Chapter 8 - Tennis and Dinner
Etta enjoyed playing tennis more than she thought she would. It was a nice afternoon and not too hot so she didn’t get too sweaty. They were playing mixed doubles, which took the pressure off her to an extent. First up were Dennis and Marjorie versus Dorothy and Stewart. She sat on the bench with Algernon, Great Aunt Josephine and Miss Mittens. The old ladies had chosen to come and watch rather than retire to the sitting room with Lady Mowbray. Evangeline Spinoza had disappeared off somewhere. Sir James and Lorenzo Spinoza didn’t watch either.
The players were fairly evenly matched so the match took some time. Etta was in no hurry. It helped her to remember the rules of tennis. Dennis kept barking orders at Marjorie, which flustered her and she made some silly mistakes, which Dennis then berated her about. Stewart and Dorothy won the match. Then it was Etta and Algernon’s turn. After some discussion, it was decided that Dorothy and Stewart would play on but switch partners. Dorothy didn’t look too happy about that but as Algernon freely acknowledged that Stewart was a better tennis player than him, and Etta admitted to not having played for a long time, it seemed fairer.
Despite his protestations, Algernon seemed a good tennis player to Etta. She didn’t really have that much to do and was grateful to Stewart for that and, unlike Dennis; he didn’t scold her for every mistake she made.
‘I’m sorry I’m not very good,’ she said to him at the end of the match, which Dorothy and Algernon won. ‘It must have been painful for you playing with me.’
‘Never painful, playing with a pretty girl,’ he said gallantly. ‘And I always admire someone who has a go rather than bleating they can’t or won’t play.’
Etta liked him better after that. She presumed that this was directed at Cecil. So, Stewart didn’t like Cecil, any more than Cecil liked him. How interesting.
‘They’ll be serving tea any time now so don’t take too long.’
Etta went to her room in a good mood. She was hot and glowing from the tennis but she felt proud of herself, after Stewart’s words, for trying. She was looking forward to telling Jen all about it.
Jen was asleep on top of the covers. She only stirred and opened her eyes when Etta flopped onto the bed.
‘Yes, it wasn’t bad. But they’re serving tea now and I need to change. I’m all sweaty but I haven’t got time for a bath.’
‘Go and have a quick wash,’ Jen advised, starting to close her eyes again.
‘Ok, and could you sort me out a dress to wear? Apparently, they change for tea as well as dinner, Dorothy told me on the way up.’
Jen opened her eyes again. ‘You’re slipping into the role of milady all too easily for my liking.’
‘It’s not much to ask.’
‘Ok, ok.
Etta took off the tennis dress, socks and plimsolls and put her wrap on. Jen got up and walked over to the wardrobe. As Etta left the room, she added, ‘oh and a pair of suitable shoes as well. Thanks Mum.’
She had a quick wash, dried herself off and returned to her room. Jen had laid out a violet dress on the bed and there were mauve suede shoes to match.
Etta frowned. ‘Aren’t the shoes a bit much?’
‘Pick your own shoes then,’ Jen said.
Etta said nothing more and started to put the cotton stockings back on then she paused.
‘Did they wear silk stockings in the afternoon or just in the evening?’
‘How should I know?’
‘You like history.’
‘Not the history of underwear. I haven’t got a fetish about stockings.’
‘But what do you think?’
‘Keep the cotton ones and switch to silk for the evening.’
Etta dressed. While she was sitting in front of the dressing table, brushing her hair, she asked, ‘could you get the tennis dress washed please? I need to return it to Dorothy.’
‘What did your last servant die of?’
‘But I can’t wash it. They’d think that really strange.’
‘Oh all right, give it here.’
Etta handed her the dress. ‘Thanks Mum.’
Etta hurried off to tea.
Nearly everyone had gathered for tea. Etta looked round the room to see who was missing. She could tell Stewart wasn’t there by Dorothy’s pretty discontented face.
‘Dennis and that Lorenzo fellow are having some business meeting,’ Algernon informed Etta. He lowered his voice, ‘Lady Mowbray isn’t happy. Pretty poor show, discussing business on a visit. And Stewart’s gone off on an errand to the nearest town.’
‘What about Mrs. Spinoza?’
‘She complained of a headache and went for a lie down.’
It was too soon after lunch for Etta to want much. She nibbled a cucumber sandwich and drank a cup of tea, watching the others. When tea seemed to be drawing to a close, she made her excuses and escaped to her room. She couldn’t blame Evangeline Spinoza for wanting a break.
Jen wasn’t there. Etta wandered around the room. She opened the wardrobe and fingered the lovely clothes hanging in there. What on earth did these people do with themselves all day? At home, she would be packing up and getting ready to drive home.
Jen didn’t enjoy washing the tennis dress. She had asked the way to the laundry room and had been shown it by Elsie, the young scullery maid. Once there, she stood and looked in horror at the washing machine; it was basically a tub on legs with a mangle over it. Jen had only seen mangles in museums before.
‘You need to be very careful with the mangle; it’ll have your hand off if you’re not careful, Miss,’ Elsie warned. ‘Mrs Roberts, the laundry maid is always complaining about it.’
‘Which one is Mrs Roberts?’ Jen asked.
‘Oh, she doesn’t live in, she comes in twice a week to do the laundry.’
‘Lucky her.’ Jen gave up. I think I’ll just use the sink,’ she said.
‘Laundry soap is on the window shelf, and the washboard is under the sink. Are you going to use the mangle to wring it?
‘No,’ Jen said firmly. ‘Where shall I put it to dry?’
Elsie pointed at a wooden clothes drier hanging from the ceiling. ‘You can use that or there’s a clothesline outside seeing as it’s nice weather. The peg bag is under the sink too.’
‘Thanks for all your help, Elsie.’
The little girl beamed, she couldn’t be a day over fourteen.
‘My pleasure, Miss.’
And here was me thinking that my days of doing Etta’s washing were behind me, Jen thought as she ran the hot water then plunged the dress into the Belfast sink. After washing and wringing out the dress by hand, she decided she would put it up over the indoor clothes drier.
The servants had dinner at six o’clock. Jen made sure that she was there on time and sat in the same seat as at lunchtime. It was boiled beef and carrots this time. She had hoped to see Fraser but apparently he had the evening off. Then she went with the other senior servants to the rather grand Steward’s Lodge.
Pudding was Eton mess served with a glass of dessert wine. Tea and coffee followed then the waiting staff left.
Mr. Butler said to the three visiting senior servants, ‘in the Steward’s Lodge, please feel free to address your fellow senior servants by their Christian names. My name, for instance, is Edgar. However, please don’t forget that this is only between ourselves and when there are no junior or employers present.’
‘My name is Mabel,’ Mrs. Wainwright said.
‘My first name is Solomon,’ Mr. Taylor said.
Mrs. Butler’s first name was Prudence and Miss Potter was Cynthia.
“I’m Jen, I mean Jane,’ Jen said.
Mrs. Butler smiled knowingly. ‘Did your last mistress ask you to change your name? That’s the trouble with having a common name. Never had a problem with a Prudence in any family I’ve been in.’
‘And Solomon is extremely rare, as you can imagine,’ Mr. Taylor said gravely.
‘Begging your pardon, Mr. Taylor but why were you c
hristened Solomon?’ asked Mr. Cook.
Jen realised that he was asking Mr. Taylor in a roundabout way if he were Jewish and she grew hot with embarrassment. Mr. Taylor, however, didn’t seem at all embarrassed and looked directly at Mr. Cook as he said, ‘my parents hoped that the Wisdom of Solomon would rub off on me.’ Which both did and didn’t answer his question. Good for Solomon.
Presently Mrs. Butler said, ‘no rest for the wicked,’ and she and Mr. Cook departed.
The other senior servants noticeably relaxed and began to gossip.
‘I do feel sorry sometimes for Edgar and Prudence, no time to digest their food properly before they have to make the preparations for serving dinner,’ Mrs. Wagstaff said.
‘Do the family always dine at eight?’ Mr. Taylor asked.
‘Always.’
‘As is right and proper,’ Miss Potter said. ‘I’ve known houses where they seem to dine at a different time every night of the week when at home. It gave the cook no end of trouble. My lady and her husband usually dine out so they thought they could do without a cook. I had to be very firm with them when I started. She actually expected me to do some of the cooking!’
Mrs. Wainwright and Mr. Taylor were suitably horrified. Jen tried to get a similar expression on her face.
‘I told them that if they didn’t want a full-time cook, they should either employ a cook who came in or a maid who could combine cooking with other duties with another maid in the house.’
‘Quite right,’ Mrs. Wainwright.
‘Once you allow them to take liberties, there’s no knowing where it will end,’ Miss Potter continued. She sniffed.
‘You should make allowances,’ Mrs. Wainwright said. ‘They are Americans, after all.’
‘Beg pardon, Mrs. Wainwright, but I have known some Americans who were just as civilised and well bread as our English ladies and gentlemen. I don’t think that they’re being Americans is the root of the problem,’ Mr. Taylor said.
‘You’re right,’ Miss Potter said. ‘Neither of them are from what you would call cultured backgrounds. He’s a self made man and the Lord knows where she sprang from. Just because you’re rich doesn’t make you a lady.’ She spoke with real venom and Jen was fascinated.
‘Why don’t you leave if you don’t like them?’ Jen asked.
‘Because he promised me a bonus if I stayed until they go back to the States. She had six maids in quick succession before I took the post.’
‘How long until they return?’ Mr. Taylor asked.
‘Three more months,’ Miss Potter replied with a sigh.
They continued to make conversation although it never again became as interesting as this until a brazen sound echoed through the room.
‘The gong, seven o’clock; time to go to our ladies and gentlemen,’ Mr. Taylor said.
They all rose and left.
When Jen returned to Etta’s room, she found her in the same position as she had been in, lying on the bed, listening to the radio although this time it was playing. ‘The Very Thought Of You.’ She too was reading ‘Peg’s Paper.’
Etta put down the magazine. ‘Where have you been?’ she complained.
‘Doing your rotten washing, Missy, and having my dinner, thank you very much.’
‘Oh.’
‘Come on, then, time to make you look pretty for your dinner. Hope you didn’t go too mad at tea time, they have a five course dinner here.’
‘Five courses,’ gasped Etta. ‘Wherever do they fit it all?’
‘Bet you’re glad you’re not wearing tights now. Just take it easy, don’t gobble everything on the plate and you’ll be fine. What dress do you want to wear?’
‘I don’t know, which one do you think?’
Jen took a rose pink chiffon one out and a lemon yellow one.
‘I can’t believe you bought a lemon yellow dress,’ she said. ‘Put the pink one on.’
Etta undressed and put the dress on while Jen hunted for the silk stockings. She handed them to Etta. ‘There you go.’
‘Can you help me put them on?’ asked Etta, ‘I’m afraid of snagging them.’
Jen sighed but helped her put them on. Then Etta sat on the stool and Jen brushed her hair.
‘I remember doing this for you when you were little.’ I didn’t think I’d wind up doing it again, she silently thought to herself.
Etta opened a large bag and spilled out cosmetics.
‘I don’t know how much to wear.’
‘Not too much. You don’t want them to think you are a brazen hussy. Talking of which, you can add Cynthia Potter to the list of people who don’t like Evangeline Spinoza.
‘Who’s Cynthia Potter?’
‘Her maid.’
In the end, Etta put some mascara on, Jen advising her not to spit into the block of black and fetching her a glass of water so she could use that instead and a tiny amount of blusher out of a round cardboard box and a dash of rose pink lipstick that matched her dress.
This time Etta made no objection to the pink satin shoes that Jen produced.
‘Pretty as a picture,’ Jen said fondly.
‘Are you going to wait up for me so I can tell you all about it?’
‘What time will you be back?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I’ll stay up until eleven but after that you’re on your own.’
This time, Etta was seated between Sir James and Algernon at the end of the table. Everyone was in his or her evening finery. Evangeline looked particularly stunning in her beautiful turquoise silk backless gown and Etta saw that all the men found it hard to take their eyes off her. Lady Mowbray’s diamond necklace was magnificent on her and sparkled under the light of the chandelier. She outshone all the other women there. Etta noticed that the man who looked the shortest amount of time at Evangeline was Algernon. Once he had taken his eyes off her, he watched Dorothy seated between Dennis and Cecil.
The only other woman who was equally eye catching was Miss Mittens who was resplendent in black velvet, and had an antique silk stole embroidered with purple dragons around her shoulders.
She looked at the vast array of cutlery and reminded herself to start from the out and work inwards. Dinner began with a soup, which Etta was very glad to see was consommé when a footman lifted off the soup tureen’s lid with a flourish and Mr. Cook served it. Next came the fish course, poached salmon with cucumber slices. The entrée was pork medallions a la Princesse. The pudding was trifle and the last course was a cheeseboard. The portions had been small and Etta had tried to only eat three quarters of each course but she was still completely stuffed by the end.
After dinner, they went to the drawing room for tea or coffee and petit fours. Etta waddled in and sank gratefully onto a sofa. It was only then that she saw that Miss Mittens was wearing purple velvet slippers on. Cecil sat next to her and saw the direction of her gaze.
‘What do you think? The Dragon Dame or the Purple Princess?’ was his typically snide remark.
‘I wonder what you called me with my mauve dress and shoes, this afternoon?’ asked Etta.
‘The Lavender Lady, of course, but only with the greatest respect.’
Etta strongly doubted that. ‘And what would you call Mrs. Spinoza?’ challenged Etta.
Cecil gazed at Evangeline Spinoza. ‘La Belle Dame Sans Merci.’
Some time later, someone suggested dancing. Etta wasn’t sure whom. It was taken up with acclaim and the carpet was rolled back. Dorothy disappeared and came back with an armful of 78’s. She and Stewart chose a record and put it onto the old fashioned gramophone with a trumpet horn. The music started up and couples rose up and began to dance. It was the younger people at first but the older ones soon joined, Evangeline coaxing her husband onto the floor, and Sir James and Lady Mowbray performing a stately dance.
Etta was glad that she had an excuse not to dance. She had never learnt to ballroom dance. Jen, who had been going to dance classes with Matt, had offered to teach her but
Etta had turned her down. ‘When am I ever going to need to ballroom dance?’ she had asked.
‘Do you dance?’ Cecil asked.
‘I’m not dancing,’ Etta told him.
‘Not used to all that food?’ was his shrewd question
Etta really hated him, she could tell he was implying that she wasn’t used to eating well. ‘No, I hurt my ankle while playing tennis,’ she lied.
It was worth it to see the smug smile disappear off his face for a second but it soon returned.
‘I always say tennis is bad for you.’
Etta just wished he would go away and presently, after the record finished and the dancing momentarily stopped, he went over to talk to his father who did not seemed pleased to see him. Algernon wandered over when the record was changed.
‘I say, care to dance?’
Etta smiled up at him. ‘Sorry but no, Algy. Fact is I can’t dance for toffee.’ Where had that come from? She was beginning to sound like them.
‘Really? Can’t you?’ There was no scorn or hint of derision in his voice. ‘Tell you what, if you like, I’ll teach you to dance. Shouldn’t take long with a bright young thing like you.’
If it had been any of the other men, Etta would have refused. Instead, she smiled gratefully at him and agreed.
‘Lets start tomorrow after breakfast,’ he suggested. Then he sat down and chatted to her about inconsequential things like what the weather would be like tomorrow. Etta saw Dorothy frowning over Stewart’s shoulder at the pair of them. Make up your mind, Etta thought; which one do you really want? It was very greedy to want both of them. And polyandry is illegal in this country as far as I know. Miss Mittens was watching too.
Then Algernon got up to ask Miss Mittens to dance and was soon twirling her round the room. Dennis came over and sat down heavily next to Etta.
‘Enjoying yourself?’ he wanted to know.
.’Yes.’
‘Good, good. I was thinking about you after my talk with my great aunt at lunch, you must have heard?’
‘I wasn’t really paying attention.’
‘Oh. Well, we were discussing money matters and it occurred to me, do you have a financial adviser, Hetty?’ He looked directly into her eyes, trying to look very honest and sincere, she was sure.
‘Sort of.’
‘In that case, don’t hesitate to ask me for any advice, any time, friend of the family, don’t you know.’ He smiled at her, showing all his teeth. Then he patted her hand, looking pleased with himself, got up and moved back to Marjorie who was looking cross.
Etta remembered her talk with Miss Mittens. Had Miss Mittens heard something? She couldn’t decide what Dennis reminded her of. Was it a wolf or a shark?
Etta left the party at around ten thirty. She was feeling tired and looking forward to bed.
Jen was sitting up on Etta’s bed, reading her magazine with the aid of the fringed green table lamp held by a bronze Art Deco exotic dancer.
‘You’re early,’ she commented.
’It’s been a long day.’ Etta sank wearily onto the bed. ‘Dennis Mowbray has just been telling me I need a financial adviser. As if I’d trust him. And I forgot to tell you earlier, Algy,’
‘Which one is Algy?’ Jen interrupted.
‘Algy. Algernon Wainwright. He’s a friend of Cecil’s or Dorothy. Anyway, this afternoon he told me to keep up the good work.’
‘That is strange. Why would he say that? Perhaps he’s not what he seems either.’
Etta yawned. ‘I’m too tired to think about it now. I just want to go to bed.’
‘Yes, you climb into your nice comfortable bed and I’ll trudge up the stairs to my narrow, hard bed in the attic.’
‘You know I’d swap with you, Mum, but what would they think if they saw me coming out of your room in the morning?’
‘You’ve got an answer for everything. Good night and sweet dreams.’
Etta was dreaming that she was in the front passenger seat in her mother’s Honda Jazz. Jen was driving at full speed towards a large tree.
‘Stop! Stop!’ yelled Etta.
Jen turned a terrified face towards her. ‘I can’t stop,’ she said. ‘We’re going to crash. We’re going to die.’
Etta screamed as the tree loomed up and woke up. She was covered in sweat, her negligee was clinging to her and she was trembling from head to foot.
Then she heard another scream, but this was not a dream. The scream came again from around the other side of the house. She got out of bed, grabbed her dressing gown and wrapping it around her, went to investigate.
Murder and Mittens Page 8
