Murder at Merisham Lodge: Miss Hart and Miss Hunter Investigate: Book 1 (14 page)

We sat there for another couple of hours, buying more tea and cakes, getting the whole story out of poor, silly Gladys. How she’d been out the evening Lady Alice died, how she’d gone for a walk with Fred, who used to deliver the vegetables –
you remember him, Verity, don’t you?
– and how she’d got back late, so late that if Mrs Anstells had caught her coming in she would have been dismissed and no mistake.  The kitchen door had already been locked for the night. How Gladys had had to come in the front door, lifting the latch, creeping through the darkened hallway like a mouse, trying to get to the servants’ stairs before being caught. And she’d looked up at a dark shape on the stairs, right at the top, bending over the stairs with a lamp in his hand, doing something to the stair rod on the top stair.

“You’re sure it was Lord C?” Verity asked.

Gladys nodded. “It was him. I could see his face plain as day in the lamplight.”

That night, Lady Alice had fallen down the stairs and broken her neck. Gladys had given her notice the next day. I didn’t have to ask her why or ask her why she hadn’t said anything to anyone. Who would have believed the tweeny – the lowest ranking of the servants – over Lord Arthur Saint-John Cartwright? Let alone how Gladys would have had to explain
why
she was coming in so late. That alone would have been enough for her dismissal without a reference.

Of course, after all the story came out, we had to spend another hour calming Gladys down and reassuring her that she wouldn’t get into trouble for telling us. Verity spoke very heartily of what a good man the inspector was and how Gladys would be in his good books if she just told him what she’d told us and how everyone would be so pleased and so grateful to her for helping catch a ruthless killer. Why, Gladys would practically be the heroine of the day! It wouldn’t surprise Verity to hear that she might even get a medal or a commendation for being so brave.

I thought this was laying it on a bit thick but I could see that Gladys was drinking it in. I felt a qualm of conscience that Verity didn’t mention anything about having to give evidence, or having to go to court, or anything like that. But perhaps she was right to do that. This was serious, after all, and if Gladys was scared off, nothing would happen.

Eventually we parted, having assured Gladys that we would be in touch and would put a good word in for her with the inspector and that no, she wouldn’t get into trouble for telling him, or us, or indeed anyone, and in fact, it was the safest and wisest thing to do. Verity went so far as to escort Gladys back to the house where she worked and saw her safely inside. Then she turned and came back up the steps to where I was waiting in the street.

She said nothing to me but took my arm.

“Well,” I began, but Verity shook her head.

“Let’s talk later,” she said. “It’s probably not a good idea to discuss this out in public.”

“Oh, yes.” I felt silly that this hadn’t occurred to me. I took her silence as a cue and we walked back to the Cartwright townhouse in utter quiet, our minds awhirl.

Chapter Nineteen

Of course, I should have known we wouldn’t have had a chance to discuss it further that night. Verity had to wait up for Dorothy, in Dorothy’s room, and I just couldn’t see how I could make my way up there without rousing the curiosity and, more importantly, the disapproval of Mrs Cookson, the housekeeper. Of course, Verity and I weren’t sharing a room, so we didn’t even have a chance to talk when she finally came to bed. Goodness knows what time that actually was. All I knew was that Verity didn’t appear at breakfast, and after breakfast it was time for me to catch the train back to Merisham again.

I took the bus to Kings Cross with a heavy heart. I’d so much wanted to discuss what Gladys had told us with Verity, and now she wouldn’t be back to Merisham for another three days. I checked I had my return ticket, adjusted my gloves and picked up my overnight bag, a cast-off of Dorothy’s that Verity has passed onto me. The return journey wasn’t nearly as much fun as the ride down. For one thing, I was alone – as alone as you can be in a crowded third class carriage – and for another, I was heading back to go straight back into work. At least, I consoled myself, there would only be Lord Cartwright, Duncan and Rosalind to cook for. I couldn’t imagine they would be up to entertaining, not under the circumstances.

As the train steamed its way northwards, I folded my gloved hands in my lap and tried to think. What to do now? Surely the first thing was to go and see Inspector Marks and tell him what Gladys had told us? Again, I wished fervently that Verity and I could have discussed it before parting. I knew that she was planning to go to Somerset House to look up the will of Lady Alice Cartwright. Was it possible, I wondered, for me to be able to telephone her? I didn’t think I could bear to wait three days before we could speak again, not at such a crucial point in the proceedings.

Accordingly, when I stepped off the train at Merisham, I walked briskly to the nearest telephone box. Anxiously, I counted up my money and was thankful to find I had just enough for a call. I put in the coppers, waited for the operator and gave the number of the Cartwrights’ London house. Then I waited, telephone receiver slipping in my damp hands, praying that Verity was at home and able to come to the telephone.

The footman, James, answered and I asked to speak to Lady Dorothy’s maid. Without giving my name, I tried to sound like another lady’s maid, as if I was telephoning about something quite respectable, arranging a visit to the London Hydro, for example, or a fashion parade.

James was no Mr Fenwick. He went off obediently to fetch Verity and, miracle of miracles, a few minutes later I heard her familiar voice on the end of the phone.

“V, it’s me, Joan. I can’t talk for long, the pips will go any moment.”

“Oh
hello
, there, Constance. How nice to hear from you. Her ladyship
will
be pleased.”

For a moment I thought she’d taken leave of her senses and then realised she was saying that for the benefit of anyone who might be listening at her end.

“V, I’m going to go and see Inspector Marks. I’ll tell him what Gladys told us. Is that right? Should I do that?”

“That would be delightful,” said Verity’s voice. “Yes, I do think that’s a jolly good idea. I’ll be sure to let her ladyship know.”

The pips began to sound in my ear. “Don’t forget about Somerset House,” was all I managed to hiss before we were cut off.

I replaced the dead receiver with a mingled sense of relief and annoyance. At least I knew that Verity approved of my next course of action. As I pushed open the heavy door of the telephone booth, it occurred to me to wonder just how pleased Inspector Marks would be at our amateurish attempts at investigation. Would he be cross that we’d been forward enough to even think of approaching a witness? Or, perhaps worse, would he laugh?

I could see the blue lamp of the police station across the road but at that moment, I remained on the other side, suddenly feeling as if going there was a very bad idea. What if Verity and I were wrong? What if Gladys was lying? What if she
were
telling the truth but that despite our urgings, she refused to talk to the police or even see them? Was I really and truly getting ideas above my station? What did I think Verity and I could do that the police couldn’t?

I think I might have stayed there all afternoon, oblivious to the time ticking away, if not for a sharp shower of rain that came along. The cold spatter of drops against my face and hat made me grit my teeth and finally make up my mind. I checked that the road was clear and ran across the rutted surface to the police station entrance.

Entering the building, I was reminded of the time Verity and I had gone to a similar sized station during the events at Asharton Manor. As I crossed the threshold, I could feel my earlier jitters vanish. When Verity and I had first entered a police station we’d both been nervous, expecting to see hardened criminals being wrestled to the floor. Of course, it hadn’t been anything like that. Just as then, the station here today was quiet, just one person by the front desk, apparently reporting a missing dog.

I waited until the desk was clear and then stepped up, beginning to feel nervous again. I asked for Inspector Marks.

To my surprise, he was actually at the station and available to see me. He strode into the reception area and greeted me pleasantly, although I could just ascertain a slight flicker of apprehension visible behind his professional smile.

“Miss Hart. What can I do for you?”

I asked if we could speak privately. He ushered me through to a bare little room beyond the reception area, furnished only with a table and two chairs. There was a good fire in the grate though, and I loosened the neck of my coat.

“Miss Hart?”

Now I had come to the sticking point, I felt myself wanting to prevaricate, even to say that it was nothing – nothing important. But I knew that wasn’t the case.

“Inspector, Verity – Miss Hunter – and I have recently been to London. I’ve just returned from there. While we were there, we met with someone who I believe could be an important witness.”

The inspector’s face remained steady but his neatly trimmed beard quivered. “Indeed, Miss Hart?”

I faced him fully then, folding my hands on the table in front of me. Slowly and carefully, I told him exactly what we had done: surmised a motive in the death of Lady Alice Cartwright, which recalled to Verity the fact that there may have been a witness to the crime and the fact that we had managed to make contact with this witness and, indeed, managed to persuade her that it was her duty to talk to the police.

As I spoke, I could see the inspector’s dark eyes watching me keenly. It was a new experience for me, to have someone of influence hanging on my every word. I was almost alarmed to find how much I enjoyed it.

When I finished speaking, the inspector sat silently for a moment. Then he leant forward. “What is this girl’s full name?” he rapped out.

Silently, I passed him the card upon which Verity had written down Gladys’ particulars. He took it, scanned it quickly, and put it aside. For a moment, he seemed to be struggling to find the right words.

“That’s all I had to say, sir,” I said, when the silence stretched out for an uncomfortably long time.

The inspector rasped a hand through his beard, staring at me. “May I hear this theory of yours, Miss Hart?”

I swallowed. “As to who I believe the murderer is, sir?”

“Correct.”

I refolded my hands, which had suddenly started trembling. Then I told him.

“I see.” He stared at me in a way I couldn’t interpret. Then, in a move that made me jump, he sprang to his feet. “Thank you, Miss Hart. You can be sure we’ll follow up the information you’ve given us.”

I was clearly being dismissed. Scarlet-cheeked, I felt very foolish. I got up, fumbling for my bag. I hadn’t even taken off my gloves.

He ushered me to the door and opened it for me. I felt a horrid tumult of emotions: guilt, shame, anxiety, a keen sense of my own ridiculousness. Who did I think I was, making such accusations? I almost stumbled in my haste to leave the room.

I was almost at the door of the station, holding back tears, when I heard the inspector call my name. I gulped and turned.

Quickly he crossed the tiled floor of the station until he was close to me. Then he leant forward and gently took hold of my elbow. I felt my face grow hot again.

“Miss Hart,” he said, in a completely different tone to the one he’d just used to say goodbye. “May I just say one thing?”

I looked up at him, uncomprehending. Inspector Marks squeezed my arm.

“Please be careful,” he said. “Please, for the love of God, don’t tell anyone what you’ve just told me. Promise me.”

“I – I will—” I stuttered.

“
Please
. I don’t want the next body we find to be yours.”

I stared at him, wide-eyed. Then, because at that moment I was incapable of speech, I nodded and disengaged myself before letting myself out of the door of the police station.

Chapter Twenty

It seemed an age until Verity and Dorothy returned from London, although it was really only two days later. It was late afternoon when they arrived, and I was busy in the kitchen. Maggie and I were preparing the tray for tea. As I arranged the cups and saucers I felt a pang that there were now only four, rather than the six that had been there all those weeks ago, the last time I’d carried it up, when Lady Eveline had still been alive, and Peter Drew too.

Albert came in to the kitchen and I handed him the tray. As he bore it from the room with some ceremony, I heaved a sigh.

“So sad, Joanie?”

The voice behind me made me shriek. I turned and there was Verity, smiling and rosy-cheeked from the cold air outside.

“You’re back!”

We hugged. She wore a smart new blue velvet cloche and a nice sparkly brooch pinned to the lapel of dark blue coat.

“Coo, nice,” I said, gesturing to it. Verity looked down and half-smiled.

“Dorothy’s gift. She didn’t want it anymore.”

For a moment, I felt envious of her job. Imagine having the kind of position where you routinely got lovely jewellery and hats and clothes from your mistress, just because she didn’t want them anymore.

“Listen,” Verity said hurriedly. “I only came down to get a pot of tea and some biscuits, I’ve got to go straight back up. I think I’ll be down for dinner though, so let’s talk then.”

“Very well.” I had my own work to get to. I gave her arm a friendly squeeze and was just about to walk back to the table when she leant in and murmured something.

“What’s that?”

“Did you talk to you-know-who?”

Discreet Verity. I remembered Inspector Mark’s admonition and nodded. “I’ll tell you later.”

She gave me a nod and a wink and went to find a teapot.

I flew through the rest of my chores with a feverish impatience, just wanting to get to dinner so that Verity and I could talk. As luck would have it, because Dorothy was back, Rosalind suddenly decreed that we needed a much fancier dinner than the one we’d had planned. I cursed her freely inside my head as Mrs Watling and Maggie and I ran hither and thither from the stove to the refrigerator, from the pantry to the larder. I even had to replenish our vegetable stocks from the root cellar. Maggie flatly refused to go down there by herself so I ended up doing the trip instead, just to save time.

I paused on the top step, looking down into the darkness beneath me. Then I flicked on the light. Its meagre glow did nothing to dispel the qualm of fear I felt about descending into the cellar depths. Of course, I knew there was no corpse here now, nothing nastier than a spider or two lying in wait for me around the corner of the passageway. Even so… I could feel my steps faltering as I walked down the dusty brick staircase.

I was pretty sure that there would be no more murders. Pretty sure – but not certain. What if I was wrong? I thought I knew the motive for both murders, but perhaps I was wrong? I wasn’t a detective, after all.

I took a deep breath and hurried down to the cellar floor, scurrying along the corridor to grab the sack of onions and potatoes that we needed. I kept my eyes fixed firmly on the bags of vegetables in my hand. Try as I might, I couldn’t help but recall being here before, when we’d seen Peter Drew’s dead body. Shaking, I wheeled around and ran back to the steps and up to safety and warmth and light.

The servants’ dinner that night was mostly refashioned leftovers from lunch – Mrs Watling and I had no time to do anything more elaborate after the fancy dinner we’d had to prepare. Nobody complained though, just got stuck into eating. Verity was sitting in her usual place and caught my eye as I sat down. I flashed her a quick smile as I began to eat, thinking that we’d have to wait until bedtime to actually talk. There was no privacy in this place, none at all.

It was after dinner that I saw Verity with Nora in the corridor outside the kitchen. I could see something had changed hands, from Verity to Nora, a small white cardboard box. Nora slipped it into her apron pocket. They talked for a moment, both looking serious and then Nora hurried away.

“What was that all about?”” I murmured as Verity caught up with me.

She shook her head minutely. “Something I got her from London. Hopefully it’ll help.”

Guiltily, I realised I’d almost forgotten about poor Nora’s predicament in the excitement of everything else that had happened. I was about to say something about wanting to help when the bell for Dorothy’s room jangled loudly above our heads, and Verity cursed and set off for the stairs at a run.

At the end of a long, weary day, I climbed the stairs to the top floor, feeling the ache in my feet and in the small of my back as if tiny, cruel hands were wringing out the muscles there. Wearily, I limped along the corridor to our room, wondering whether I even had the energy to wash. Verity was already there, unpacking her London bag.

“Goodness, Joan, you look all in. Here—” She put her hand into the inner pocket of her case and drew something out, handing it to me. I looked down at the bar of chocolate.

“Oh, thank you,” I said, truly grateful. I slit the paper, broke off a piece for Verity and then sat down on my bed to enjoy my treat. The sweet taste seemed to re-energise me, lighting me up like a candle.

“That’s better,” I said after a few minutes. Verity smiled.

“Thought that would do you good.” She finished putting her clothes away, lining up her shoes neatly on the floor of the wardrobe. “By the way...” She shot me a look that warned me that what she had to say was serious. I sat up a little.

“What is it?”

“I know who the father is.”

“Of Nora’s baby?” I swallowed. “Who?”

Verity sighed. “It’s Benton.”

“
Benton
? Duncan Cartwright’s
valet
?” I was flabbergasted. He’d never seemed to take more than a minute’s notice of Nora that I had ever seen.

“Told you he was a goat.” Verity sat down heavily on her bed, looking suddenly exhausted. “Of course, he’s wanting nothing more to do with her, the b— ” She caught my eye and looked away. “Sorry, Joan. But honestly. Nora really thought he was in love with her. Such a
fool
.” She said it fiercely, and I wasn’t sure if she were referring to Nora or to Benton.

I brushed a crumb of chocolate from my chin. “What was it that you got her from London?”

Verity sighed again. “Pennyroyal pills. They might work… Then again, they might not.”

“Oh.” I was quiet for a moment, thinking. If the pills didn’t work, then what on Earth was Nora going to do?

Eventually Verity heaved herself upright and began to undress. “So, you went to Inspector Marks, then?” she asked quietly.

I nodded and told her what had happened, conscientiously including both his dismissive goodbye and then his oddly fervent final words to me.

“Hmm,” said Verity, chewing her lip. “I wonder…”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. I just – I wonder what’s going to happen.”

“Yes.” I pulled off my cuffs and began to unpin my cap. “I know what you mean. How did you get on at Somerset House, by the way?”

Verity pulled her nightdress on over her head. “Just as we thought, Joanie. Lord Cartwright was the main beneficiary of Lady Alice’s will.”

“Hmm.” I wondered whether the police knew that. But of course they would. Wouldn’t they?

We finished our ablutions and then got into our beds. I was feeling…strange. Sort of restless. Anxious. But I couldn’t put my finger on why.

We said good night and turned off the lamp. Verity’s breathing soon deepened into sleep but I lay there in the dark, despite my weariness, for what seemed like hours. There was something nagging at me, like a tiny pain somewhere in my body that I couldn’t quite locate. A minor itch that I couldn’t scratch. Again and again, I tried to pinpoint what it was that was bothering me, but I couldn’t quite find it. Eventually, I think I fell asleep through sheer frustration.