“I’ve often felt that way meself,” said Benjamin.
“No, but I was puzzling out in my own mind what it could all be about - you can’t hear everything from outside the door,” said Peter regretfully, “especially if they shut the door tight,” he added with a distinct sense of grievance.
“But you had an idea, did you?” said Benjamin.
Peter nodded. “That’s another thing about standing outside doors,” he said, “plenty of time to think, plenty of time to put two and two together.”
Benjamin looked his interest. Peter looked portentous.
“I reckon it was about Millie.” He sat back in his chair and took a long draught of his beer, then wiped the foam from his lips.
“About Millie, eh? Millie Budge?”
“Who else?”
“You think his lordship had something to do with Millie?”
“I don’t think that, I knows it,” scoffed Peter, “No, but what I’m saying is, I reckon that the Doctor also knew about it - and how did that happen, eh? That’s what I’d like to know!”
Benjamin looked puzzled. “Well, if you know, why shouldn’t the doctor know, then?”
Peter drew himself up. “D’you think I go blabbing my mouth to everyone I meet, then?” He seemed unreasonably affronted by the idea.
“You’re talking to me,” pointed out Benjamin.
“Yes, but that’s afterwards,” said Peter, who was a man of a very finely-tuned morality. “I wouldn’t have said nothing before, not even to you, and I knows as you keep a closed mouth on you, Mr. Benjamin, you’re not one of these blabbermouths. And I’d never talk to anyone out of our circle, if you know what I mean.” Benjamin didn’t, but decided not to press the point. Peter’s circle probably had wavier edges than Mrs. Beeton’s apple pies. “I haven’t said anything to these policemen that keep asking questions,” he said virtuously.
“Why not?”
“I’ve got my family loyalty, Mr. Benjamin, you can’t work in a big house without family loyalty. Anyway, these professional poke-noses get on my nerves.”
“But even within the family,” mused Benjamin, “it must be difficult at times to decide where your loyalty lies.”
“You’re right there, Mr. Benjamin,” said Peter. “And there’s another stumbler, too - if it comes down to Family, or Servants - where does a man’s loyalty lie in that case, eh? Oh, it can be tricky sometimes, deciding what’s for the best.”
“I expect you always choose the right way, though,” said Benjamin, “particularly since you’ve got the time to think it all over carefully.”
Peter looked pleased. “I do my best, Mr. Benjamin, I do my best. The other half?” he asked, pointing to the potter’s half pint mug. Benjamin nodded his thanks and watched the footman insinuate himself amongst the crowd at the bar. So what did he know about Sir William and Millie Budge? And how did Dr. Ravilious come to know about it? Mr. Benjamin wondered if the girl herself had told him. Unless other people at the Manor had also known. Peter himself had probably told a fair few people, all in the strictest confidence. That was the trouble with people like Peter, they’d get confidential with the kitchen cat if she rubbed up against them.
Peter emerged from a burst of laughter at the bar and put the two re-filled mugs of beer down on the table. “The only thing better than the first beer of the day...,” he said...
“Is the second one,” completed Benjamin, nodding to Peter over the rim of his mug. It was good beer that George Draycott made, him and his wife; no wonder The Bull was the most favoured pub in town. Dark as Elwy Forrester in the clay mugs, but as rich red as Grace Albright’s hair when you looked at it through a glass; sweet as a cobnut picked out of the hedge, and bitter with the hops that twined through the trees.
“You was saying,” he said to Peter, with an air of mild curiosity, as if merely passing the time, “that you knew something about his Lordship and Millie Budge?”
Peter snorted into his beer. “Oh yes. I reckon there was a few of us knew all about that. Well, I know Mr. Masters knew about it, because he give me a look one time - you know what I mean?” Benjamin nodded encouragingly. “Well,” continued Peter, “a nod’s as good as a wink, they say, don’t they? And Mr. Masters - he’s too good a butler ever to go gossiping, talking that is, to an ordinary footman like me, but he give me a look.” Benjamin remained hopefully silent. He had found that silence was a bit like an empty pot - folks just seemed to like to fill it with something.
“It was one of the first times that his Lordship rung for a nightcap, so to say. A drink at bedtime. Normally of course, it’s one of the footmen as takes it up, or Mr. Masters himself, if it’s a gentleman as calls for it.”
“A maid would take it up if it were her Ladyship or a lady guest?” asked Benjamin.
“That’s right. Anyway, his Lordship’s bell rang down in the hall, where we were, and when I got up to go and see to it, Mr. Masters waved me back and went himself. Well, that wasn’t so unusual, but what was unusual was when he came back again and went and spoke quiet-like to Millie and they went out of the room together. Now I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of me, Mr. Benjamin,” said Peter, “I’m not one of those folks who go around causing trouble, but if I’ve got a fault, it’s curiosity.” He looked somewhat warily at the older man, but was reassured by a gentle smile.
“I’m somewhat curious meself,” said Benjamin, “in a mild sort of way. No harm intended.”
Peter nodded, satisfied that he was talking to a kindred spirit. “That’s it exactly, Mr. Benjamin,” he said, “no harm intended. Anyways, I got up, sort of business-like, as if I was just off to take care of something, and I went out to the hall, and there was Millie going up the backstairs carrying a silver tray with a decanter and a single glass - a single glass, mind you Mr. Benjamin, so his Lordship couldn’t have been intending a late night drink with a friend - not the sort of friend who’d have his or her own glass, anyways - and Mr. Masters was standing at the bottom of the stairs watching her. Well, when he heard me come into the hall, he turned round and that’s when he give me The Look. As if to say - I know what’s going on, and you know what’s going on, but we aint a-going to say anything about it, are we? And I sort of nodded, respectful-like, and went out again.” Peter picked up his mug and leaned back in his chair, his face alight with the joy of his scurrilous anecdote.
Benjamin was curious. “And you never said nothing to no-one about it, before me, I mean?” He found that hard to believe, the young man was getting such obvious pleasure from the telling.
“Oh no,” said Peter, “that’d spoil half the fun, wouldn’t it, if everyone knew? I just used to smile at Millie sometimes, and she’d get a bit flustered cos she knew I knew something, and, like I said, me and Mr. Masters we’d look at each other.”
Harriet nodded when Mr. Benjamin got to this part of his recital.
“Yes,” she said decidedly, “I can understand that this young man would get more pleasure out of knowing a secret than he would out of sharing it. And a secret known only to him and a grand personage like the butler, it would make him feel...”
“Elevated!” cried Effie. “Superior to the other servants.”
“Exactly,” said Harriet.
“So it was not young Master Gervais that Millie was...involved with,” whispered Effie, “it was Sir William himself!”
“Ah! Wait up a bit, Ma’am,” said Benjamin, “you haven’t heard it all yet. So I said to Peter, I said “Seems pretty clear then that the babe poor Millie was carrying weren’t none of that gardener chappie’s; 'twere his lordship’s, and he said:
“Oh no, that affair with his Lordship finished a long time ago.”
“How long?”
“Months and months - it think it must have been last Autumn, when there was a big party down for the shooting, and Master Gervais was here for a change.”
“Master Gervais comes and goes a fair bit, does he?”
“Well, of course, it’s only natural that a young chap like him wants a bit more life than hanging around with their Lordships in the middle of nowhere. No, he’s got a place in Town, a nice place his man says - although sorting the wheat from the chaff, it’s only a couple of rooms - but a good address Sinderby says - that’s Master Gervais’s man. To hear him talk, you’d think nothing mattered but the address!”
Benjamin chuckled. “So he could be living in one of her majesty’s pigsties and he’d think he were in heaven, right?”
Peter guffawed. “Happy as a pig in shit, you said it, Mr. Benjamin, you said it!”
Benjamin smiled and got to his feet. “Manage another one, can you?”
“I could manage a lot more than this,” said Peter, thoroughly enjoying his evening. He wasn’t so popular with the other servants for some reason, so a little friendly attention from the potter was rather going to his head. And the beer, of course.
George Draycott looked over at Benjamin as Peter asked him for another two halves of bitter. Something like the look that Mr. Masters the butler gave Peter? wondered Benjamin. But he wasn’t too bothered by George’s looks. George was another one who kept his mouth shut, no matter what went on in his head.
“Your very good health, Mr. Benjamin,” said Peter, raising his newly filled mug.
“And yours,” responded the potter, clinking mugs.
“So,” said Peter, obviously eager to carry on with his tale. Benjamin reflected that Peter had said he hadn’t said anything to the Police, to the official 'poke-noses'. Funny how folk were in what they thought right and wrong. But there wasn’t too much time for moralising as Peter was leaning forward in his enthusiasm to impart his hitherto closely-guarded secrets.
“So, it seemed to me, that he hadn’t been down here more’n a week...”
“Master Gervais, this would be?”
“Master Gervais, right, he hadn’t been here more’n a week, when he’d properly cut out Lord Weston with Millie - cut out his own dad!”
Benjamin looked at him. “You mean that Millie stopped taking up nightcaps to his Lordship and took them up to Master Gervais instead?”
Peter only laughed and took another pull at his beer.
“Well, well, well,” said Benjamin admiringly. “What a girl, eh?”
Suddenly Peter seemed to sober and his face changed. “She was a nice girl,” he said. There was even a touch of bitterness in the way he said it. “Oh, not in the way all the old tabbies mean when they talk about a nice girl; I mean, like, she was a jolly girl. Friendly, happy. I mean, she was sharp, no denying it, but she’d, like, put one over on you and then give you a wink and you couldn’t help but wink back.” A slow smile returned to his overcast face. “I remember one time when I saw her going upstairs with her tray, going to his Lordship..”
“You just happened to be passing, eh?”
Peter laughed a little sadly and stared into his beer; it was probably due to its being his third of the evening that made him say “No, I didn’t happen to be just passing, I was waiting for her to come by. I knew she’d been called and I...well, I wanted to tease her a bit, but she...” He slowly shook his head, “she was too many for me, she passed me by with her nose in the air, didn’t even look at me, proud as a duchess, and then, half way up the stairs - and I swear she was going slowly, just to show off, she...she turned round and give me a slow wink of her eye and then turned back and carried straight on.”
He shook his head again. “She was a rare one,” he said. And buried his face in his mug, but not before Benjamin had seen the brightness in his eyes.
* * *
“Poor Peter,” said Effie, “was he in love with Millie, do you think?”
“It looked a bit that way to me,” said Mr. Benjamin.
“Poor boy,” said Effie again. “Youth is often a very sad time, wouldn’t you say Harry? So often things do not work out the way one wants them to.”
“I was thinking,” said Harriet slowly, “that it was Peter who told Grace that Elwin was walking out with Millie Budge.”
“So he did!”
“And I am wondering what was going through Peter’s mind? If he had hopes of Millie himself he could well be jealous of Elwin and wish him to...”
“Be put out of the way, Ma’am?” suggested Mr. Benjamin.
Harriet nodded.
“But if Peter knew that Millie was...if Millie had been...and with Master Gervais as well as Sir William...he could hardly think that he, a lowly footman, would be...”
“But if he thought she was spending time with a mere gardener, then he might well think there was hope for a footman, and - so far from being jealous or angry at Elwin, he might think it was a good sign...”
“I have to say, ladies, that I didn’t catch none of that sort of thing in Peter’s talk last night,” Mr. Benjamin reminded them.
Harriet smiled at him, “And you remind us that you alone have actually talked with the boy and are in by far the best position to form a sensible judgement.” Mr. Benjamin looked a little embarrassed at this and Harriet said briskly, “Now, what have we learned?” She fixed her gaze on the little clock ticking away under its glass dome on the sideboard. It was a rather nice skeleton clock, sitting on a marble base, and Harriet always derived great pleasure in watching the various cogwheels turn, orderly and precise. Just so should thoughts be, in her opinion: regular and ordered and culminating in a satisfactory celebration as the little hammer struck the brass bell at the top of the clock.
“We have learned that Millie’s child might have either Sir William or Master Gervais as its father (tick)...”
“Or someone else entirely,” said Mr. Benjamin somewhat apologetically. “Sorry as I am to say it, the poor girl did seem a mite over-generous with her favours.” Harriet inclined her head, but replied that Millie, as a servant, had a very limited time at her disposal and would be hard put to it to carry on several love affairs simultaneously. Mr. Benjamin agreed that this was so.
“So in principle, either of those two gentleman - I speak of their accepted position in the world, you understand, and not of their behaviour which was certainly unbecoming of a gentleman - would have some sort of motive for wishing Millie otherwhere once her condition became known (tick).”
“Poor Lady Weston!” whispered Effie, “her husband and her son!” For once, Effie seemed not to know what to say.
“A good point,” said Harriet, “Lady Weston would suffer deeply if her husband were known as the girl’s seducer, and, although the sin would be much less in her son than in her husband - her son, after all is not a married man, I believe her ladyship would feel it even more deeply since her feelings for her son are rather stronger than are those for her husband (tick).”
“Poor Lady Weston,” said Effie again. There was something about that repetition that grated on Harriet’s ears. She turned her attention from the clock and frowned at her sister. “But we are talking nonsense,” she said. “There is nothing 'poor’ about Lady Weston; she is from a class of ladies that merely looks aside if there is anything in their husband’s behaviour that offends them. She would ignore the whole thing.”
“She couldn’t ignore the baby, Ma’am,” said Mr. Benjamin.
“But she could deal with it, or have it dealt with, rather.”
“The poor little baby,” said Effie.
“Effie, dear, if you can do nothing more helpful than to utter lamentations...”
“Oh, I am so sorry, Harry dear, but truly it is a very sad case, and when one thinks that on top of all this sadness, there is a terrible crime...!”
“You are quite right, dear, and you remind me that we are not talking about infidelity, or anything of that sort that may be swept under the carpet, but of murder. That is something that not even her ladyship could ignore!”
“But if the murderer were...oh, no, Harry, I can’t believe it could have been...and Lady Weston surely would not try
to shield...”
“She might,” said Harriet.
CHAPTER 12
The Miss Fotheringays call at the Rectory and there follows a long exposure to photography
“Oh look, Harry,” cried Effie the next morning, from her usual vantage point behind the geranium, “there is Lady Weston. I wonder where she is going?” And she moved to the extreme left hand side of the window, craning her head to try to follow the progress of Lady Weston along the High Street, and, coincidentally, completely blocking the light from falling on her sister’s work.
Harriet looked up from her sewing with a barely suppressed 'tut', but then her interest sharpened. “Can you still see her, Effie?”
“Yes, she has not gone into any of the shops. I think...,” Effie stood on tiptoes, “yes, she is turning down Church St.”
“Ah!” said Harriet, and inserted her needle firmly into her work and folded it carefully with the needle clearly visible before laying it into her workbasket and closing the lid. “Then perhaps it is about time that we made a call on Mrs. Ravilious. Just a normal morning call, you understand. It is quite some time since we have shown Mrs. Ravilious that courtesy, is it not?”
“Oh yes!” said Effie with excitement. “We are quite due a visit; I’ll run and put my bonnet on. Becky!” she called, “Miss Harriet and I are going out, just stepping round to the Rectory...dear Mrs. Ravilious...such a long time...” and she disappeared into her bedroom.
The sisters emerged from their bedrooms simultaneously, almost bumping into each other on the landing. There was a flush in Effie’s cheeks and the light of battle in Harriet’s eyes as they trod carefully down the staircase 'rather more narrow than we would like, and not well lit' - but with such light in their faces, who needed the mundane light of day?
The Miss Fotheringays and the Faun (The Miss Fotheringays Investigate Book 1) Page 11
