“What makes you say that?” Ainsley asked.
“Well, she never did fit in with anyone belowstairs. Never did she try neither.” Ms. Nelson scoffed at the memory of it.
“I hardly see how that matters in this particular situation,” Ainsley answered, pulling out his pocket watch to check the time. Nearly nine o’clock.
“I think it’s pretty clear,” she answered. “She’s skipped out on us. Found a better place. She wouldn’t be the first.”
“She’s been a loyal maid to me for nearly a year,” Margaret answered, disbelieving.
“Yes, but with the master and all,” Ms. Nelson said, shaking her head, “is it any wonder? She couldn’t handle the workload, not like the rest of us.” She puffed up her chest then, obviously proud of her conjecture and her longtime tenure with the family.
Ainsley shook his head, refusing to believe Julia would just desert them, but he was too stymied to say anything. His thoughts spun as he tried to recall their most recent conversations. Had there been anything amiss? Did he not recognize signs whilst his mind was occupied by the needs of his father?
“Has she told no one where she intended to go?” Margaret asked. “Perhaps she left a note, downstairs. Or my room, perhaps.”
Ainsley nodded, eager to accept any alternative than the one Ms. Nelson presented them. Margaret slipped away to search her chamber while Peter followed Ms. Nelson belowstairs. The servicing rooms of the house were light and airy, due in part to a number of windows along the front and rear of the building, and the narrow courtyards dug into the ground outside of them. There was a door at each end and metal stairs that either led up to the street or the garden. Only the pantry and Maxwell’s office was devoid of natural light.
The kitchen staff was in the bustle of morning cleanup and the chambermaids had already disbursed into the farther reaches of the house to polish the silverware, brush the stairs, or dust the portraits. Only Prudence remained, looking nervous and staying close to Ms. Aster, the cook, as if looking for reassurance.
Vivian was seated on a stool at the end of a long counter. In front of her was the kitchen linen, which she pressed out with one of three irons that alternatively warmed on the stove nearby. When her eyes met Ainsley’s they darted to her work.
“Like I said,” Ms. Nelson said after a quick sweep of the room, “not even a paper to say goodbye.”
“With all due respect, Ms. Nelson, I’m not entirely sure we are dealing with someone who has just run off,” Ainsley explained, as calmly as he could muster.
“Well, how do you explain it then?” she demanded.
Ainsley inched toward Prudence.
Margaret appeared at the door then, a hand on her stomach as she searched for breath. Maxwell came up behind her but stopped short of entering the room. “There’s nothing in my room,” she said. “I checked your room as well, Peter.”
Ms. Nelson huffed. “Why would she leave anything there?”
Both Ainsley and Margaret were content to leave the housekeeper’s questions unanswered. “Perhaps her roommate knows something,” Ainsley suggested.
The girl’s eyes shot up and then immediately dropped when she saw everyone in the room look at her. She was no more than fourteen and was fairly new to the household.
“Prudence, is it?” Ainsley asked.
The girl glanced to the cook, who had since deserted her chore. “Go on now, tell the master what you know,” she said with a quick nod of encouragement.
Prudence gave a quick exhale before lifting her head. “She ain’t always been truthful, sir,” she said. “Many a morning I’ve woken to find her bed not slept in.”
A gasp escaped Ms. Nelson, but Ainsley and Margaret only exchanged a quick glance.
“I don’t know where she goes, sir, but she’s always here in the kitchens or elsewhere in the house, so I never thought it was my place to ask.” The girl twisted her fingers in front of her and raised her shoulders in an unsure shrug before biting down into her lower lip.
“And you never thought to tell me, neither!” Ms. Nelson looked livid as she inched for the girl. Ainsley stopped her with one outstretched hand.
“I only thought I had slept in,” Prudence answered. “It’s a wicked habit, I know, but I am getting better.” Prudence gave a pleading glance to Margaret, who no doubt looked to be the most agreeable in the room.
“And so you can’t be sure she wasn’t there,” Ainsley suggested.
“Well, no, not exactly, only that last night I decided to lock the door to our room, on account of the murder, sir. I knew I’d have to get up from bed to unlock it for Miss Kemp, but I figured it would be better to be safe.”
“And?” Ainsley grew impatient.
“She never came and when I woke the door was still locked. She hadn’t come in, sir. I’m sure of it.”
Moments later, Ainsley was ushering his sister into his room and closing the door behind them. Ms. Nelson was content to let Ainsley take any necessary action, as she still believed the woman had simply abandoned her position. Maxwell showed a greater amount of concern, but took Ainsley’s direction to reassure the chambermaid that she was not in any danger of losing her place.
“This only proves she didn’t return home last night,” Ainsley said once he and his sister were alone. “I’m fairly certain I can account for her absence on every other evening Prudence spoke about.”
Margaret gave a crooked smile. “Perhaps we should tell the staff to allay their fears.”
Ainsley knew she was making a playful jab, but he was in no mood. He was genuinely concerned for Julia. He knew she was concerned too.
“A woman came to see me at the morgue yesterday,” Ainsley said as he crossed the room for his bookshelf.
“Did you know this woman?”
Ainsley shook his head. “She told me her daughter had gone missing. That she hadn’t returned home from work. She asked me to look amongst the dead.”
“That poor woman.”
He opened a small, wooden box, a trinket he had bought once on a family excursion to Brighton. He pulled out the lead figurine of Saint Christopher and looked over it once more. Searching for any identifiable mark he turned it over in his palm, debating whether or not to show it to Margaret. “What if Julia came against the same fate? What if both of them were taken against their will?” he asked, examining the figure once more.
“Something tells me Julia is not the sort to fall prey to anyone,” Margaret said.
“Anyone can be targeted,” Ainsley said, his focus still on the figure.
“What are you looking at?” Margaret asked, stepping closer.
Ainsley snapped the box shut. “Nothing. Just thought, perhaps, she had left a message for me.” He turned to his sister. “Did you know Julia was Catholic?” he asked.
“It came up once, I think. I didn’t think anything of it at the time. Why do you ask?”
Ainsley shook his head. “She told me yesterday. I had no idea.”
“Does it matter?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. So much information was making its way through his head he really could not tell what was important and what was merely circumstance. “Ms. Nelson sent Julia out on an errand yesterday and she came by the hospital to see me. Why wouldn’t she have sent Prudence or one of the other girls?”
Margaret shrugged. “Fear, perhaps. Everyone was in such a state. I imagine Julia was the only one brave enough to leave the house.”
Pacing, Ainsley found himself walking toward the window.
“The police were outside the Talbots’ all day yesterday,” Margaret explained further.
The sun had risen hours ago and Ainsley was most definitely late for work. “I need you to do something for me, Margaret,” Ainsley said, his tone serious. “I need you to call at the Talbots’ house. Ask them what they know of the man found outside their door.” He turned. “Will you do that?”
“How shall I broach the subject?” Margaret asked. “Excuse me, di
d anyone here murder the man found next to your steps?”
“Don’t be so ridiculous. I’m not in the mood.” Ainsley covered his eyes with his hands and tried to steady his breath. “I need to know if he was a servant of theirs, or if there’s any connection between him and their house. There must be something.”
Margaret’s shoulders sank as she exhaled.
Ainsley wondered if it was because she had become accustomed to staying in. “You can’t hide away in here forever,” he said.
“Why not?”
Chapter 7
Later that day, Margaret found herself standing outside the Talbots’ door. A section of the pavement remained quarantined and a uniformed constable stood on guard. A few onlookers remained, milling about and whispering to each other as they looked on.
“They won’t answer,” one plump man said as he leaned into the iron rail at the bottom of the steps. “They’ve had greater than thirty souls come for a bit of gossip and ain’t no one been granted admittance.” He brushed the side of his bulbous, pink nose with his thumb and smiled at Margaret, who looked over her shoulder at him.
“I’m not looking for gossip,” she qualified. “Winifred is my friend.”
The man chuckled. “Aren’t they all when there is a story to be told?”
For the first time, Margaret began to second-guess her decision to come. It had been many months since she had last seen Winifred and that was only in passing at Victoria Station. Prior to that, the last time they had tea was a year before. They parted on good terms, but Margaret always wondered why they never kept in close contact.
Margaret stiffened when the door opened a crack and smiled when she saw the head of the family’s butler through the slit he allowed in the door. “Good day, my name is Margaret Marshall. I live a few houses down. I’ve just come to check on Winifred. To see if she needs anything.”
The butler didn’t do anything at first. The crack widened slightly as he looked her up and down before pulling the door open all the way.
“Please forgive me, Lady Margaret,” he said as she stepped inside the dark entranceway. “Mr. Talbot has given me specific orders not to let anyone in.” He closed the door behind her. “I will let Miss Talbot know you are here.”
The butler began to walk away when Margaret called him back. “What made you admit me and not anyone else, may I ask?”
He smiled. “I remember you and your mother.”
A few minutes later Margaret was escorted into the sitting room at the back of the house that overlooked the garden, a fairly similar-looking garden to the one at Marshall House. While she waited for Winifred to arrive, Margaret stood at the window and looked out over the green space. Right away, she spotted one noticeable difference to her own garden: a wood and iron gate at the far back corner. Ivy grew up the one brick wall along that eastern boundary and covered more than half the arched entryway.
“Margaret! So good of you to come!”
She turned at the sound of Mrs. Talbot’s singsong voice. As she stretched out both arms to embrace her neighbour, Margaret remembered how much her mother, Lady Marshall, had despised Mrs. Talbot. “She is so very contrived, Margaret,” the late Lady Marshall had said. “She simply tries too hard to impress. It’s quite pathetic, actually.”
The countess seemed to take issue with Mrs. Talbot’s rise in fortunes after her marriage to Mr. Talbot, who was not a member of the gentry, but was very successful in textiles nonetheless.
Winifred, a pale, redheaded girl, stood unsure beside her stepmother. She was slender to the point of appearing gaunt and painfully jagged.
“Do forgive our somber mood. We’ve endured such a trial,” Mrs. Talbot explained.
“So I’ve heard. I just wanted to come by and see if there was any assistance I can offer. Perhaps just a familiar face.” Margaret gave an empathetic, closed-mouth smile before reaching out and taking Winifred’s hand.
The corners of Winifred’s mouth curled, but a soured expression overtook her eyes. “Not so familiar of late.”
Margaret’s ability to remain light and congenial waned as she looked into Winifred’s eyes. There was a sadness there, something Margaret had never seen in her friend before.
Moments later they were seated on the sofas while a kitchen maid poured each of them a tea. “I imagine it’s been tiring with so many police officers milling about,” Margaret said, accepting the teacup and saucer from the maid. “I can imagine the upheaval it has caused.”
“It’s been terrible,” answered Mrs. Talbot, who appeared more than eager to share the story. She touched the curls at her forehead lightly. “It was Jane here who first made the discovery.” Mrs. Talbot nodded to the girl who now served Winifred.
“Truly? Oh, it must have been such a fright,” Margaret said.
Jane simply looked at Margaret, but said nothing.
“Go on, girl,” Mrs. Talbot said. “Tell our neighbour what you saw.”
Jane nodded at her mistress’s command and knit her hands in front of her as she turned to face Margaret. “I was putting a box of empty bottles on the bottom step—”
“Out front, at the servants’ stairs,” Mrs. Talbot injected.
Jane gave a nod. “I saw him like a scarecrow, rocking back and forth as if pushed by wind, only there was no wind. I thought it may have been a trick, you know, something the other boys devised to pull each other’s legs. But then the light hit it and I saw it was a man.” She laughed nervously and turned to her tea trolley.
“What did you do?” Margaret pressed.
“She screamed,” Mrs. Talbot said quickly. “Loud enough to wake the dead. Within minutes Mr. Talbot was down the stairs and out the door, thinking some calamity was in progress. Our butler ran out as well. Winifred and I watched from the window.” Mrs. Talbot’s eyes glazed over slightly as she recalled the memory. “Such a horrid sight.” She waved a dismissive hand to Jane, who obediently scurried from the room, pushing the tea trolley as she went.
Margaret wanted to call her back, a long list of questions still formulating in her mind. “Who ran for the watchman?”
“We didn’t have to,” Mrs. Talbot said with a slight laugh. “Jane’s scream did better at summoning him than any other method could. The rest of the morning was a blur. That Yard fellow was here for nearly two hours. I was beginning to fear for my breakfast.”
Margaret curled her hand and dug a fingernail into her palm. It would not do to chastise her host’s self-centred nature, not when she still had more questions. “So the man was not known to you?” Margaret said, plucking up her teacup and bringing it to her lips. “Not a servant of yours?”
Mrs. Talbot looked aghast. “No, certainly not.”
“No one on your staff recognizes him?” Margaret pressed.
“The detective spoke with everyone extensively. The man had no connection to our house. No obvious one, in any case.” Mrs. Talbot didn’t seem to mind so much inquiry, but Winifred eyed Margaret with a penetrating look.
“You seem overly concerned, Margaret,” she said. “Your questions rival those of the inspector.”
Margaret looked back and forth between Winifred and Mrs. Talbot, who suddenly looked wary. Margaret gave a lighthearted laugh. “Forgive me,” she said. “My curiosity gets the better of me sometimes. Gets me into all sorts of trouble.”
Mrs. Talbot laughed and gave some words of reassurance, but Winifred wasn’t so easily won over. She remained quiet for the rest of the visit, allowing Margaret and Mrs. Talbot to carry the conversation.
Once her tea was finished, Margaret was obliged to end her call. After saying farewell to Mrs. Talbot, she walked to the front door, where the butler waited with her hat and gloves. She was surprised to find Winifred had followed her.
“Thank you for the tea and conversation,” Margaret said, offering her best smile. “You should visit me at Marshall House. It’s quite handy now, isn’t it?”
Winifred said nothing at first and it suddenly dawned on Margar
et why. There was a time in the previous summer when she was sure Ainsley had eyes for Winifred. Margaret could not confirm anything, but she thought perhaps Winifred had more interest in her older brother than she did with her.
Margaret stepped outside and turned to Winifred in the doorway as she slipped on her gloves.
“Would you like me to tell Peter you asked after him?”
Winifred smirked. “Do not bother. He hasn’t bothered with me for some time.” She leaned on the doorframe, scowling as she had done nearly the entire visit. “Goodbye, Margaret,” she said, pulling the heavy front door. “I hope you achieved a certain degree of entertainment from your little visit, but you needn’t call again.”
With that, she shut the door, the telltale iron latch catching loudly, leaving Margaret dumbfounded under the portico.
A short time later, Margaret arrived at St. Thomas Hospital and discovered Ainsley in the annex room next to the morgue. There he had constructed his own desk away from the recognized office for the doctors down the hall. He had once told her he preferred it to any of the other corners of the hospital. Margaret peered around the threshold at first, surprised to find him so engrossed in a file opened in front of him.
He held his weary head up at the temples with his knuckles as he leaned into the table, looking haggard and exhausted. When he looked up she saw that he had been crying.
“Has she returned?” he asked, expectantly.
Margaret could only muster a shake of her head. She watched her brother’s shoulders slouch further as he returned his attention to the stack of files in front of him. “Did you quarrel, Peter?”
“No,” he replied suddenly. “There was nothing amiss in our last conversation.”
He sniffled as he shifted on his stool and quickly closed the file he had been looking at. Margaret stepped inside the room and pulled a chair that had been set against the wall closer to Ainsley.
Prayers for the Dying Page 7
