“Is there a need for extra staff?”
“To be honest, I thought we had enough, but I’m in no position to question the family’s decision.”
“What shall I do?”
“You can help me.”
I followed Millie along a servant passage that ended at a crypt-like flight of steps that descended steeply downward and finished at a heavyset door. On entering the dimly-lit chamber, I likened the experience to walking into the bowels of hell. The main heat was coming from a furnace that in turn heated a large hot-water boiler, and working hard at their stations were maids with glistening faces. One soaped up dirty laundry over a washboard; another stirred soapy linens in hot tubs using a boat-like paddle. She then passed the fabric into a tub for the maid operating a hand-turned wringer. Farther along the line, a maid hoisted the laundry up high on heavy wooden drying frames. The conclusion of the laundry line was the neatly ironed and folded items all stacked into type.
My work commenced. We trudged wearily up the spiral servant’s stairs, our arms widely embraced baskets, to the floor where the family slept.
“We mustn’t speak when we are here. If at any time the family or their friends appear, we must do this.” Millie made her curtsy look easy as she bent her knees and bowed her head while managing a heavy basket on a precarious step. “You must avoid eye contact at all time, unless you are being addressed.” Millie hurried ahead of me.
I whispered, “Yes, sir, yes, sir, three bags full, sir.”
Across the threshold and into the large passage of the bedchamber level I stepped. I was pleasantly surprised to feel the springy sensation of the thick rugged floor underneath my shoes. Along the walls were many paintings of country life. If I had had my way, I would have spent the entire time studying them. It was a case of resisting the urge of staring at these beautiful artworks for the sake of keeping up with Millie, who by now, having had made much headway, stopped and unlocked a door halfway along.
Millie turned to me, and whispered, “For obvious reasons, we leave this open while working in here.”
I nodded, thinking it was to let everyone know we were working.
The linen cupboard was a claustrophobic’s nightmare. The only lighting came from the passage. Most of the shelves were depleted of bedding and towels because the rooms had been serviced to accommodate the many guests. Our job was to replenish the linen cupboard, the easy part; the worst, having to endure the exhaustive upward climb with heavy baskets.
To while away the tedium, and only once we trudged down the servant stairs, Milly and I chattered away. The interesting conversation came on our third descent.
Millie spoke. “My father’s name is Jay-Jay. He is the head gamekeeper here.”
“Has he always worked here?
“He inherited his job from his father, who in turn had taken over from his father also. Our family has always had a good relationship with their employers, especially since my father became a hero, saving one of them.”
“Whom…?”
Millie stopped in her tracks to turn to face me in the glimmering light of a candle sconce. “Did you not hear about the late Lady Harriet, when she was found outside in the snow one night?”
Despite it being well known that Albert’s mother had been found wearing her nightwear by a worker, I shook my head.
“During a blizzard, she slept walked outside and strained her ankle. It was my father who found her nearly frozen to death; it was he who carried her into the house.”
“It’s a wonder she didn’t die…” I nearly said “sooner.”
“She did not fully recover.”
“Did she lose it up top?” I tapped my head impulsively. My unthinkable rudeness, to my relief, had not upset the maid.
“Well, not in the sense that her mental faculties were retarded; one could still have a conversation with her. It was like she had become an entirely different person. She had become extremely witty, as well as very strong-willed, and to the physician’s surprise, he said she appeared to be lucid of mind., but Maria, she would say the most oddest of things.” Millie walked down the stairs. “Lady Davenport might not have been her old self anymore, but she was more delightful to be around—”
“Jackson!” A female’s voice hollered down from somewhere up high.
“Yes, my lady?” called up Millie. The maid’s face contorted in fear.
“Come up this minute!”
The candle flickered in Millie’s fear-stretched eyes. “Yes, my lady.” Placing the empty laundry basket on top of mine, she whispered, “Carry on with the laundry. I shall see you”—she looked up at the flight of stairs as if it were a dragon—“when I see you.”
I continued with my duty of carrying the linen upstairs. My thoughts were with poor Millie. Was she all right? Did the mistress just want her to complete some errands, or was the maid in serious trouble for chatting away to another about deeply personal matters involving the family? If the scenario was the latter, I prayed the good Lord would give Millie strength against the overbearing woman.
Being able to work alone gave me the chance to walk slowly along the accommodation wing. With my arms weighed down with the final load of linen, I dawdled deliberately to absorb the oil scenes of country life. I enjoyed the depths of color and detail in the manmade structures and the realism of the hills and trees and water features. Who would have thought a gray, gloomy sky could be made to look so beautiful, captured in a windswept landscape. I vowed I would paint like that one day, once I had saved up enough money to do so.
The last of the sheets were stacked in their neat piles on the remaining shelves. I looked about with satisfaction. What drew my attention was a sound of a door opening somewhere down the passage. Could it be Millie? I pushed the door enough not to click it shut, so to block any of the visitors from seeing me, especially Davenport’s friends. In the meantime, I heard male voices getting louder as the individuals approached the linen cupboard. I had my ear to the door and strained for the familiar man’s voice, but it was not Davenport’s, although it was well-educated in its manner.
In between what the man discussed, something about winning money in a card game, his male listener interjected with “oh my,” “I see,” and “so I believe.” Just as the seemingly one-sided conversation leveled with my door, as I strained for a peek at the speakers between the slight gap of light between door and frame, it was what the man said that had my pulse racing.
“So, what’s next with this money-making scheme of yours?”
“It has to do with the Dorchesters.”
There was laughter. “You won’t be the only one wanting her hand. I’ve seen Davvy eyeing her up. I’ll even put in a wager that he’ll be marrying her within the year.”
“Goodness gracious, I’m not interested in her for her daddy’s money’s sake. I shall be getting money through other means, even if it is risqué, rather than being bound in marriage to something as plain-looking as that!”
“Do tell me your proposal.”
“I like to keep my plans to myself.”
I hoped the men would move on so I could see their faces. Unfortunately, disappointment struck me when a door directly opposite opened and then shut, followed by quiet.
I bet one of them was the cattle rustler.
Disgust resonated through me at the thought that a visitor enjoyed Davenport’s hospitality after having stolen from him. I stepped angrily back from the door only to feel a tug at my feet. One of my bootlaces had come away. To balance myself, in case I fell over to tend to my shoe, I absentmindedly reached out and pressed against the door. What had been a narrow slit of light had disappeared with a bang; the room had plunged into darkness.
The only sounds were that of my panicked breaths and my fingertips scraping about for a door handle. There was none. Digging my fingers in between the tight recess of the door and frame, I hoped to pry it apart, but it was all in futility. There had been no mistaking the prominent clicking sound the latch had made whe
n it had shut.
Millie’s warning came back to haunt me. “For obvious reasons, we leave this open.”
You stupid twit! You’ve locked yourself in!
What does one do in a situation as not to breach etiquette by talking when one is not to? Screaming and banging on the door was not an option. Not on my first day as a staff member, even if I wasn’t even sure if my employment was authentic or not. I was reminded of the unseen woman who bellowed down at Millie. Was that Lady Charlotte Davenport, the one who controlled the comings and the goings of personnel? If so, I was positively going to be dismissed, unless someone came to my rescue before I resorted to screaming.
“Just calm down, take a deep breath. Millie will be here soon.”
The dark surroundings triggered a memory of the most frightening experience in my life—being trapped in a small space, trying to break out of the wardrobe, the smell of smoke curling up into my nostrils. The overwhelming fear of the past was present in me now as a cold sweat on my brow. I hastily climbed down onto all fours and took a sniff at the base of the door; at least I was reassured I would not run out of air.
Helplessly, I sat on the hard floor with my back resting against the frame of the shelves. Longing for soft footsteps, to see light again, and congenial voice say, “Oh, there you are. I thought you had gone home,” was all I hoped for. What if Millie assumed I had left to go home? Everyone would be none the wiser that I was still in there, leaving me with only one other option, which was a cringe-worthy one.
More time lagged by. I believed there would be no savior in the form of Millie when suddenly I was alerted to the sound of something shutting somewhere farther along. I crawled across to the door and pressed my ear against it. I could sense the vibration of movement coming toward the cupboard. I gave no thought in scrambling to my feet and launching an attack with my fists on the hard surface that divided me from my potential savior.
The distinct sound of many keys being jingled about came from the passage. Despite the relief of knowing I was going to be set free, I was sick with the thought that the person was the god-like female who had wanted to see Millie earlier. When the door yielded, I squinted painfully due to the brilliance of light flooding the little room. Once my eyes adjusted, I saw with relief an astonished Albert Davenport.
“What in the world!” he cried.
I did not desire to give him an explanation as I hurried out of the room and whispered excitedly, an effective diversion from explaining away my stupidity, “I have something urgent to tell you, though I can’t tell you it here.”
“Can’t this wait? I have to go downstairs?”
I grabbed both his arms and shook him. “No, it can’t wait.”
Davenport furrowed his brow. “Well, if it is so urgent, follow me.” Looking covertly over his shoulder, I was comforted that he was intermittently placing his hand between my shoulder blades, ushering me like a secret colleague to a room near the far end, which turned out to be an empty sitting room. As soon as he shut the door behind us, he looked into my eyes, and said, “This had better be good, miss.”
“You won’t believe it when I tell you.” I gasped for air, overwhelmed at what I was about to tell him.
“Try me, you have my undivided attention”—he crossed his arms, tapping the finger of one hand on his forearm—“for one minute.”
“It’s about the cattle rustlers.” I had my hands together, ready to jump up and down like a child. “One of them is staying under your roof.”
Davenport’s face clouded over. “What!” His arms unfolded abruptly.
“Yes, he is staying here!”
“Wait a minute, what makes you think that?” Davenport’s voice was challenging.
“When I was in the linen closet, I overheard a man talking to another. He said he was talking about making money through the Dorchesters.”
“Was he talking about cattle?”
“He didn’t say cattle, he didn’t have to. He was talking about making money even if it was risky or some word to that effect?”
“Did you see who it was? And even then, how are you able to prove to me that this man is the thief?” He looked hard at me. “After all, you could be imagining it, or lying, a bad tendency of yours!”
I let out a frustrated breath. “The door was partially open at the time. I didn’t catch a glimpse of them. The men went into the room opposite the linen cupboard.”
“That is of no help!”
“You have to trust me!” I wanted to shake him again. “I have a feeling, a sense, that the man has something to do with it.”
“You might be entirely wrong. You could have eavesdropped on an innocently straightforward conversation!”
“Or it might have been a crooked one,” I replied with a smile.
Davenport went into thoughtful silence while looking beyond me. As if I wasn’t in the room, he muttered, “No, it couldn’t be. There is no way that he would betray me.” Davenport stared hard into my eyes again. “No, you are clearly mistaken, Miss Smithers.”
“You did say that you could never trust those of your kind.”
“What?” he snapped.
“You said that yesterday on the cart, remember? Or did the old-man look extend to your state of mind as well?”
“Ha-ha, very funny!” he said, not losing the frown.
“You told me you could never trust your friends with your deepest, darkest secrets. There must have been a reason for you saying that.”
Davenport turned from me and walked slowly to the window with his hands behind his back. He stared outside for a time before turning to face me. “Yes, I did say that.” He let a minute lapse to look out at the scenery again. “I can now see the plausibility in the culprit being an insider. There is the ball tomorrow night; that is the night those men at the inn will orchestrate their crime. What better time than while the landowners are busily entertaining. If he is one of my guests, it will be extremely hard to prove who he is, since he’ll no doubt be attending the ball as well. In that case, I shall find out who it is when I catch his dog-bodies at work.”
“How will you go about doing that?” I prodded.
“Never you mind how. I have my way of finding out things.”
“I can help you tomorrow night, to catch them out rustling.”
Davenport did one of his accustomed glares at me. “No, you have done more than enough. This is something only I can do. It is not a safe undertaking for a young lady to be out and about at night, let alone trying to apprehend people who most certainly are dangerous.”
“You could get hurt. What if they overcome you, kill you even?”
“And what are you proposing to do about it, Miss Smithers? Throw rocks at them?” I could not help giggle, which faded the frown from Davenport’s face. He walked toward me until he looked intently into my face. “I shall endeavor to expose these criminals without your help. I can’t run the risk of you getting harmed. Do you understand?”
I felt indignant. I looked fiercely into the eyes softly looking into mine. His reason was only because I was a woman—a useless woman—why he thought I wasn’t worthy to be of his assistance.
I’ll show you! Despite the rebellious thought, I nodded.
“Good. Now I have urgent matters to attend to downstairs.” Davenport ushered me out and along the passage, using his hand on the small of my back, which made me tingle. “Seeing you did a great job on your first day, you may take leave early.”
“What actually am I supposed to be doing? Everyone will be asking questions.”
“I shall find something suitable. In the meantime, just say that you are a go-between; that should silence everyone.”
“Why pick me? Why not someone else?”
“For a young woman, you certainly ask relentless questions.” He neared the landing of the main stairwell, which as a servant I was forbidden to use. “You are free to go, Miss Smithers. Be here at eight o’clock tomorrow morning, and don’t sleep in again.” Davenport glan
ced over his shoulder with a smirk and a wink. “Or you’ll have me to contend with again.”
Chapter Nine
“Have you been dismissed already?”
“Oh ye of little faith,” I answered, flopping myself into a seat. “I was let off early by his lordship for being a good little girl.”
“My word, our Maria is a good girl for a change?” Aunt Pam chuckled as she flattened out some pastry with a rolling pin. “So, what did you think of the work?”
“Lots of laundry stacking, nothing exciting.” I tugged off my work boots and rubbed the sweat-soaked stocking at the ball of one foot, determined to avoid the discussion topic.
“Oh, Maria, your feet stink! Go wash them outside at once.”
On her request, I went outside. I sat on the step of the side porch and washed my feet in a pan of cool water. The walk back from the manor had been one of angry frustration. I had ducked behind trees to avoid the horse riders and carriages that had turned into the gates of Evercrest.
“You would have got a good look around then,” said Aunt Pam, standing over me in the doorway.
“Not really, only enough to know that one chamber is the size of our whole cottage,” I said drily.
“Never envy what others have, my dear. You know the saying in the bible about covertness. It means we ought to be happy with what little we’ve got. Those with more have more to worry about.”
“I don’t think he has to worry about a thing. He has his staff to do all his worrying for him, and one lady boss to keep them worrying about her. Even the butler is in fear for his life over the lady who presides over all.”
Aunt Pam sat beside me, always a sign she had a lot to say.
“Before she was married to Mister Davenport, she was known as Charlotte Parker. She had always been part of the family. Apparently, she was responsible for looking after Lord Davenport’s uncle in Cornwall. Once the old fella died, she came up here and began taking care of the old dowager Lady Davenport. Since she died, well, that woman got her mitts on your employer’s uncle, the man the villager’s call the ‘lady killer.’”
The Heir to Evercrest Hall Page 11
