The Wages of Sin

by Judith Cutler

  The conversation continued for several more minutes; it became harder and harder to conceal my impatience. But I must smile and smile, even if I feared I was being a villain. But lie I could not, not when Burrows said, ‘You are clearly a model employee, Mr Rowsley. Everywhere I look I see evidence of your diligence. Surely you must have had many meetings with his lordship – if any man could make a judgement of his character, you could.’

  ‘Between these four walls? How would any young man be who had been indulged from birth and suddenly found himself in possession of a great deal of money react? In my time I have worked for landowners with a profound sense of responsibility, both for their families and for all those in their spheres, servants, tenants, local villagers. I found none of this in his lordship. Other people – like Elias here – have been acquainted with him longer than I have: you should seek their opinions too.’

  ‘Please do not tell me what I should and should not do, Mr Rowsley. Why are you laughing, may I ask?’

  ‘Because that was what his lordship said to me, if only in as many words. You are doing your job, sergeant; he never had a job to do, and like many others is the worse for it. He was a spendthrift, as we know. Maybe he had gambling debts and it was better for him to disappear.’ I spread my hands. ‘Or, since he liked the company of ladies, perhaps he annoyed one husband too many. I just wish I knew, Burrows – there are some urgent tasks that I really need his authorisation for before I start them.’

  At long last they left, but I had a strong feeling that they would be back. Now it was not a matter of the tenderness of my affections, it was imperative I spoke to Harriet, with or without a chaperone.

  Perhaps I was more abrupt than usual when I asked one of her housemaids where Mrs Faulkner might be. Certainly she looked very scared as she bobbed her answer. ‘In the Room, I suppose, Mr Rowsley.’

  I strode down the corridor, knocking before I entered. And found her, hat on, valise in hand.

  ‘My dearest Harriet!’ Had I shut the door? I didn’t care. ‘What are you doing?’

  XXIII

  I catch some of the other servants gossiping.

  ‘She’s a fallen woman, you know. She shouldn’t be allowed to mix with the likes of us, if you ask me.’

  ‘And why is she Mrs Cox’s pet? Should be in the workhouse, surely.’

  ‘Or on a street corner, with others like her.’

  TWENTY-FOUR

  I held her gaze; when she tried to bury her face in her hands, I took them and held them to my face, as I had done before.

  ‘Whatever is wrong, you are not a woman to run away,’ I said gently but firmly. ‘My dear, you promised me that you would do nothing precipitate till you had spoken to my parents. And running away seems rather precipitate to me.’

  I hoped to calm her, but she pulled away. ‘You do not understand, Matthew – the guilt!’

  ‘Guilt! Are you …? You cannot be telling me that you killed his lordship and Luke and disposed of their bodies!’

  ‘No! Of course not! Why should I? But … Matthew, you cannot forgive me if I tell you … You cannot. And I would rather be dead than endure that.’

  ‘Then do not tell me. Not yet. Apart from anything else,’ I added, helping her sit down and removing her hat, ‘the household would collapse without you. Whatever secret you have, you have lived with it for a long time: live with it a little longer, I beg you.’

  ‘It won’t change things; I can’t marry you. One of us must leave the House. I can’t bear to see you every day knowing I am living a lie.’

  ‘In that case, one of us will have to give due notice and find other employment.’ I smiled. ‘But neither of us can leave until we know what happened to his lordship: we want to know the end of the story, do we not? Let me get us some tea.’ I opened the door and called a maid. Closing the door, I said, ‘If I could live with you I would be happy in a labourer’s cottage – though I would miss someone taking care of my every whim.’

  She managed a wan smile.

  A knock at the door. Imagining it was the maid with the tea tray I went to open it – only to find myself admitting Samuel, looking pale.

  ‘Have the police spoken to you yet?’ he demanded, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for two unmarried people to be closeted together in private.

  ‘Yes. That’s why I came to speak to Harriet: were you well enough to move the evidence yesterday?’ I asked her.

  She shook her head. But she straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin, as if declaring her weakness was over.

  ‘Good,’ I continued, ‘because I think you have to “find” it today. Obviously you were looking for the missing sheets. Leave them where they are. Make sure the specimen box is behind the false shelf-back. They know that his lordship is no saint. They will soon find more people to tell him so. If we don’t tell them what we’ve found, we’re withholding evidence, which is a criminal offence.’

  ‘When they question us, how much should we admit?’ Samuel asked. ‘For question us they surely will.’

  ‘Surely we just tell the truth, apart from the change of date,’ Harriet said. ‘It’s easier to tell the truth than to lie. Except – why should I need to unlock a door in my search?’

  ‘Because you know doors here are never locked and were disconcerted enough to want to enter?’

  ‘For disconcerted read nosy,’ she said with an ironic smile. ‘I suppose if the policeman have never lived or worked in a great house they won’t know about the details of our everyday life. But we do need to sing the same psalm, all of us. Was it locked, gentlemen, or wasn’t it? Was I sufficiently worried about a dozen sheets to go against my employer’s obvious wishes? Do I regularly go snooping around?’

  ‘No. But I had to, remember, because of the dry rot in the window frames. With George …’

  ‘So we need to involve him in this little plot? I don’t like it,’ Samuel said.

  ‘Let me think … He knew it was locked – even offered to break into it, if necessary … Then there was news of storm damage … So he never returned.’

  Samuel mopped his forehead in relief.

  ‘Samuel, would you accompany Harriet just to check? It would be terrible if someone had indeed moved things. Now, there is no reason at all why the two of you should not walk along a corridor together. I will go and tell Beatrice what is happening.’

  Automatically, Harriet reached for her apron and popped on the cap I was beginning to detest. Opening the door for her and Samuel to precede me, I stayed long enough to replace her case and hat in her bedchamber, stowing the former under the bed.

  Only then did I stroll to the kitchen as if I had all the time in the world, drawing Beatrice into the warm sun outside for our conversation.

  I made sure it was I who eventually escorted Burrows and Elias to the locked room, offering the account I had agreed with the others – that Harriet, noticing that linen was missing, had checked all bedrooms and found the items inside. Naturally she had reported the matter to me immediately, hence the urgent summons.

  The sheets were where I had last seen them, if perhaps better folded. Soon I was able to give a theatrical start – as if noticing for the first time that there was an extra panel at the back of the shelving.

  Burrows obligingly prised it off. Yes, there was the specimen box.

  ‘What a mercy that none of the fair sex has had to lay eyes on this!’ Burrows observed, staring at the little curls. ‘Have you any idea who … who provided these?’

  My voice was like ice. ‘What an extraordinary question!’ At least I had the satisfaction of seeing his face flush to a deep brick-red. ‘And, given the blood still evident on those sheets, are you assuming that there was anything voluntary about the circumstances in which they were acquired?’

  Elias rushed in, perhaps trying to improve the situation. ‘That’d be because they was virgins, more like.’

  ‘And that is supposed to excuse something, is it?’ He winced under my gaze. �
�Sergeant, not so long ago, Maggie Billings, a young maid, disappeared from the House. She was pregnant, and on no account would reveal who the father was. Her mother is too scared to. Am I right, Elias?’

  ‘If you say so.’ He quailed. ‘Anyway, yes, that’s what folks say.’

  ‘I suggest that you, with the authority of the law to back you, try asking her,’ I said.

  ‘It’s a terrible accusation you’re making, Mr Rowsley! Suggesting it might be his lordship—’

  ‘I am not suggesting anything, sergeant. You are making a deduction – which is quite different. And, in the circumstances, quite a reasonable one, I fear. He is my employer, gentlemen; all this pains me deeply.’

  ‘It pains you because you’re like to lose your job, I suppose,’ he sneered.

  ‘It pains me because I should have grasped that there was a problem and tackled his lordship appropriately. Dear me, I wonder how many victims he had – if, of course, it is he!’

  ‘Victims? You’re calling those trollops victims!’ Elias gasped.

  ‘How else would you describe them? I should imagine they had very little choice in the matter. They may have been flattered, true, to be picked out like that. They may even have been seduced. But Elias, imagine your little sister was working here – twelve or fourteen. Imagine if she found her way into his lordship’s bed: would she be a trollop?’

  ‘She’d feel the back of my hand, that’s for sure – for being stupid enough to fall for a rich man’s tales.’

  Burrows shifted. ‘If my daughter was to … if she let a ploughman … then maybe I’d say she ought to know better. But saying no to a man who pays your wages, Elias, and maybe those of the rest of your family, all living in a tied cottage – how can you do that? And how would we know even then these … these girls … went voluntary, like. Walking along this corridor; a door opens; “Come here, and dust this!” his lordship says; there’s this bed; next thing …’ He gestured at the bloodstained sheets. ‘Nasty business, this, Mr Rowsley. Because it gives me cause to wonder if his lordship was killed by someone working here – revenge, you might say.’

  ‘Assuming he has indeed been killed.’ I had had enough; I led the way out, locking the door behind me.

  Burrows watched. ‘It’s unusual to lock a door in a place like this, isn’t it?’

  ‘I assumed you would want to keep the evidence safe, and would not want an over-enthusiastic maid to launder the sheets. As for the hair – as you said, one would not want innocent eyes to see it,’ I said reasonably. ‘There is just one thing you should be aware of, though I would not think of telling you except that it is common knowledge amongst the maids. There is a collection of … graphic … pornography in his lordship’s dressing room. I cannot imagine you would want to inspect it – I would hate to disturb her ladyship. Remember, her boudoir is not far away. Now, may I suggest we proceed down the back stairs.’

  They almost bolted.

  The servants’ entrance or the main hall? I opted for daunting grandeur. As before, Elias looked overawed. Neither spoke until the footman on duty opened the front doors with an intimidating flourish. I escorted them on to the broad sweep of steps.

  Only then, rolling his eyes, did Elias speak. ‘Sergeant, I’ve never been involved in a murder case in a place like this before.’

  ‘You may not be now,’ I said crisply. ‘You haven’t got a body, have you?’

  As I returned indoors, the duty footman (Charles?) presented me with a pile of letters on a silver salver. As I rifled through them on my way back to my office only one caught my eye – a hand-delivered note from Marty, asking if I might spare him a few minutes of my time. He proposed to wait on me at the House at four thirty unless he heard from me to the contrary. Curious, I dispatched a note confirming that he would be most welcome.

  The other correspondence could wait until I had drunk a cup of strong coffee and told Harriet and the others how I had got on with the policemen.

  ‘They suspected nothing?’ Harriet asked, narrowing her eyes in anxiety.

  ‘So far were they from suspecting anything that Sergeant Burrows thanked God that no woman had had to lay eyes on the curls,’ I said, with a wry smile at her. ‘They did wonder why I should lock the door after me – a foolish slip, perhaps. But I scared them away with the threat of her ladyship. Tell me,’ I continued, helping myself to one of Beatrice’s superlative biscuits, ‘is this complete uninterest in the goings on here in the House typical of her? In winter, yes, I could understand that, as if she were hibernating like a squirrel – but in this glorious weather? In fact, in the face of his lordship’s – shall we call it a protracted? – absence I am truly surprised she does not involve herself more with the running of the estate. Lady Graceleigh, my previous employer’s wife, always had her finger on the pulse of their properties. Regardless of their status, workers felt they could approach her with their troubles when she went on her daily ride. Some even asked to see her in the castle itself, where she welcomed them freely. Yet when I asked her ladyship here about the Stammerton plans, she was very dismissive of my request for permission to act. She simply told me to get on with the job I was paid to do. I can’t understand such inertia – it seems quite unnatural.’

  ‘If you ask me, her ladyship is consuming more laudanum than she should. Much more,’ Harriet said. ‘Samuel: have you seen anything else?’

  ‘Her consumption of wine has risen too. I have suggested that she take the dogcart and tools round the estate as she often does in summer, or takes the air in the parterre. But most of the time, as you will know from Florrie, she rises late, often does not dress till suppertime, and stares, apparently unseeing, at the lake. Do you suppose – no, I am being foolish – that she knows that something has happened to his lordship and is in mourning for him?’

  ‘She’s not pining as you or I would pine, that’s for sure,’ Beatrice observed. ‘She seems to eat everything put before her. Yet Florrie tells me she never gets any plumper – in fact, she’s having to put extra tucks and darts in some of her dresses.’

  I had not sought a chance to speak to Harriet alone: she would know I would not allude to her plans to escape in public, any more than she would reproach me in front of the others for returning her property to her bedchamber. What I did hope was that I could justifiably invite her to meet Marty.

  XXIV

  The passages Mrs Cox chooses for me to read aloud to her while she sews gets harder and harder. Occasionally she will ask me to repeat a whole sentence – sometimes even an entire paragraph – because I have not made its meaning clear. Now she reaches for a volume of verse. I am to read poetry. Keats. I may take it to my room to study it there.

  ‘You are doing well, my dear. Very well. Ignore those silly girls who are being so unkind to you. Yes, I know all about them, but if I intervene it will only make it worse for you. Be strong. Remember, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never harm me.” They will marry labourers and cowherds. You will run a castle. Now, to do that you will need to understand money. Can you add up and take away? Show me. Oh, dear. But when I have finished, you will be able to deal with columns of figures as easily as you read Pamela just now.’

  TWENTY-FIVE

  ‘Left Mrs Batham’s!’ I groaned. ‘Marty, was Maggie ever there?’

  ‘Not for as long as Mrs Batham claims she was, I’ll warrant,’ Marty said. ‘Ianto tells me that he and Mrs Davies pressed her as hard as they could for details, at one time threatening to call a constable, but she clung to her story: that one day, as Mrs Batham was out shopping, Maggie stole the remainder of the money her aunt had collected from the manse and left, without a note. Now Ianto is just one of many clergymen in the area: he has written to each one asking them to be on the lookout for a woman of Maggie’s age, pregnant and surely by now destitute.’

  ‘Apart from offering a reward, is there anything I can do?’ I asked.

  He shook his head gravely. ‘Not until she is found. It’s a sad
business, isn’t it, Matthew. Now, I’d best be on my way. No, not the gentry’s door, my friend – I’ll go the backstairs route, if it’s all the same to you.’

  ‘It’s the one I prefer to use myself,’ I said, truthfully but disingenuously.

  And by some miracle Harriet was leaving her room as we passed it. Naturally I stopped and performed the introductions. To my delight, as they shook hands, she pressed Marty to take tea in the Room. ‘You will find Mr Bowman and Mrs Arden there – not to mention a plate of freshly-made scones and a sponge cake as light as a feather. We are all as concerned about Maggie as Ma– as Mr Rowsley is.’

  He retained her hand for a few more seconds, as if to show he understood more than he would share with anyone else. ‘Matthew is the name I like to call him too, Mrs Faulkner. I hoped we would become better acquainted,’ he continued, ‘on a trip to Wolverhampton, but it seems that must be postponed, at the very least.’ As he spoke, to my shame, I knew that somewhere in my genuinely profound anxiety for Maggie lurked a pang of deep, yes, painful, disappointment that our innocent outing was not to be. ‘Shall I wait until I can apprise all of you of the latest developments? That cake smells wonderful,’ he added, comically rubbing his stomach.

  Samuel was inclined to stand on ceremony, but both women warmed to a side of Marty I’d not seen before: an enviable ability to make a new acquaintance into an old friend.

  Soon the pleasant exchanges turned to the grim news he had brought us. Tears welled in Harriet’s eyes and, to my surprise, in Samuel’s.