by Emily Organ
“She squabbled with them as well, sir. The cause of the argument was usually a trivial matter. Miss Sophia was an opinionated young woman.”
“So you had no concerns about Miss Sophia or her family before her death?”
“No sir. Only one incident springs to mind.”
“And what was that, Mr Perrin?”
“Miss Sophia ran away from home.”
“Did she, indeed? When?”
“It was Monday the eighteenth of February.”
“You have a good memory for dates, Mr Perrin. How long was Miss Sophia absent from the family home?”
I heard footsteps on the tiled corridor, so I reluctantly knocked on the door to take the tea tray in. Neither the inspector nor Mr Perrin said anything further while I was in the room.
The footsteps I had heard in the corridor belonged to Mrs Glenville. I caught up with her at the foot of the stairs. She was dressed from head to toe in black crepe. The change in her face was quite alarming. Her eyes had a haunted look to them, and her cheeks were white and sunken.
“My lady,” I said. “Are you quite well?”
“No, I’m not at all well,” she replied in a distracted manner.
She didn’t look at me, but instead gazed up at the grandfather clock.
“It hasn’t stopped,” she said. “Perrin told me he’d stopped it.”
The time on the clock was incorrect, but I could hear it ticking.
“Mr Perrin is with the inspector at the moment, my lady. As soon as he’s finished I’ll ask him to stop the clock.”
“Would you?” Her eyes finally rested on me. “Thank you, Flo. I know I can rely on you.”
I forced a smile. “It’s no problem, my lady. Is there anything I can get you?”
I felt the need to guide her to a chair and sit her down. She looked so frail and unsteady on her feet.
“No. I thought I would go and sit in the conservatory for a while. I don’t like to leave her, but I feel the need to have a change of air.”
“That sounds like a sensible idea, my lady. I’m so sorry about Miss Sophia. In the short time I knew her, I could tell she was an intelligent young woman with an exciting future ahead of her. I am sure the inspector will do all he can to find the culprit. I still can’t believe this has happened.”
“I feel like I’ve died too, Flo.”
“I can understand that feeling,” I replied.
“Can you?” She looked at me, her eyes earnest. “Have you also lost a loved one?”
“Yes. My father died nine years ago.” I prayed that she wouldn’t ask me his name. I would have to invent one if she did.
She looked down at the black handkerchief she was twisting around her fingers. “I’m sorry to hear that. Was he a good man?”
“He was.” I felt unsure of my reply. What made a man good? Was a man who had carried out a massacre of natives in Colombia a good man?
“To lose a child is...” she trailed off. “I lost two as infants, of course, and that was unbearable. But this feels different. Sophia was a young woman. I had pictured a life for her, but now it’s gone. And needlessly!”
The knuckles of her hand turned white as she clenched the handkerchief in her fist. “Who did it, Flo? Who killed my daughter?”
“I wish I knew, my lady. The detective will find it out, I’m sure.”
“It was one of the guests yesterday evening, wasn’t it?”
“I suppose it must have been, but I cannot understand why.”
“And neither can I! The thought that anyone in our household should intend to poison another person here is unfathomable. It simply doesn’t make sense. These things don’t happen to families like ours. They happen to other people. That’s what I had always thought. Who could have brought cyanide into our home? And how?”
“The detective will find this all out, my lady. I have every confidence in him.”
The truth was, I had no confidence in Inspector Trotter at all, but I had no wish to tell this to Mrs Glenville.
“It would be remiss of me to pretend that Sophia and I had the perfect relationship,” she continued. “She was strong-willed, as you have witnessed! And although her strength of character tried my patience more often than I care to remember, I felt proud that she was becoming an outspoken woman. It is something which is becoming increasingly common among women of the next generation, isn’t it? In my day, we were not expected to voice our thoughts or opinions in the company of men. But times are changing, and I suppose it is for the best. The world is becoming an increasingly challenging place, and Sophia was a girl of her generation. She was better educated than I ever was, and encouraged to develop her own character. I wish now that I had been more lenient with her. Although she was a difficult child, I admired her headstrong qualities. I often wonder if that’s what got her into trouble.”
“No, that can’t be possible.”
“No, I suppose not.”
Mrs Glenville gave me a sad smile.
“I know she liked you, Flo. And you’ve helped Mrs Craughton so well, and all the staff speak highly of you. I can tell you’re a hard worker. Thank you for everything you’re doing. Our household needs people like you.”
I thanked Mrs Glenville in return and she walked on towards the conservatory. As I watched her, I felt overwhelmed with guilt. I was lying to Mrs Glenville about who I was. And even in these desperate hours, she had praised and thanked me. The situation felt unbearable.
The messenger boy called round for my article at the end of the afternoon.
“What does he want?” asked Mrs Craughton.
“My grandfather sent him,” I replied. It was a reply which I immediately regretted. I knew that I should have thought up a better story.
“Your grandfather?”
“Yes, he likes to correspond by message. He doesn’t trust the postal system.”
“That’s understandable,” she replied. “They’re terribly good at losing letters. Is it your grandfather who sends you the telegrams?”
“No.”
“I heard that you received a telegram this morning.”
“Oh yes, it was him that time.”
My mouth felt dry. I hated being interrogated in this manner.
Mrs Craughton frowned, but I felt relieved when she didn’t ask me to elaborate further.
“Well, I suppose your grandfather has heard about all this dreadful business. It will be in the papers tomorrow, won’t it? We’ve had reporters calling at the door and it’s most distressing for everyone. But news reporters don’t give a thought to that, do they?”
“Most of them likely do. It’s probably only a few who don’t care whom they upset.”
“Well, it’s reprehensible behaviour. When someone dies, it should remain a private matter.”
I said nothing further. My head ached from trying to keep up the pretence of being a maid. Mr Sherman was making matters trickier by sending telegrams and messengers.
It was high time that I left the house. It would be difficult saying goodbye to Maisie, and Mr and Mrs Glenville, but I couldn’t bear to stay in this place for another day.
When I returned to my room that evening, I felt sure someone had been in there again. The trunk and the key on top of the wardrobe remained as I had left them, but the papers on my dressing table had been disturbed again.
I shivered. I needed to leave first thing the following morning. Without further ado, I packed all my belongings into my trunk, ready for my departure. My heart sank when I saw Mr Glenville’s notebook in the trunk. I had forgotten all about it during the day and would need to return it before I left. But when could I do it? I knew that he occupied his study most evenings.
I looked out of my window. It was dark, but much of the fog had cleared away. A movement in the street below caught my eye. As I watched more closely, I could discern the figure of a man. He was tall and slim, and appeared to be looking up at the house. I felt sure there was something familiar about him, but I couldn’t
think why. I held my breath and stood as still as a statue as I watched him. He must have remained standing there for another minute or so before turning and walking away.
Puzzled, I returned to my bed and decided to wait until later in the night, when I could be certain that Mrs Craughton had retired. Then I would creep down to the study and replace Mr Glenville’s book.
While I waited for the early morning, I opened a letter which I hadn’t found the time to read. It had arrived for Florence Parker the previous day.
Dear Penny
Or should that be Flo? I hope you are enjoying your undercover assignment. I have told Mother about it, and she is most interested! I am looking forward to hearing about it when you return to your proper work again. How much longer do you think you will be there?
I very much enjoyed our recent walk, despite the inclement weather! I should like to repeat the experience (albeit on a warmer day, although that cannot be guaranteed, of course!), and I hope you would be open to another outing.
The reading room is not quite the same without you. In quieter moments, I have been perusing the collection of books we hold on the United States of Colombia, and I believe I am now furnished with a most thorough knowledge of the country in which your father travelled. I am looking forward to sharing my findings with you.
Please do reply at your earliest convenience, and I hope you will agree to another meeting.
I remain
Your most truly
Mr Francis Edwards
Mr Edwards seemed to occupy a completely different world from me. Had it really been just eight days since I had met him in Hyde Park?
Although he had written the letter before Sophia’s death, its convivial tone felt jarring. It wasn’t Mr Edwards’ fault, but the letter was ill-timed. There was nothing about the man which especially irritated or offended me, but likewise there was nothing about him which excited me either. At solitary times such as this, it was James to whom my thoughts turned, and not Mr Edwards.
Chapter 24
I woke to a bright light at my window. I had slept deeply, and had no idea of the time. There had been no knock at my door from Maisie that morning.
I had fallen asleep on my bed wearing the black uniform I had worn the day before. I splashed the water which sat in my washbasin onto my face and hurried down the servants’ staircase. I was supposed to have remained awake and returned Mr Glenville’s book. I would have to find a way somehow to do it before I left the house.
Mrs Craughton was scolding Maisie in the kitchen for waking up late. The poor girl was in tears, and she looked exhausted. Mrs Craughton turned her attention to me and berated me for the same misdemeanour. I apologised and felt my jaw clench as her finger wagged at the pair of us.
“There’s no time for breakfast for either of you,” she fumed. “Flo, take some coffee to the inspectors in the library.”
“There’s more than one now?” I asked.
“Yes. Another turned up this morning with Inspector Trotter.”
“Come in!” said Inspector Trotter as I knocked on the library door. I entered with the tray of coffee.
Inspector Trotter sat at the table with his piles of paper, and another man was warming his back by the fireplace. Maisie and I had failed to light it that morning, so I guessed Mrs Craughton must have done it instead.
I placed the coffee tray on the table and was about to acknowledge the second inspector when he spoke.
“Good morning, Penny.”
I jumped.
James!
He gave me a warm grin and I felt a smile break out across my face. Then I realised what he had done.
He had called me Penny. He had forgotten that I was supposed to be a maid.
I quickly assumed a sombre face. “My name is Florence Parker, Inspector,” I said.
“You may relax, Penny. I’ve explained everything to Inspector Trotter.”
“Really? Is that wise?” I looked nervously at Inspector Trotter to gauge his reaction, but he merely puffed away on his pipe. “I’m sorry, Inspector. I didn’t want to admit who I was yesterday for fear of someone finding out.”
He removed the pipe from his mouth. “That’s quite all right, Miss Green. It seems the situation in this household is more complicated than I first thought.”
“I’d like to speak to Miss Green in private for a few minutes, Inspector Trotter,” said James. “Would that be possible?”
“I suppose so, but only for a few minutes. Glenville’s growing increasingly irate at the lack of progress. I’ve a lot of work to do.”
“Indeed, and we can assist you with that afterwards.”
As soon as Inspector Trotter had left the room, James took a few steps closer to me. His suit was a deep blue with a subtle check, and he was wearing a star-shaped tiepin. We held each other’s gaze, and I felt overwhelmed with relief.
“I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you here!” I said. “It’s been miserable. Thoroughly miserable!”
Tears spilled down my cheeks, and James handed me his handkerchief.
“No one could have had any idea that this would happen,” he said, resting his hand on my shoulder as I dried my tears.
The handkerchief smelt of his familiar eau-de-cologne, and it felt comforting.
“It’s good to see you again, Penny,” he said fondly. Then he glanced at my black uniform. “It’s a shame you have to be dressed as a maid. And a maid in mourning at that! You’ve coped admirably.”
“I wouldn’t say that. And you’ll need to speak a little more softly. People can hear through the door, you know.”
“Is that so? Have you been listening in?” He grinned.
“A little. I have to, seeing as I’m working undercover, don’t I?”
“Indeed. Thank you for everything you’ve done so far, Penny. How are you? You look rather tired.”
“I am. I haven’t slept well here until last night, when I think it all caught up with me. I overslept this morning.”
He gestured toward a chair and we both sat down.
“I told Trotter that I’m here to help him,” said James.
“Does he want your help?”
“No. He wants the case all to himself, but I felt duty-bound to inform him of my existing investigations into Mr Glenville’s business dealings. I don’t think the chap quite has the measure of this case yet, so he has reluctantly agreed to accept my help.”
“That’s good news, James. Perhaps I can also be of help. I can’t wait to get out of here and resume my normal work. I shan’t be in a hurry to work undercover again.”
James pursed his lips, as if I wouldn’t like what he was about to say.
“I think that you would be of great help to the investigation if you were to remain here for the time being, Penny.”
“No!” I felt my headache begin to return. “I can’t! I can’t bear it here. A girl has just died in this house, and it’s awful. Truly awful. Besides, they’re going to find out who I am.”
“They haven’t found out yet, and you’ve managed to last a week here! Not bad for someone who has never worked as a maid before. Would you consider staying here a week longer?”
My heart sank. “Another week?”
“You’ve been extremely helpful so far. Trotter tells me you found the empty packet of cyanide, and that you also encountered Miss Sophia as she returned from her secret rendezvous.”
“But that’s all. I don’t see what else I can do to help.”
“You’re privy to the comings and goings in this house. You will see and hear far more than Trotter and I could ever manage ourselves. We can interview everyone several times over, but you have the opportunity to find out who they really are. This is a crucial time for us in finding clues as to what happened. The more time that passes after the event, the harder it is to spot something important.”
“I think you’re overstating my abilities, James.”
“Penny, I know you. And I trust you. Please can you spend an
other week here?”
“It’s not what I want. I’m a news reporter. I want to be reporting on the stories, not actually living them.”
He sat back in his chair. “That’s fine. I understand. I don’t want to force the issue if you’re not comfortable with it. Trotter needs all the help he can get in building his case against Glenville.”
“He thinks Mr Glenville did it?”
“That’s his theory so far.”
“But that’s ridiculous! Why would Mr Glenville harm his own daughter?”
“I have no idea, but he’s a deeply unpleasant man.”
“Actually, I don’t believe he is,” I retorted. “He may have made himself unpopular with people in the world of business, but as a person he’s not unpleasant at all. He’s quite the opposite. I like him.”
James gave me an incredulous look.
“What about the cyanide packet on Viscount Wyndham’s chair?” I asked. “Perhaps he did it.”
James was about to reply when Inspector Trotter re-entered the room.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but may I get on with my work now, Blakely?”
“Of course.”
James and I rose to our feet.
“Thank you, Penny,” said James rather formally. “Please let me know if you change your mind.”
Chapter 25
Was I letting James down? I pondered this as I brushed the carpet on the stairs. Surely he was expecting too much from me. I felt sorry that I had ever allowed myself to be talked into this undercover job.
I had no interest in helping with the case, given that Trotter seemed to have decided that Mr Glenville was to blame. What was the basis for his accusation? Did he know the man at all? Even James had no idea what the factory owner was really like.
I reached for the ring that still hung around my neck. I recalled the moment James had given it to me in the Museum Tavern and longed to be there with him again. We’d had small disagreements in the past, but at this moment I disagreed with him more than ever before. Would it be possible to work with him again?
