him my discretion, though. He has rather a lot to hide.”

  “Such as what?”

  “He’s a married man.”

  “What does being married have to do with anything?”

  “He is the man Sophia Glenville had been with the evening you encountered her on the staircase.”

  I almost dropped my toast. “Her secret suitor? Betsy’s brother?”

  “Yes. They were in love. Despite him being married to another woman, who is currently expecting their second child.”

  “What a rat! So, if I understand this correctly, Sophia was good friends with Betsy the maid. And then she began a love affair with Betsy’s brother, John?”

  “Yes. Apparently, they began meeting secretly in the summer of last year.”

  “Did Sophia know he was married?”

  “I believe she did, yes.”

  “And do you think he loved Sophia?”

  “Yes, I’m fairly certain that he did. He seems utterly devastated by her death. According to John, she wanted to elope, but he told her he couldn’t leave his wife.”

  “It sounds as though John Morrison needed to make a decision about which woman he was to remain with,” I said.

  I thought of the dark figure I had seen in the street staring up at the house after Sophia’s death. Had it been him?

  “I assume John Morrison knew of Miss Sophia’s murder before you spoke to him,” I said.

  “Yes. I don’t know where he heard the sad news. Perhaps he read the newspaper reports.”

  “And he’s had to grieve in private. Presumably he has been forced to hide his feelings from his wife. That’s a sad thought. It sounds as though they really did love each other, but he had already married the wrong person. What a terrible thing to happen.”

  “Indeed.” James held my gaze before distracting himself with another slice of toast.

  “That Glenville fellow is slippery,” Inspector Trotter interjected. “I know he’s behind all this, yet we can’t find anything on him!”

  “Perhaps because he didn’t do it,” I suggested.

  “He has to be the culprit though, doesn’t he, Blakely?” said Inspector Trotter, pouring more coffee into his cup. “There’s something about him. Or do you think he’s ‘’armless’?”

  Inspector Trotter laughed at his own quip. “Did you get what I meant there? The fellow only has one arm!”

  “I found out who the ghost twins are,” I said to James, deliberately ignoring Inspector Trotter’s joke.

  “Who are they?”

  “Uncles of Mrs Glenville. They were called Broderick and Snowdon Noel-Johnstone, but they had interesting nicknames.”

  I explained about the piece of paper I had found secreted between the books the previous day, and he listened with interest.

  “And Mrs Craughton has the piece of paper now?” he asked.

  “Yes. She told me she would find out what it referred to, but she had neither the time nor inclination to tell me. I asked Maurice Glenville in the end.”

  “So why would the ghost twins’ nicknames be written on a piece of paper and hidden between two books?” said James. “It has to be a message, doesn’t it?”

  “It didn’t look like much of a message.”

  “Whatever it was, I can imagine the housekeeper has destroyed it by now,” said James. “She seems the type to do that sort of thing.”

  Chapter 39
/>   I was overjoyed to see Tiger again, although she pretended not to notice me. I knew it was her means of punishing me for having gone away.

  “How did you get on with doing a proper day’s work?” my landlady, Mrs Garnett, asked.

  “It was tiring,” I replied.

  I felt relieved to be home. I could finally be myself again and spread my papers out over the writing desk without worrying that someone would find and read them. I certainly wouldn’t miss the physical work, and I was pleased not to be wearing a maid’s uniform any more. I no longer had to obey orders and I felt independent again. It was a sensation I relished.

  But Maisie’s death overshadowed my joy. I still struggled to believe that it had happened. The events of the previous evening turned over in my mind as I unpacked my belongings. I changed my clothes and remembered that the maid’s mourning uniform belonged to the Glenvilles.

  I would have to return it to them fairly soon. But not too soon.

  That afternoon, I went in to the Morning Express offices. Pleased to be no longer restricted by a uniform, I wore a fitted mauve jacket over a cream silk blouse and a dark blue woollen skirt.

  “Miss Green!” Edgar Fish grinned from ear to ear. “You’ve returned to us!”

  “Thank you, Edgar. You actually seem pleased to see me.”

  “I’m always pleased to see you, Miss Green. We’ve missed you, haven’t we, Frederick?”

  Frederick Potter gave me a nod. “Welcome back, Miss Green.”

  Mr Sherman marched in, slamming the door behind him.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Green. How did you find it?”

  “It was interesting. And rather tragic.”

  “Two deaths while you were there, eh?” said Mr Sherman with a smirk. “Did you bring a curse to the household? Or perhaps you had a hand in it yourself?”

  “I wish I could see the humorous side, Mr Sherman, but it’s been so terribly sad. Inspector Blakely and I—”

  “Blakely? Of course!” interjected Edgar. “That inspector’s never far away from you, is he, Miss Green?”

  “Inspector Blakely and I worked with Inspector Trotter of T Division,” I continued. “We made some progress in the search for Miss Sophia Glenville’s murderer, but now we have no chance of finding the culprit. And the terribly sad death of the maid means there is a great deal of work to do. I suppose I always knew that my time there would be limited, but I hoped we would find the person responsible for Sophia’s death. Sadly, we didn’t. And we made no progress at all with the investigation for Mr Conway.”

  “It’s a shame you were found out,” said Mr Sherman.

  “I wasn’t a very convincing maid, I’m afraid.”

  “Never mind. It’s the first time you’ve worked undercover. Edgar’s an old hand at it, of course. Anyway, Miss Green, you may have been evicted from the Glenville household, but that doesn’t mean you can’t report on the story now that you have returned.”

  “Please don’t ask me to go back there.”

  “I won’t, but do what you can to report on developments. We need to find out whether this maid took her own life, or whether someone caused her some mischief. Is her death linked to the daughter’s, do you think?”

  “I think it must be. Maisie seemed frightened of someone, but I have no idea whom she feared.”

  “Well, keep talking to the police and ensure that they tell you everything they know. Can I have a quick report on the maid’s death by deadline today, please? And you’ll need to get down to the inquest.”

  I sat at the typewriter and began my work.

  Police are trying to establish the facts behind the tragic death of a housemaid at the home of Mr. Alexander Glenville in Hyde Park Gate. Maisie Brown, 14, fell down the stairwell of the servants’ staircase in the early hours of Thursday morning.

  Maisie Brown’s death occurred four days after that of Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Glenville’ daughter, Miss Sophia Glenville, who died from a poisoning incident. Kensington T Division and Scotland Yard are continuing their search for the culprit.

  Mr. Alexander Glenville is the owner of the Blundell & Co vinegar factory in Vauxhall and the Archdale vinegar factory in Bermondsey.

  I felt a lump in my throat as I worked at the typewriter. The language in the article was impersonal. I had written it as if I’d never known Maisie. But in my mind, I saw the small, freckle-faced girl who had been so cheery and helpful during my first day at the Glenville house. I had never been able to explain to Maisie who I really was, and the guilt I felt at having deceived her weighed heavily in my heart.

  Chapter 40

  The inquest into Maisie’s death was opened and quickly adjourned as the coroner awaited further evidence of what had happened to her on the night she had died. I sat beneath the familiar dome of the reading room and contemplated the task James had ahead of him.

  How would he be able to piece everything together if Mr Glenville wouldn’t allow him inside the house? Would Inspector Cullen be of any assistance at all? I hadn’t found him helpful in the past.

  Meanwhile, my meeting with Mr Fox-Stirling was drawing near and I had to remind myself of my father’s last known location so that I would have the right questions in mind.

  The last letter I received from my father had arrived exactly nine years previously, dated April 1875. The final line had read:

  Tomorrow I plan to ride twenty miles southwest of Bogota to the falls of Tequendama. I have heard much of the orchids and tropical birds there, and am looking forward to the spectacle of the River Funza plunging from a height of five hundred feet. It must be quite a sight to behold!

  I had not received the letter until the May of that year. By the time it arrived, he had already supposedly vanished. His last diary entry had been written at about the same time as the letter. It detailed a walk he had taken around Bogota and a dinner he had eaten with a German merchant. I wrote down a summary of the events I wished to speak to Mr Fox-Stirling about:

  April 1875: Last known letter which Father sent. Last known location: Tequendama Falls.

  June 1875: Father’s expedition returns without him.

  March 1876: Mr. Isaac Fox-Stirling embarks on search party to find Father.

  September 1876: Mr. Isaac Fox-Stirling returns from Colombia having found a hut where Father had stayed, and some of his sketches and drawings. No trace of Father.

  I wondered if Mr Fox-Stirling had heard about the massacre in which my father had been caught up. Perhaps he had been involved in a similar skirmish himself?

  “I’ve found another useful book for you, Miss Green,” whispered Mr Edwards, placing it on top of the pile on my desk.

  “Thank you, Mr Edwards. I will only be here for a short while. I don’t have enough time to read through all of these today.”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Green. Perhaps I have been a little overenthusiastic, I’m rather pleased to see you again, you understand.”

  He pushed his hair off his spectacles and smiled.

  “You speak as if I’d spent a year overseas in India or somewhere similar.”

  “Penelope!”

  My sister’s loud greeting echoed across the quiet library. Before I could respond, I was caught up in her embrace.

  “You have to whisper in here, Ellie!” I muttered into the folds of her jacket.

  “Sorry, Penelope, I forgot.” She took a step back. “Goodness, you look even thinner. You’re lucky you weren’t murdered!” she said in a loud whisper.

  I had telegrammed Eliza to let her know that I had left the Glenville house. In reply, she had suggested that we meet for afternoon tea at The Holborn Restaurant. I gathered up my papers as Eliza exchanged whispered pleasantries with Mr Edwards. The red-whiskered man sitting opposite me scowled at the disturbance.

  “How was it with the Glenville family?” asked Eliza as she bounced her bicycle down the steps outside the British Museum. The sky was grey, but there was a spring warmth in the air.

  “Not much good, I’m afra
id.”

  “Two people dead! Did both die in mysterious circumstances?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the killers haven’t yet been apprehended?”

  “No. James was working on the case with another inspector, but Mr Glenville found out my true identity and we were asked to leave.”

  “Oh dear. How embarrassing for you! I suppose it was rather a foolhardy undertaking from the outset. Not the sort of thing you’d do if you were—”

  “Married? A mother?”

  “Exactly, Penelope. You knew what I was going to say, didn’t you? I’ve said it many times before, but there’s no harm in repeating it just in case you had failed to listen on previous occasions. Married women simply don’t get themselves into these scrapes. Speaking of which, I confess I am rather taken with the pleasant Mr Edwards. What a delightful gentleman, and so extremely knowledgeable about all manner of things. I know some people consider his type a bore, but I find bookish people most interesting, don’t you, Penelope?”

  “He works in the British Library, so I suppose he would be rather knowledgeable.”

  “Exactly! And what a safe and sensible occupation, he has Penelope. It’s perfect!”

  “Perfect for what?”

  “Being safe and sensible. The Lord knows you need it. You wouldn’t find Mr Edwards living in a house in which people get murdered. Or getting shot at, or attacked with a knife.”

  “You’d be surprised, Ellie. There are a good few cut-throats in the reading room.”

  “Really?”

  “I’m joking. I think the most serious danger Mr Edwards might encounter would be a heavy book dropping onto his toe, or being shouted at by a visitor when the electric lights fail.”