The Wages of Sin

by Judith Cutler

  ‘Ah, Mr Rowsley, could you do me the most enormous favour? I find I’ve forgotten to bring in any coriander, and the maid always picks parsley by mistake. Mrs Faulkner knows exactly where it is.’ With a huge twinkle in her eye she pointed to the figure seated by the herb-garden gate.

  ‘It seems as if we may not need George after all,’ I concluded. Tim appeared bearing two tureens of curry; I waited while he fetched the rice and condiments.

  Bowman shook his head. ‘If you have already sent for him, find him some other urgent job, I beg you – one that will not arouse any suspicions on his part, of course. Mrs Faulkner, surely you can feign a check of the linen room and discover that some sheets are missing?’

  ‘Of course. But would that be sufficient for me to demand admission to a locked room as part of my search?’

  ‘If you attached the key Mr Rowsley used to your chatelaine, then no one would know it was not usually there, would they?’ Mrs Arden asked. ‘And none of the maids or footmen would dare question you. Unless they already knew something we don’t.’

  ‘What a good idea! And then, perhaps, quite by chance, of course, I might notice something wrong with the shelves? Or is that a step too far?’

  ‘Let us see if the errant sheets offer us any reason to worry,’ Bowman said.

  ‘And let us see if you have any keys in that wonderful collection that might open some of the locked drawers,’ I added.

  ‘Very well. I will add them to the chatelaine too – hiding them in plain sight. And if they work, I will open the drawers, locking them again afterwards, of course.’

  Bowman seemed inclined to argue, but raised a forkful of our supper to his lips. He smiled beatifically. ‘Mrs Arden, we are eating like kings! Or rather, of course, like nabobs!’

  The table cleared, Harriet produced her key-box again, and we scrabbled amongst its contents like children fighting for pennies. Eventually we selected a fair sample. Then a bell rang: Mr Bowman’s.

  ‘Heavens, is that the time? I should be serving her ladyship’s dessert.’ He almost sprinted from the room.

  ‘Clearly that pick-me-up you devised this morning, Beatrice, has amazing properties,’ Harriet observed. ‘Young Thatcher said he looked like death warmed up.’ She mimicked, but not unkindly, his accent, remarkably similar to Florrie’s. ‘And now look at him, dashing round like a two-year-old.’

  Her friend smiled. ‘Perhaps I should accept his invitation to be his partner at the Harvest Home dance.’

  ‘He’s already asked you?’

  ‘No, but he will soon. He does every year. And this year I might just call his bluff and agree.’

  I could not help it: my eyes sought out Harriet’s. Would she and I be going together? I tried to frame a question out loud. ‘Does the estate host one big affair, or does each tenant farmer have his own?’

  ‘Both. There is a lot of dancing, and quite a number of weddings three months later, if truth be told,’ Mrs Arden said. ‘Poor Mr Pounceman. He blames that demon drink that Florrie’s given up.’

  ‘And poor Mr Pounceman for another reason,’ I said. ‘I’ve been meaning to tell you: Mr Pounceman—’

  ‘Has mumps!’ they concluded my sentence as one, giggling like girls. ‘Oh, we probably knew before Dr Page did,’ Mrs Arden added. ‘There are no secrets in a village.’

  ‘In that case,’ I said, suddenly serious, ‘the villagers probably have as good an idea as anyone what has happened to his lordship.’

  ‘I’m sure they do,’ she agreed. ‘But there’s a difference between asking, Matthew, and letting someone tell you. We three – we four! – are too closely allied to the Family for anyone to make a laughing matter of his lordship’s habits, to our faces at least. Behind our backs, now, that’s another matter.’

  ‘Would they laugh if they thought his lordship was anything worse than a wild and silly young man finally escaping his mother’s grasp?’ Harriet asked. ‘I think not.’

  I stared. ‘Is he anything worse?’

  ‘Who knows? But if the button that you found did come off his dress suit, then it might have been he you heard arguing in the shrubbery. And who was he arguing with? A young woman. I can think of two young women who suffered something at male hands. You are sent away on a crazy errand. I too am despatched on a feeble excuse. Maggie flees. He departs post-haste. Her ladyship departs to a spa – to a poor hotel, according to Hortense, not the sort of place where she would be accustomed to stay. And now,’ she added, in a very sombre voice, ‘he has disappeared from the face of the earth.’

  ‘With Luke,’ Beatrice added.

  I took a deep breath. ‘Harriet. Beatrice. I do not think we should mention this theory to Mr Bowman yet. He has loyalties to the Family I cannot match. That we should even think such a thing would upset him, very deeply. He might even … who knows. If there is evidence to be found, let us present it to him. Otherwise, for the sake of our friendship, let us keep quiet.’

  The women stared, then, seeming to have reached a silent agreement, nodded in concert. ‘Very well,’ Beatrice said. ‘We must all be each other’s eyes and ears. But discretion must be our watchword.’

  ‘Absolute discretion,’ Harriet agreed. ‘Now, he will be back within minutes: he must interrupt us in an entirely innocent conversation.’

  ‘The Harvest Home dance, perhaps,’ Beatrice said.

  As Harriet had predicted, Bowman returned from his duties without knocking – and why should he knock? He was the senior man in the House.

  He inhaled deeply. ‘I am afraid that the curry which was designed to make her ladyship reluctant to eat in her chamber has left its lingering fumes to bother you, Mrs Faulkner. May I open a window?’ He leant with his arms on the sill for several moments. When he turned back to us he was smiling, almost coyly. ‘It is such a beautiful evening, I do not see why my colleagues and I should not walk with you part of the way back to your house, Matthew. Her ladyship is unlikely to need my services much longer once I have served her tea.’

  ‘I will have the tray prepared this instant,’ Mrs Arden declared.

  Our dawdling stroll took us towards the shrubbery, where I was able to point out the spot where I found the button. Then, as if by magic, the talk became more casual, then lapsed al-together. Somehow four together became two groups of two. We were never quite out of sight of each other in the bright moonlight, never quite out of earshot, so there was mutual chaperonage. But it was not until we had reached my front door and said our goodnights that Beatrice and Samuel caught up with us. They were now a respectable distance apart, and absorbed Harriet into their company as if she had never left it. It was only then that I remembered I had left Esau in the main stables and had to chase after them. I was subject to a great deal of mocking banter, but it gave all four of us a few more minutes of happiness.

  Esau seemed pleased to see me, but clearly did not know what to make of my singing – I think it might have been Mozart – on our journey home.

  XVIII

  I have been in bed for a month now, out of harm’s way, Nurse says. She has brought me books from the nursery, and I make myself read a little each day, though often I do not want to. What is the matter with me – all this time to read, but no inclination?

  NINETEEN

  Early next morning I retired to my office to find a plausible reason for having summoned George so urgently. After a struggle, I managed to jam one of the drawers of the rent-table sufficiently tightly, trying to ignore the fact he looked askance at me as he reached amongst his tools.

  As he worked I was profoundly aware of the pace – no, the rhythm – that the House demanded of its denizens. All around young men and women were driven by the requirements of others, whether their demands were justified or not. With only her ladyship in residence, why should all the main rooms be dusted and swept and polished? Why should such a fine array of produce be transformed into miraculous treats that her ladyship might simply dismiss? In fact, of course, Beatrice Arden broke many unsp
oken rules in giving the delicacies to the servants; many also went to ailing pensioners dotted around the estate, or to sick employees. The charitable errands around the estate were, of course, usually the province of the lady of the house, but here were entirely Harriet’s responsibility – at first I had resented them on her behalf, but now I saw them as a golden opportunity to spend time with her, as our paths accidentally crossed.

  I knew that she herself was slightly going against the daily rhythm: she was conducting a quite spurious check of the linen room, and then would sally round the various bedchambers in search of the items she had ‘discovered’ were missing. Much as I ached to go and protect her, I knew that while no one should be alarmed by the prosaic sight of a quiet woman going about her daily round, my very presence might indeed alert someone to her presence. I suspected too that the very thought that she might need to be looked after would be anathema to her.

  After five minutes, no more, George was packing his tools away. Even before I could offer possibly shamefaced thanks, there was a knock on the door. It was Thatcher, to say that coffee was ready.

  ‘Excellent. In here, Thatcher. Enough for George, too, if you please.’ I might smile at him, but I was beginning to wonder if the young man might not be becoming slightly too assiduous in his attentions. Was he just being a good servant or was he too interested in garnering information. If so, for whom?

  George didn’t relish the coffee, adding spoon upon spoon of sugar to it, and making it as milky as possible. He seemed very preoccupied as he stirred the pale sweet mixture. ‘Gaffer, I hope you won’t take it amiss, but I had a strange fancy you might want me to break into that locked room when you summoned me so promptly.’

  Another smile, though I was inwardly cursing. ‘You have my word, George, that if I did I would not ask you in front of a whole table of interested ears.’

  I swear he rubbed his hands in glee. ‘So would we be using a code, like, gaffer?’

  ‘If and when it becomes necessary, I’ll try to devise one. Now, how is the work on the roof going in this lovely weather?’

  ‘I could take you up now if you’ve a mind to see.’

  I did have a mind to see. It was important for me to be seen wherever important work was taking place. Furthermore, it would keep my mind from Harriet’s activities.

  The sheer bulk of the building meant that the activity above their heads was hardly noticeable to most of the inhabitants. When the roof above the servants’ bedrooms was repaired, it would be different – but then, the people making the noise worked far shorter hours than their domestic counterparts. Yes, even when only one of the Family was in residence.

  George was pointing. ‘We’ve patched here, but you can see the whole of that section has to be replaced. Look at those cracks: if we skimp now it’ll last a winter, maybe two, but no longer. Best bite on the bullet, I’d say.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right. Let me have an estimate and I’ll discuss it with his lordship,’ I said automatically.

  ‘If he ever turns up,’ George grunted. ‘I hear Elias and his gaffer were sniffing round looking for him – is that right?’

  ‘They certainly came to talk to her ladyship, but I wasn’t privy to their conversation. Come on, George, you know I can’t comment.’ My change of tone was rewarded with a comradely grin. ‘Now, how long do you think this wonderful weather will last? It’d be good to make the place waterproof while we have the chance.’

  ‘So do you want an estimate or not?’

  ‘Of course. An estimate. In round terms. On my desk by the end of the day.’

  He looked at me sideways. ‘Very round, then. And when will I get your round answer?’

  I used my most pompous voice: ‘I am a very busy man, George – so probably not until eight tomorrow morning,’ I added, clapping him on the shoulder.

  Much as I would have liked to go down for coffee in the servants’ hall and thence, of course, the Room, I had already arranged meetings with some of our tenant farmers to discuss improvements I thought were vital and they were inclined to dismiss as new-fangled. I could see from the last few years of their returns that they could well afford them, and could simply have told them to follow my instructions. But in my experience no farmer liked being bullocked into changes: somehow I needed to gain their support. With luck they would all leave my office convinced that they had had the innovatory ideas themselves – even if it took me the rest of the morning. I also needed to send a note down to the rectory to ask if Mr Pounceman was well enough for the meeting I proposed for this afternoon on the plans for Stammerton.

  At last it was time to foregather for the midday meal. I found the Trappist regime irksome, but could not, in any case, have spoken to Mrs Faulkner about her morning. In the heat no one wanted to eat much, but seemed to dawdle all the more as they picked at their plates. Eventually, however, Mrs Faulkner gave the signal that the meal was over.

  Bowman shut the door behind us with exaggerated care. He even looked askance at the window, opened to its widest point to encourage at least a breath of air, but Harriet shook her head. ‘I don’t want anyone else fainting,’ she said. ‘We’ve had our fill of that this morning, haven’t we, Beatrice!’

  Bowman said quickly, ‘Not another child like Maggie in the family way!’

  Beatrice shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. Dorcas has always been a fainter. And she assures me, quite vehemently, that she wouldn’t let any young man touch her. On the other hand, as I was quick to remind her, sometimes young men don’t wait for permission, and I’d want to know if anyone had … interfered … with her. And that he’d be dealt with. No matter who. Am I right, Matthew?’

  What about our little pact about secrecy? It seemed the women had changed their minds. If they had, it was not for me to argue. ‘If it is in my power, of course,’ I said.

  ‘What if it isn’t?’ Harriet asked, a strange tone in her voice. ‘What then?’

  ‘Then one hopes it’s in the law’s power,’ Beatrice said.

  Samuel nodded, but his face was troubled. ‘What makes you ask that, Harriet?’

  ‘Something I found this morning.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Perhaps you should close the window after all, Matthew. Just for a few moments. I’m sorry.’ There was a long pause, even after I’d completed the trivial task. ‘As you know, I was looking for an excuse this morning to unlock that dressing room. I did indeed find that sheets were missing from the linen room, quite a number, in fact, so my errand was legitimate.’ She paused, swallowing hard. ‘It seems that the linen was not put in a laundry basket, but left in that room. I have no explanation. I’ve left everything where it was. There is blood on three or four of them, and … stains … on all of them.’ Her face burned. ‘Our chambermaids, our laundrymaids, would easily identify the origin of these stains. They deal with them regularly when we have a house party. Married couples.’

  ‘So why would these not have reached the laundry?’ Bowman asked, apparently deciding that the best way to deal with her obvious embarrassment was to draw attention to the cause.

  ‘Because we had no married couples in residence, of course,’ Beatrice Arden said tartly.

  ‘The blood would indicate …?’ I too was embarrassed. ‘That the woman sharing the bed was … might be losing her virginity?’

  ‘Or might simply be enduring her monthly cycle,’ Beatrice said.

  I tried to lift the atmosphere. ‘But let us not get trapped in unlovely details. The fact that these sheets were concealed suggests that someone did not want their activity to be discovered.’

  ‘Or,’ said Harriet, lifting her head and straightening her shoulders, ‘they were kept for another reason. You see, I found something else. That shelf that wasn’t as deep as the others: I prised the back panel away.’ She patted the scissors on her chatelaine. ‘I apologize in advance to you all. This is deeply embarrassing. You know the specimen cases that some ladies and gentlemen use for small items in their cabinets of treasures? Precious
stones? Butterflies? There is a box like that behind the panel I removed. I cannot believe I am saying this in mixed company. But if I asked you all to go and look for yourselves, it might … draw attention.’ She swallowed hard.

  I moved to support her, but Beatrice was there before me, taking her hand.

  She smiled her thanks, and, though crimson from the neck upwards, continued. ‘Many of the sections of the specimen case are empty. But some are occupied by curls … by hair.’ It was clear she could not continue.

  How could I help? ‘Can it be,’ I heard myself asking, ‘that this hair is not from the head?’

  ‘Exactly. Which is why,’ she said, ‘I wondered if the sheets were … were trophies – of sexual conquest.’ She got up and opened the window, leaning her forehead against the frame. Then she closed it again. ‘One of the victims of such an … one of the victims might be Maggie.’

  Bowman spluttered, his face so suffused with blood I feared he was ill. He reached in his pocket, producing a hip flask. But he didn’t drink himself – instead he poured a generous measure into Harriet’s cup. Her hand shook so much that Beatrice had to help her raise it to her lips.

  Appalled that the women had had to utter such words, let alone be privy to the shocking and scandalous information, I said quietly, ‘Perhaps you would prefer to resume this conversation when you are feeling better, Harriet. We shall all be better, I fancy, for a period of quiet reflection.’

  She lifted her head, smiling bravely. ‘Perhaps you are right. I need to order my thoughts, which are whirling like dervishes. Why, oh why, did none of the girls confide in me?’