In This Quiet Earth (Part Three of The People of this Parish Saga)

by Nicola Thorne

  Agnes raised her arm and looked as though she was about to administer a blow across the face of the unfortunate girl when Carson ran across the vast hall and seized her arm in mid-air.

  “Please, Aunt,” he thundered, “whatever do you think you’re doing? Striking a servant?”

  The expression on Agnes’s face matched his. Momentarily she struggled with him, finally capitulating and letting her arm fall.

  “I have been listening to such a torrent of lies that I have lost all patience with this girl, and Arthur is not helping by defending her.”

  “All I am trying to say, Sir Carson,” Arthur was visibly distressed, “is that Lady Wentworth has not a shadow of proof that Maudie has taken any of her jewellery. She says that certain items are missing.”

  “Do you doubt my word?” Agnes demanded rubbing the wrist that had been seized in Carson’s strong grasp. “If I say something is missing you can be sure something is missing, and I am not making it up.”

  “I’m not doubting your ladyship’s word,” the tone of Arthur’s voice seemed to indicate that that was just what he was doing, “I am just saying that there is no proof that, if the items are in fact missing and her ladyship has not mislaid them, that Maudie is responsible.”

  “Maudie is my personal maid.” Agnes’s voice began to rise again. “She knows where my jewellery is kept.”

  “Then don’t you think it unlikely, Aunt, that she would steal it?” Carson interposed gently. “The finger of suspicion would inevitably be pointed to her. Maudie is a bright, intelligent girl,” he paused to bestow on her a benevolent, kindly smile, “and I am sure she would be the first to realise that. Also I know her family well. They have worked for us for years. Her father is one of our tenant farmers. They’re honourable and truthful people. Did you look in Maudie’s room?” he enquired thinking that, once more, the role of judge was falling on him and, once more, relishing it.

  “That thought occurred to me, sir,” Arthur answered woodenly, “but I thought that your permission would be needed, that is if Maudie had no objection.”

  “Oi would be glad if you would look in my room, sir,” Maudie put her apron to her face to dry her eyes. “Oi have no objection at all.”

  “Then let’s do that straight away.”

  “There’s no proof that if my jewels are not there Maudie hasn’t stolen them,” Agnes objected. “She could have spirited them away to her family.”

  At this fresh imputation of dishonesty Maudie began to bawl again, but Arthur put a hand on her shoulder and gently shook her.

  “Now now, Maudie, Sir Carson has this matter in hand and he is a just man.”

  And with that they all trooped solemnly up to Maudie’s room high in the attic where a thorough search was undertaken by Arthur while Carson, Agnes and the accused maidservant looked on. Nothing was found which gave Maudie fresh opportunity to recommence her hysterics and demand to be taken home so that she could tell her father and mother what had occurred. Carson persuaded her not to. In order to try and take the heat out of the situation he asked Agnes to apologise which, of course, she declined to do.

  Maudie and Arthur returned to the servants’ hall and Agnes and Carson retired to the drawing room where Carson immediately went over to a side table to pour himself a drink.

  “Would you like one?” he asked Agnes who, still very angry, nodded.

  “A very large whisky, please, Carson. I never remember feeling so angry and humiliated in my life. Fancy you, my stepson, taking the side of a serving maid, believing her word against mine. I can’t think what your father would have said.”

  “It was only justice Aunt,” Carson replied handing her her glass. “You really had no proof, and what exactly is missing?”

  “A beautiful diamond brooch that Guy inherited from his mother, plus some rings and a valuable string of pearls.”

  “And you are sure you had them here with you?”

  “Of course I’m sure, you impertinent young man!”

  “I don’t think I’m being impertinent, Aunt. Stealing is a very serious accusation and I just wanted to be sure they were not left in London or at your bank.”

  “All my jewellery, what remains that is, is here with me,” she said firmly.

  “Then you had better give it to me for safe keeping.”

  “Indeed I shan’t. I have secreted it in a place that now only Owen and I know of.”

  “And where is Owen?” Carson looked up.

  “Owen is so upset by this commotion, so embarrassed, that he has stayed in our room. Of course it reflects so badly on the house when the servants steal ...”

  “Really Aunt I will not have this.” Carson sat down and thumped the arm of his chair with clenched fist.

  “Then who did take my jewels?” Agnes, her features rigid, her colour high, stared imperiously at him. “They don’t just fly off in the air by themselves, you know.”

  “If they were taken I have no idea; but anyone in this house could be responsible. I could be responsible, being in need of money, which is well known. Or the alternative is that it may be someone from outside, a professional thief who gained access while we were out, or eating. It is a large house and with the workmen we employ frankly, Aunt, it could have been anyone. I am very sorry it has happened here, but if it has ...” he paused and examined his fingernails. “Doubtless it was insured?”

  “Insured in pre-war years for far less than it is worth. Then I have to prove that it is stolen and not simply lost or mislaid during my long sojourn on the continent. Indeed,” looking visibly distressed, Agnes produced a handkerchief and vigorously blew her nose as though to ward off tears, “I am not even sure that the premiums are up to date. There has been so much on my mind. In fact I may not receive a penny for my loss.”

  With a heartfelt sigh Agnes drained the contents of her glass which she held out to Carson.

  “Fill me up please, Carson.”

  “Certainly, Aunt.”

  He rose, replenished both their glasses and, giving Agnes hers, returned to his chair.

  “There’s another thing Carson,” Agnes rather agitatedly sipped at her drink, pausing occasionally, “I think it is time we returned to London. Owen enjoys the country well enough but I am extremely bored. This business about my missing jewellery is the last straw.”

  Carson’s heart gave a bound and a smile spread over his face.

  “That sounds like a very good idea, Aunt Agnes.”

  “This place is appalling,” she continued gesturing round as though she had not heard him. “Appalling. It is falling to pieces, despite the efforts of Mr Parterre, and very uncomfortable. The housemaids are slovenly and there is dust everywhere. In fact all of the servants are lazy, rude and for the most part ignorant. The –”

  “When will you be going Aunt?” Carson asked, an edge to his voice. “And, above all, where? Have you made arrangements to stay somewhere in London?”

  Agnes stared at him in astonishment.

  “What do you mean? We shall be going to Chesterfield Street, of course.”

  “Ah!” Carson rose slowly and stood with his back to the fireplace. “I had intended to tell you, but somehow forgot. My financial position is such that I have been forced to put the house on the market, Aunt, and I would much prefer that you did not live there. Certain repairs have to be carried out in order to fetch a good price. I –”

  “How dare you,” Agnes snapped, rising and putting her empty glass on the table with a resounding thud that almost cracked it. “How dare you?”

  “I dare.” Carson lifted his chin defiantly in the air. “It is not your house. It is mine, and now that you have a new husband I do not feel I have any responsibility for housing you. I have tolerated you here with your outbursts, your rudeness and general unpleasantness because you were my late, esteemed Uncle Ryder’s sister and my father’s widow; but now, thank God, care for you has passed to somebody else. So now I think I have discharged my responsibilities, and generously. In fa
ct, Aunt Agnes, I am so heartily sick of you that, family or not, my father’s widow or not, I would be extremely grateful if I never set eyes on you again, because you are nothing to me but trouble.”

  Owen was lying on the bed in the room he shared with Agnes, his eyes closed. But he was not oblivious to the row going on downstairs, or the reason for it. He wished his ears could block out the sound, as closing his eyes blocked out the light. But it was not so easy. Simply sticking his fingers in them made no difference.

  Then the noise stopped abruptly, only to begin again a few seconds later when he heard the reasonable tones of Carson intervening.

  Thank heaven for Carson, a man of good sense if ever there was one. Carson would calm Agnes down, at least for a time. If only Agnes could be silenced for ever. Or if, somehow, one could get away?

  Owen was aware that he was clenching and unclenching his hands, a man in the grip of extreme fear and nervous tension.

  Then there was silence for a very long time and, thinking the warring parties had dispersed, he felt himself gradually drifting off to sleep when suddenly the door flew open and all hell broke loose again.

  “Owen Owen wake up!” Agnes screamed going over to the bed and staring down at him with the expression of a demented Fury. “And what the hell do you think you’re doing sleeping when my very honour is at stake, my truthfulness and integrity being called into question?”

  “What ... uh?” Owen raised himself on one elbow and stared at her. He had never seen her looking so ugly, her features so grotesque and distorted by anger. Suddenly she looked like an old woman. An old, cantankerous bitch, he thought wearily closing his eyes again.

  “Owen, do you hear me? Wake up,” she bawled once more and Owen felt a blow on the side of his head, so forceful that it almost knocked him out. His hand flew to his head and he staggered into an upright position once more.

  “Get up, you lazy bastard,” she cried. “What use to me are you, lying down when I need your support?” She raised her hand again to administer a fresh blow, but he forestalled her by rolling off the bed and, lying on the floor, attempted to cover his head with both hands. He dared not open his eyes but lay there while his heart hammered painfully in his chest.

  “Owen get up,” Agnes urged, but now in a more kindly tone. He was aware of her fragrance very near to him and, opening one eye, he saw her squatting beside him gazing at him with an expression of concern. Another of her lightning, disconcerting changes of mood.

  “Owen I’m sorry, I lost control.” She reached out a hand, gently massaging his head. “Dearest Owen, do forgive me but you have no idea what I’ve been through in the past hour.” She put both hands to her own head. “My poor nerves are in shreds. That wretched Carson actually doubted my word that my jewellery had been stolen. Thought I’d imagined it or misplaced it.” She gave a shrill laugh and stood up as if she’d already forgotten her wounded victim. “Can you imagine misplacing thousands of pounds worth of jewels? Believing the words of servants over mine! The trouble is that Carson is a peasant. He has inherited the blood of his Dutch mother – after all, her family were in trade – and not the aristocratic Woodvilles. But, that is not all.” She sat down heavily in an armchair and, as Owen slowly, reluctantly heaved himself up from the floor, she took out her handkerchief and dabbed delicately at a few moist patches on her face: above her lip, her temples. “We have been given notice to quit.”

  “Notice to quit?” Owen staggered over to the dressing table mirror and examined his head, tenderly touching the place where he’d been struck.

  “We have been told to leave here. Well, to be quite accurate I told Carson we would prefer to return to London in the circumstances that it appears this house is full of thieves. Do you know what he said?” She turned her head and found her spouse still gazing anxiously at himself in the mirror. “Owen are you listening to me?” Her tone sharpened again.

  “Yes dear, of course.” Guiltily Owen dropped his hand.

  “He said he was selling the London house and would not allow me to live there. He said,” she paused and swallowed hard, “he said that I was no longer his responsibility and he had no duty to house me. Now, did you ever hear of anything like that?”

  “No dear.” A fresh feeling of nausea assailed Owen and he sank on to the bed again.

  “In other words we are cast adrift, without a place to lay our heads.”

  “Well, my dear Agnes, it’s not as bad as that.” Now Owen produced his handkerchief and began to mop his own brow.

  “Of course it isn’t. Now Owen,” she looked meaningfully across at him. “I have suggested before that we buy the house. It has been decorated and furnished by me to a very high standard, as you know. It is a lovely house full of beautiful things. So I suggest that we make Carson an offer for it. He says he never wants to see me again and, frankly, I have little desire to see him. In fact I would not even consider buying his property if I did not regard it as, in some ways, my own. We need not offer Carson too much money. He is clearly in need of all he can get. In fact the notion passed through my mind that he may be the thief.”

  “Carson?” Owen looked shocked.

  “Why not? We know he has no morals, no scruples. I wouldn’t put it past him, knowing quite well that the young maid would be accused.”

  “But you said he defended the girl ...”

  “Oh, my dear, don’t be so naive. Besides, he’s short of money and a cache of valuable jewels is a temptation to anyone. I should have thought of it before.” Agnes rose impatiently and began to pace back and forth across the room until she stopped, abruptly, in front of her spouse and subjected him to a thorough scrutiny that induced in him nervous palpitations all over again.

  “Owen, we have never discussed finances have we?”

  “Not really, Agnes.”

  “Then I think it’s time we both came clean. I mean I think it’s time I knew how you were situated, what your financial circumstances are.”

  “Well ... I spent a lot of money on the Continent, Agnes ...”

  “Yes, yes,” impatiently she brushed his remark aside with a wave of her hand, “but that was a mere pittance, I expect, to what you’ve got tucked away?”

  “Quite.” Owen raised his handkerchief to his brow again.

  “I mean you have considerable assets, have you not, Owen? Stocks, shares, money in the bank?”

  “Of course, Agnes, no need to worry about that.”

  “Good, that is what I had supposed.” She gave a smile of satisfaction. “You see, my dear, my own affairs are not in such a healthy state. Except for my jewellery Sir Guy did not leave me well off ...”

  “But Mr Gregg ...” Owen began to stumble. “D-d-dd-didn’t he ...?”

  “Well, of course, most of my fortune, and it was considerable, was dissipated on Sir Guy, on the London house. And then came the war...” she sighed deeply. “It made great inroads into my capital. Vast sums were simply wiped out.”

  “I see.” Owen grew reflective. “Then you have little money left, Agnes?”

  “Not really.” She smiled bravely. “But it doesn’t matter at all, does it dearest, if you have enough for both of us?”

  Owen became thoughtful again then, once more, he rallied, took a grip on himself, came to some decision and raised himself from the bed.

  “Of course it doesn’t matter, my dear.”

  Agnes’s smile was triumphant. “Well then in that case there is no reason why we can’t make Carson an offer for the London house?”

  “None at all, if that’s what you wish, my dear.”

  “It is what I wish,” she said smiling, and, obviously relieved, holding out her hand, drew him to her and pulled his head towards her to kiss. Then she held him away and stared steadfastly into his eyes. “Let’s do it this very day.”

  “You do it my dear,” he said. “You know Carson better.”

  “Very well, if you wish,” Agnes nodded, her mind made up. “I shall do it this very day.”

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nbsp; Agnes felt an enormous weight lift from her mind now that she and Owen had had a chat about finances. For someone who spent money like water as he had on the Continent and beyond, buying her furs, jewellery, it was obvious that he was a man of substance, a man of means, as she had always suspected. She supposed that a woman like her, used to business, should have examined him on this subject before they were married. But the state of her own finances being so precarious left her open to the charge of being a gold digger were he to suppose that she was marrying him for his money.

  After this talk her whole attitude to life underwent a dramatic change, becoming sunnier now that she knew her future was secure. There had been things about Owen that worried her, and there still were. He was lazy, he was not over imbued with intelligence, and she sensed that her family despised him, probably wondered why she’d married him.

  However the main thing was that he was rich, possessed of sufficient funds to keep her in the style to which she had become accustomed at no matter whose expense.

  At dinner she decided to be especially nice to Carson, as if forgetting the conversation they’d had only hours before. Not a cross word passed her lips. In fact so pleasant and relaxed was the atmosphere that she decided to save the important negotiations for the morrow, and she left the men to their cigars, port and game of snooker while she went upstairs to read.

  That night in bed she again made Owen grateful that he had married such a sexually deft and experienced woman.

  The following day after breakfast, which she always had in bed, Agnes sought an interview with Carson to be told that he had gone to Dorchester and would not be back until late afternoon.

  She decided to call on Lally Martyn, a person who was not related to the Woodvilles or the Heerings, other than by marriage, and whom she had always rather liked. Though Lally didn’t know it, they shared a lot in common in the past.

  She popped her head round the door of the drawing room to see if Owen wished to accompany her but he was, as usual, immersed in the paper and smoking his customary cigar. She patted him on the head, planted a kiss on his cheek and told him she would be out for lunch, that Carson would be back late in the afternoon, and she had asked for an interview with him.