by C. G Oster
"Of course, Aunt," Dory said and placed her suitcase on the small bed, glad to finally be relieved of the burden. Her shoulder ached and so did her feet. Gladys left Dory to familiarize herself with her new lodgings. The walls had pink paper and there was a small window that could be opened to let in some air. Once summer was here, Dory could well imagine this room could be stifling. Taking off her shoes, she stretched her aching arches, the bare floorboards cool on her sore feet. But the room was clean and there looked to be fresh linen on the bed.
Suddenly, it occurred to her that this could well be that girl's room—the unfortunate one who had been killed. Poor girl. Her effects must have been packed up and sent off to her family. Although the fact that there was a policeman downstairs investigating suggested that there must have been more to this than a simple accident. Gladys hadn't mentioned any of this on the phone, but it was obviously the reason they suddenly needed a new maid. Poor girl.
Chapter 3
The reason for the rush in getting a new maid was made clear. There was to be a ball for the coronation and house guests remaining for a few days after. The next morning was a rush of activity. Seemingly all the bedrooms in the house needing airing and dusting, and clean linen put on every bed. Dory didn't have a moment to herself from when she woke at dawn. She missed entirely the actual coronation—too much to do to sit by the wireless and listen to what was happening at Westminster Abbey.
Not knowing where things were was her biggest headache and she often had to run and find one of the other maids to tell her where to find soaps, towels, or cleaning products. By the time she was done with her pressing duties, her hands were red and streaked with black from the coal and wood she’d brought up after everything else was done.
"The family will be arriving soon," Mrs. Parsons said, appearing on the family floor to inspect their work, seemingly going over every detail. She corrected a few corners of the bed and then sighed. "It will do. Take yourself downstairs to help Mr. Holmes prepare for supper."
Behind the closed door of the large and fine dining room, they polished and laid out the table with fine china and silver for supper.
"Traffic was hell," a man said outside. His accent had that bored nasal quality of someone who likely lived in this house, a breed Dory knew little about. Mr. Holmes walked out to greet whoever it was and Dory had the chance to briefly see a young man with wheat blond hair. Handsome and dressed in a finely tailored suit. "Is Mother back yet?"
"Not as of yet," Mr. Holmes responded.
"Good. I have a smashing headache. I think I will take a kip before the festivities start."
The door closed and Dory could only hear mumbling.
"Vivian Fellingworth," Clara said quietly. "The youngest son. Trouble since the day he was born, that one."
"How many children are there?" If he was the youngest, then there were naturally other children. By the look of him, he was well into his twenties, so there weren't any actual children in the house.
"Three, two boys, Cedric and Vivian, and then Livinia. Vivian and Livinia are twins, but Vivian is still seen as the youngest."
"Right."
"Then there is, of course, Lord and Lady Wallisford. They are all coming back from the coronation. They were there in Westminster Abbey, I understand. And the guests." Clara rambled off names Dory didn't know, all sounding very aristocratic. "They are staying, but heaps more are coming for the ball tomorrow night."
"I've never actually seen a ball."
"Well, you won't be seeing this one either," Clara said tartly. "You're here to work, not daydream about balls."
That was a rather unjust accusation, Dory felt. She'd only mentioned she'd never seen a ball. It was a far leap to assume she would be daydreaming about it. "And what of Nora?"
"What of her?" Clara said, her mouth going tight.
"No one has told me what happened to her."
Clara's eyes searched around to see if they were observed. "Killed," she said in barely more than a whisper. "Murdered."
Dory gasped, even though she had been expecting something of the sort.
"Stabbed right in the main foyer. They found her at the bottom of the stairs."
"In the family area?"
"Yes. There was blood in a big pool on the floor. Mr. Holmes cleaned it himself after the police came and took her away. Normally, he makes us clean, but I think he felt it would be too horrible for us. Too right there."
"That is kind, I suppose."
"But what was she doing there? She could have been cleaning and polishing, I suppose, but Mrs. Parsons hadn't given her a specific task to. From what the police said, she was… died in the afternoon. She wasn't far from the main door. Anyone could have come in and… " She drifted off with a worried look on her face. "Anyone. Hopefully, they're long gone by now. I'm scared of going outside, I don't mind saying."
"There are policemen here," Dory pointed out. "I'm sure no one would slip past their notice."
"Of course," Clara nodded. "I think we're done here. We should go downstairs. Cook will need some help."
Dory hadn't seen Gladys all day, so it would be nice to see her. Unfortunately, it wasn't quite time to put their feet up because they were required to help Mr. Holmes serve supper.
The calm silence of the family floor gave away to the more turbulent environment downstairs. Clara walked away to do something and Dory thought she'd go find Gladys, maybe even grab something to eat in the process. She was famished and her supper wouldn't be until after the family had dined, from what she understood.
"And who are you?" a voice said and Dory turned to see a man with brown hair and brown eyes, a handsome, chiseled face. By the look of him, he was not a servant, certainly not a gardener. He wore a coat and a suit underneath. Black shoes, quite worn.
"Dory Sparks. Who are you?" He wasn't the uniformed man she had seen here the day before, but she would bet her shirt that this was a policeman of some variety, probably the one responsible for investigating this case. He had that look about him as if he'd seen too much of humanity.
His eyebrows rose at her directness. "Detective Inspector Ridley. Where do you fit into the scheme of things?"
"I am the replacement that arrived today."
"So, you do not know Miss Sands."
"No, I never met her. Never heard of her before today."
The detective watched her for a moment as if to see if he could spot a lie. Dory crossed her arms and he waved her away. He was a bit rude, she thought, waving her away like some naughty child. She threw a look back at him as she walked. His back was to her and he didn't look her way. Broad shoulders and a straight back. By the look of him, a man who spent most of his days on his feet.
"I just got interrogated by that man out there," Dory said as she reached Gladys in the kitchen, who was spooning broth along a fish poacher. "I'm sure he suspected I was lying. Suspicious lot, aren't they?"
"Comes with the job, I think. Not much good if they can't spot a liar. How are you?"
"I'm knackered and the day isn't even over yet."
"It's usually much calmer than this, but when they wish to entertain, the workload triples. It was why we so desperately needed you to come."
"I understand. Got anything I can eat?"
"Cut yourself a slice of bread over there," Gladys said and Dory walked over to cut herself a slice before spreading butter over it. It was heavenly, or maybe she was simply very hungry.
"Clara, the other maid, thinks someone came into the house and murdered that girl," Dory said between bites.
Replacing the lid on the poacher, Gladys visibly shuddered.
"It's never simply madmen running around the countryside murdering people, is it, though?" Dory continued when Gladys didn’t respond.
"What are you saying? Can't be anyone here. Everyone loved Nora."
That wasn't exactly what Gladys had alluded to the day before when she'd said Nora attracted trouble. "But you said she was one to—"
"Off
you go," Gladys said sharply, just about bundling her out of the room. "Can't you see how busy I am?"
"Sorry," Dory mumbled through her mouthful of bread. Then she found herself out in the corridor again. That man was still there, DI Ridley. He looked over her way again and dismissed her as unimportant. To him, she probably was completely unrelated to his investigation. In truth, she might be the only person who was.
Poor girl. Stabbed. How awful. This man was now here to find out what had really happened to her and to cart away the person responsible. Dory did feel better having him here. Unfortunately, she couldn't bring herself to believe the theory that some stranger had come and randomly murdered someone. It never happened like that, did it? Not really. Someone was responsible and chances were that it was someone she knew. Maybe that was why DI Ridley was here in the house, questioning everyone. He obviously believed the culprit was here as well. That thought was certainly disturbing.
There wasn't time to dwell on it for much longer as the family and some guests were arriving and Dory had to unpack their belongings. It was strange taking someone else's belongings and putting them away. Dory was assigned to a Miss Alsaze, who had the finest things Dory had ever seen. Nightclothes made of the softest silk and brushes with fur bristles and gilded handles. Golden-cased makeup and the most wonderful clothes and shoes—quite a world away from her own wardrobe. This was more like what Mrs. Simpson wore. Gorgeous things that each cost more than Dory’s worldly goods.
Once everything was hung away and placed out, she built a fire in the room before leaving. Now onto the supper. It would be well past ten in the evening before she had her own. She was actually starting to regret losing that job in the Swanley Insurance Office where they got to go home at five-thirty every day. Domestic service seemed to be much more demanding for roughly the same pay. Maybe she should consider secretarial school.
Chapter 4
"The way I hear it, Herr Himmler gathered up the whole of the criminal element and sent them to a workcamp," said a woman in a cream silk dress with ruffles along the shoulders, a cut crystal glass in hand as she sat around the dining table. "One fell swoop. You can't accuse them of not being effective. These people who plague all of society—removed and put to useful work. It is something to be applauded, isn't it? Those Nazis certainly are decisive."
"It remains to be seen what Chamberlin does when he takes over," responded a man with combed black hair.
"Largely, he’ll have the same policies as Baldwin. War needs to be avoided and the Germans agree," another man spoke while leaning back from the soup dish before him.
Dory waited so see if anyone wished for more, but all around the table seemed content with their portions. Her hands had shaken as she'd carried the plates over from the serving table, deathly aware that she could not afford to spill a single drop. Mr. Holmes was watching everything she did.
"Yet they are building bombers up in Yorkshire. That can hardly go unnoticed," the woman continued.
"Of course we must hope the Germans will be reasonable, but can we depend on it?"
"He is right, of course. War with Germany would be absolutely disastrous for Britain. If Britain needs to focus on anything, it's paying attention to the colonies—restoring where we must, not off fighting with the Germans. So Hitler claims Austria. He does have a point. There are ancestral claims to be considered. The local populace seems to welcome it."
"Just like we rolled over when the Italians took Abysinnia," said the blond man that Dory had seen arriving earlier that day. "Isn't appeasement simply a case of us preparing for the fact that we have no means of responding when a fascist dictator decides to take what isn't theirs?"
"Vivian," chided an elegant older woman at the end of the table. She was a little older, dressed in a spectacular green dress, the material shining like an emerald. Dory had to assume this was Lady Wallisford, and probably the mother of the blond younger man.
Vivian shrugged and drank deeply of the white wine.
After the soup had been served, Mr. Holmes gave Dory a discreet nod that suggested she take herself down to the kitchen. Laughter chased her as she quietly went through the door, then silence for a moment as she walked down the stairs to the kitchen below that was a hive of activity. Fish was being served with cream on a silver plate, some greenery being placed for decoration.
"Just about ready," Gladys said with pride. It looked mouth-watering and Dory felt her stomach grumble. Gladys was a good cook; Dory could attest to that. "Mind you don't drop that now, girls. There will be hell to pay if you do."
Dory didn't need the reminder. She was nervous enough already. The dish was heavy and it took both her and Clara to carefully carry it up, also ensuring the fish didn't actually slip off the plate when they navigated the stairs.
"Edward is already in France, I understand," the cream silk woman said. "They must be preparing for the marriage."
"I heard it said his royal highness won't be so royal anymore, that by abdicating, he has given up his royal status completely." This was from the other young man, hair a bit darker than the blond one. Dory guessed it was the other son of the family, Cedric, if she recalled right.
"Not sure about that, but over my dead body will I bow to that harlot and call her ‘royal highness’," said a man with a severely thin nose. In entirety, the man looked disapproving, and Dory suspected that was both a permanent expression and disposition.
In a way, she found this fascinating, almost like she was observing these people at a zoo. They were completely different, maybe even a different species for all she knew. A drop from her large silver spoon fell on the tablecloth of the side table as she'd started serving and she could just about hear Mr. Holmes wince. As interesting as it was observing these people, she couldn't get careless. She had a job to do. Focusing anew, she refused to look at anything other than what she was doing serving portions of fish onto plates.
Mercifully, supper finished and the dining party moved onto the parlor to continue their evening. Mr. Holmes would take care of their needs now, which left Dory and Clara to clear and wipe down the table. Their own supper was finally in sight and Dory felt hunger bite her insides. With her fingers, she stole a portion of fish, which melted in her mouth. There were some leftovers, so part of her supper might include fish.
A table in the scullery was where everything went. That was the end of Dory's job for the night. The scullery maid would see to the rest. Sitting down in the servants' dining room, Dory put her aching feet up. "What a day." In fact, every muscle in her body ached.
Both Gladys and the scullery maid, Sarah, were putting dishes on the table. Dory supposed she should get up and help, but it felt so nice sitting down and she couldn't bear to put any more pressure on her feet, so she was a little lazy. In exchange for this laziness, she felt considerable guilt, but no one was giving her any particularly nasty looks.
People started streaming in, including Mrs. Parsons, who seated herself at one end of the table. Finally, Mr. Holmes arrived, having seen to the family and guests' drinks for now. He said a quick grace and they all served themselves from the spread in front of them. The food was nothing to scoff at. They ate well. There were steaming potatoes, beans, bread, fish and some kind of braised beef. It all looked spectacular and Dory savored every bite.
"How was your first day, Dory?" Mrs. Parsons asked once the initial enthusiasm for eating subsided.
"I don't mind telling you my feet ache mercilessly. Having come from working in an office, they are not used to being so active."
*
The next day was manic. So many guests were expected for the upcoming ball, they had to air out and dust just about every room in the house. Old linen and towels had to be hung and aired. Mrs. Parsons worried about the hot water, determining they might have to heat water the old-fashioned way if they were in a pinch—boiling it on the fire.
Much needed doing, and Dory had been charged with the last-minute finishing touches, including polishing all fin
germarks off the staircase banister. In truth, it was a task she didn't half mind because it didn't include running around. She could even sit down on the stairs for a while as she worked. Her sore feet hadn't gotten much of a reprieve. They would harden up, Gladys assured her—had just had too soft a time of late.
The polish was lovely, actually infused with lavender oil, the scent wafting as she worked the fine leather shammy over the mahogany wood.
"I really must have a word," a man's voice said down below.
"Mr. Ridley," replied the sharp voice of Lady Wallisford.
"DI Ridley," he corrected. There was a hint of annoyance in his voice, although nowhere near as blatant as Lady Wallisford’s, who came into view walking with Mrs. Parsons.
"DI Ridley," she said with exasperation, "I have a ball to plan. I cannot run around answering questions about something I know nothing about. For all I know, it was an accident. Who's to say she didn't stab herself falling down the stairs?"
"In the back?" he said dryly.
"It could happen. The silly girl was known for being accident prone. I'm sure she had the unfortunate luck of stabbing herself falling."
"It wasn't an accident," DI Ridley said in return. The assurance in his voice said he knew it wasn't an accident. Dory supposed they could tell on the body whether she fell or not, but stabbing oneself in the back while falling would be absolutely extraordinary.
Lady Wallisford waved her hand as if some insect was annoying her. "This will all have to wait, I'm afraid. I don't have time to deal with it. I can't be expected to do your job for you, DI Ridley. If you are so convinced this wasn’t an accident, perhaps you should speak to the people around the district, see if they've seen any strange men around. Mr. Holmes, would you see the detective out."
The butler appeared, looking unsure how to proceed, because one didn't just show detectives from the police out on a whim. Grudgingly, DI Ridley closed his notebook and walked to the door. Lady Wallisford disappeared into the library without a look back. Dory had never seen such rudeness, but perhaps the woman was simply a nervous type who couldn't deal with upsets or commotions.
