The Dead Among Us

by Tracy L. Ward

  After dressing in fresh attire, Ainsley ventured downstairs to the long, narrow corridor at the back of the house that led down to the kitchens and scullery. As he approached the stairs, he saw Julia coming up. When their eyes met her gaze dropped to the floor and she slipped to the railing as far as humanly possible so he could pass.

  “Good morning, Miss Kemp,” Ainsley said with a smile.

  “And to you, Mr. Marshall.”

  Ainsley paused at the doorway and gestured with his arm that he was making way for her to pass. She pressed her lips together but kept her gaze down as she slipped by. Keeping an eye on her form, Ainsley turned as she went and intended to speak but the words did not strike him. He paused in place, watching her scurry down the corridor and turn into the main part of the house.

  She hadn’t seen his awkward attempt to converse nor did she hear his heart quicken when he first saw her. And thank God for that.

  At the bottom of the basement stairs he could hear the undermaids’ and Cook’s hushed voices from the kitchen. The open archway was three more steps forward but he remained at the bottom of the stairs listening in as they spoke disparagingly.

  “And to think she puts on such airs!” he heard Cook say.

  “Who is she anyway?” one of the younger scullery girls asked. “The way she acts you’d think she was Queen Victoria herself.”

  “She’s an orphan, that’s what,” Cook replied matter-of-factly. “Them that brought her into this world took one look at her and didn’t want her, and that’s the truth of it. No need for her to go on ordering us about like her slaves.”

  “I heard her tell His Lordship about a brother of some sort,” a girl said. “She can’t be an orphan if she’s got a brother.”

  “Yes she can, you doff,” a maid snapped. “No parents what makes you an orphan.”

  “It’s a lie, the whole bit of it,” Cook said. “She ain’t got no one that cares for her but Miss Margaret, and knowing how fickle that girl is, she’ll tire of her new pet soon enough.”

  The group erupted with laughter.

  Having heard enough, Ainsley stepped forward and rounded the archway. Instantly, they sprung up from their various chairs and stools scattered around the kitchen to stand at attention. One girl hopped up so fast she knocked her stool over behind her. She did not move to replace it to its feet and instead lifted her chin an inch or so higher.

  “Lord Marshall, we don’t often see you down in the kitchens anymore,” Cook said, attempting to avoid a dark silence. “Did Cutter not bring you a plate in the dining hall?”

  She, above anyone, would know the valet had not, though he mustn’t have mentioned Ainsley’s wish to fetch his own food from the kitchen.

  Ainsley stepped past one of the younger girls and snagged some biscuits from a cooling rack behind her. The four women watched as he rounded the kitchen, scooping up tidbits of food as he found them along the way. “Don’t let me interrupt, ladies,” he said, taking a bite of one of the biscuits.

  The scullery maid bit her lip and turned suddenly, pulling a clean pot from the counter behind her and disappearing into the scullery. The other young girl followed her empty-handed, which left Cook and her undercook at the stove.

  “Will you or Miss Margaret be home for luncheon?” Cook asked cautiously.

  “I can’t rightly say,” Ainsley answered. “Perhaps Margaret has given up eating all together. You know how fickle she is.” Ainsley popped the rest of the biscuit in his mouth and left the room assured that he had made his point.

  Ainsley brought his foraged food to his father’s study and took a seat at the large mahogany desk. He laid the morsels in front of him, and surveyed his position as interim head of the house. The piece of furniture had been so imposing when Ainsley sat on the other side, often chided for one misstep or another. The view from the opposite side was far more to Ainsley’s liking. He chuckled at the thought of his father seated in a chair opposite him and how insignificant the great Lord Marshall would look. From his current angle, it was just a desk but from the opposite side it was as good as any throne.

  As he ate he contemplated the conversation he had overheard. He had not realized Julia was an orphan and the revelation surprised him all the more when he remembered his father’s resistance to hiring people without legitimate parentage. Lord Marshall hadn’t the rigid views many of the elite touted. But where his staff were concerned he was quite scrupulous. Knowing this, Ainsley quickly became incensed, wondering what the women in the kitchen were playing at. Why would they perpetuate such a myth? What gain would it provide Cook to alienate Julia from the rest of the staff?

  Ainsley opened the top drawer of his father’s desk and found nothing. He proceeded down the drawers until he discovered a dossier marked “staff.” Slapping it on the desktop, Ainsley pulled his chair closer. He opened the file and found employment records and documents from Colbert’s Staffing Agency, which included a list of nine potential candidates for butler and the times when each prospective employee would arrive. Each interview was granted thirty minutes and the first one was expected to arrive in little under an hour. It looked to be the beginning of a very long day.

  Ainsley rang the servant’s bell. When Cutter arrived, dishevelled and out of breath, he rocked as if he could fall over at the door.

  “Are you well?” Ainsley asked, wondering why he had not noticed his valet’s behaviour before.

  “Very well, sir,” Cutter answered with a slight gasp. “I was in the yard, was all. The coal cart has arrived.”

  Ainsley nodded. “Ah,” he said, “Well, can someone in the house be spared? I need two letters delivered.” Ainsley stood, scooping up the hasty messages he had scrolled out as he waited for Cutter. “One is for Dr. Crawford at St. Thomas.”

  Cutter nodded as he accepted the first envelope.

  “The other is for Inspector Simms at the Yard.” Ainsley presented him with the second envelope. The letter inside described Ainsley’s suspicion that Alice had been bathed either before or after she was murdered. It upset him that he could not tell the detective himself but he was glad for the change of pace the day of interviews brought him.

  “The Yard?” Cutter’s young voice rose in alarm, his eyes wide at the thought of the detectives back at the house.

  “It’s a private enquiry. Nothing to concern yourself about, I assure you,” Ainsley said in an even tone.

  Cutter nodded but his expression remained dubious.

  “Please, just deliver the letters,” Ainsley said, forgoing any more reassurance.

  Cutter nodded and left hurriedly to find an underservant with quick feet and a discreet tongue.

  Once settled back in his seat, Ainsley opened the file again and took out the sheets of references that pertained to each candidate, and started when he saw Julia’s name on the paper under them. Without hesitation, he set the necessary papers aside, took up Julia’s employment record, and began skimming the page.

  He knew so little of the woman and it was the mystery of her that intrigued him. She had come to them at a time of complete turmoil and Margaret had been hell-bent on disliking her. After a time, Julia confessed to him that she had been hired to find out all she could about Lady Charlotte Marshall, Ainsley’s mother, while she lived. She proved her loyalty and Ainsley told his father she should be kept on, if only for Margaret’s sake. At least that is what he told his father. Never would he admit to being drawn to the woman and her unmistakable fortitude.

  He skimmed her references, recognizing some familiar names of families in the neighbourhood. She hadn’t stayed with any of them long, he noted. Given such short tenures she had most likely been hired to assist in the houses for Christmastime or a wedding. He saw that she had come to the Marshall family through the same agency which was sending the candidates for that day and then he found a letter of introduction from the agency which had most likely come along with Julia when she arrived.

  Without shame, Ainsley skimmed the letter. “..
. strength of character... discreet and modest...difficult childhood which has made her less desirable to other houses though for your purposes she is the ideal candidate.”

  Ainsley placed a hand over his mouth, rubbing his unshaven chin as he read. Had Julia been aware of what the agency had written about her? Could she have known of the task that would be asked of her, to spy on the lady of the house?

  Ainsley turned to the paper beneath the letter and saw the words Limehouse Philanthropic Society scrolled under “education.” Ainsley placed the letter of introduction down and checked and rechecked the words he was reading. If it were true, Julia had been raised in the neighbourhood where all The Surgeon’s victims had been found. She was raised in the same orphanage where Jonathon had also lived.

  Ainsley slapped the paper down, angered that the employment records raised more questions than it answered. He cursed his curiosity and wondered why he had looked at the papers at all.

  Just then the door opened and Cutter slipped in. “Mr. Bellfort has arrived.”

  Ainsley nodded, recognizing the name of the first candidate he was to interview. “Thank you, Cutter,” he said with marked resignation. “Show him in.”

  The hours slipped by unnoticed and by the time Ainsley bid farewell to the last candidate he craved a strong drink.

  “Thank you, Maxwell,” he said, with an overwhelming sense of relief. He stood, offering the prospective butler his hand as he rounded his father’s desk.

  “Do you think I have a chance, my lord?” Maxwell asked. He was the youngest candidate, only slightly older than Ainsley himself, though he had much experience in lesser houses. First as a footman, then a valet, and briefly as butler to a widow who had passed away suddenly. The man himself was rather unremarkable. He might just be the type of personality to compliment Lord Marshall, especially during their time of bereavement.

  “As good a chance as anyone,” Ainsley answered noncommittally as he walked toward the door that would lead them to the foyer. He opened it wide and stepped back, allowing Maxwell to walk through first.

  On the other side of the threshold Julia struggled with a large crate in her hands, tall enough to nearly cover her face, her skirts shifting slightly as she walked, inching closer to an unseen rug that had been rolled up and placed amongst Lady Marshall’s belongings. Ainsley moved to assist her, save her from a guaranteed fall, but Maxwell rushed to her aid, taking the crate from her grasp.

  “Allow me,” he said, giving Julia a smile.

  Not noticing Ainsley standing near the door to his father’s study, Julia returned Maxwell’s smile and smoothed out her skirt as she looked at him. Ainsley watched as she directed Maxwell to the spot where she had intended the box to go. Margaret smiled from her spot amongst the cast-offs.

  Irritated, Ainsley’s patience was at an end. He had been moving to assist Julia and yet this man, a stranger in this house, had superseded him.

  “Thank you, sir,” Julia said demurely.

  “Maxwell,” he answered quickly, with a slight bow. “And you, Miss?”

  Ainsley stepped forward, his face stern and gaze hardened. “Her name is Julia,” he answered crossly. He slipped his hands in his pockets and stood with an air of challenge.

  As if caught in an indecent act, the two servants tore their gazes from each other.

  “Thank you,” Julia said again, though she dared not look his way. She retreated to where Margaret stood and knelt down to a box at her side.

  “You will hear from the agency should we feel you’d suit us,” Ainsley said, slightly less optimistically.

  Maxwell must have noticed Ainsley’s change of mood and made a step forward as if to protest and then thought better of it. “Thank you for your time, sir,” he said. He gave a nod and made for the front door.

  Once the man was gone, Margaret spoke up. “He seemed to be a nice fellow,” she said, only glancing to Ainsley briefly before looking back to the papers she held in her hand.

  Ainsley snorted, his interest in the man completely erased.

  “What’s the matter with him then?” Margaret asked, placing her pages down and walking toward Ainsley. “He looks much more energetic than any of the others I have seen walk through here.”

  “By energetic, you mean young?” Ainsley asked, glancing to Julia, who remained on the floor taking stock of the items in front of her.

  Margaret shrugged. “Strong, polite, and enthusiastic. Is that not what one would look for in a butler? Has he no experience?”

  “He has been a butler for two years,” Ainsley answered. “He comes highly recommended.”

  “Then what can be the problem?” Margaret asked with a slight laugh. “Father shall not care. Billis could not have been any older when he was first hired on.”

  Ainsley gave a scowl and raked his hands through his hair. “Margaret, please,” he said, unwilling to give further reasons for his distrust of the man.

  Margaret gave him a disparaged look. “Peter.”

  Ainsley shook his head and turned his eyes from her. He found himself looking to Julia again and Margaret must have seen. She smiled crookedly. “Come then,” Margaret said, turning into him and sliding her hand into the crook of his arm. She began to lead him away from the pile of auction items in the foyer. “Let us ask Violetta for some tea and you and I can have a chat.”

  Lacking energy to protest, Ainsley allowed himself to be pulled along.

  “Lady Margaret, allow me,” Julia spoke up from her place on the floor.

  “No thank you, Julia,” Margaret said over her shoulder. “You are busy. I shan’t be long.”

  Margaret led Ainsley down the hall and into the library. Pulling the cord behind the door, Ainsley watched as Margaret crossed the room to the cushioned window seat that lined the library window which looked out over the rear yard. A sly look of amusement passed over her face as she sat, crossing her ankles beneath her skirt and folding her hands in her lap. Ainsley was standing at the door when Violetta appeared.

  “We’d like some tea, Violetta,” Margaret said once the maid appeared.

  The seasoned maid looked from both Margaret and Ainsley. “Julia is—”

  “Thank you, Violetta,” Margaret answered forcibly.

  The maid bobbed a slight curtsey and left with her lips pressed together tightly.

  “She has become quite idle since Mother died,” Margaret explained. “Julia has been run ragged for some time. I imagine it’s time for us to expect things from her again.”

  Ainsley rounded the couch and took a seat amongst the cushions. He sat for a moment before reaching behind his back to pull out a pillow that had become lodged between him and the cushion.

  “I think it’s charming that you have taken to Julia so well,” Margaret said.

  “Do you?” Ainsley asked as he looked over the accent pillow. Giving Margaret a twisted smile, he tossed the pillow in her direction. “That is for your meddling,” he said with a broad smile.

  She raised her hands, protecting her face and, more importantly, her hair from the pillow. She was able to grab it before it hit her. “Meddling?” Margaret’s mouth dropped at the suggestion. “Why should I meddle when you bear your interest on your face so plainly?”

  “Is it so plain?”

  “You cannot deny the man his position because you fancy Julia and wish to cocoon her.”

  “I have no interest in cocooning her,” Ainsley answered, stumbling over the word “cocooning” and the image it implied.

  “What are your intentions then?” Margaret asked. “Only good, I hope.”

  “I have no intentions,” Ainsley answered as solidly as he could muster.

  “She is a very lovely woman,” Margaret pointed out. “Intelligent. Beautiful. Not at all inclined to dramatics or gossip. I am not surprised you are drawn to her.”

  Ainsley shrugged. “She is not the first woman I have found attractive and I daren’t say she won’t be the last.” Ainsley leaned into the arm of his chair, proppi
ng his elbow up and playing with the piping of the fabric with the tips of his fingers. He was ashamed of the attraction he felt, not because Julia was a maid and deemed unworthy of his affection but rather because as a servant in his family’s house she fell under their protection, fed and housed from a world that otherwise would cast her off. “I heard the kitchen staff say she was an orphan,” he said suddenly.

  Margaret’s mouth opened and closed quickly. “I do not believe it.”

  Ainsley shrugged. “It’s true. Her file in Father’s desk confirmed it.”

  “You looked in Father’s files!”

  “I had to for my interviews,” Ainsley answered quickly in his defence.

  Margaret pressed her lips together as her gaze drifted to the floor. “It shall not change the way I feel about her,” she declared, raising her eyes. “She is more than a maid now. I feel for her like a sister, in a way. And should your interest in her interfere with that I shall never forgive you.”

  Ainsley chuckled at her sincerity. “Have no fear, sister. I am not interested enough to see it through to its natural conclusion.”

  Margaret gave a sly smile and eyed him from across the room. “Enlighten me, brother,” Margaret said teasingly. “What is a natural conclusion when a man is attracted to a woman?”

  Ainsley laughed, knowing very well she was not as innocent to the ways of the world as she proclaimed. “Perhaps someone will tell you once you cease to be a child.”

  With the greatest force she could muster, Margaret tossed the pillow back at him. Her aim was off and the cushion flew toward the door, narrowly missing Violetta as she walked into the library with the tray for tea.

  Chapter 12

  The mystic hydromel is spilt, and staining