The Bagington Hall Mystery

by N. C. Lewis

  We sat at the kitchen table where Miss Trimmings said, "Ain't you wondering how I knew it was you, seeing as we 'ave never met afore just now?"

  I said, "That thought had crossed my mind, Miss Trimmings."

  "Please, everyone calls me Dolly, even Her Ladyship."

  "Dolly, how did you know it was I?"

  Her thick lips curved upward. "I've the knack, you see. I can identify people by the curl of their lip and angle of the eye. Few can do that, but ole Dolly can. Your face is like a fingerprint: unique. I remembers the details and never forgets 'em."

  "Ah! That is interesting." Dolly's skill was rather an odd one, and I wondered how it aided her as a chambermaid. "Does it help you identify guests?"

  "And members of the same family." Dolly peered into my face and chuckled. "You are most certainly the niece of Mr Harbottle." After a moment, she said, "He said you were seventeen!"

  Panic shot through my body; the game was up.

  Oh bother!

  For some seconds, I could neither think nor speak but stood there paralysed. Then words bubbled into my mind, formed into a coherent sentence, and came out in a light, jovial tone.

  "Ha-ha, yes. I was much younger seventeen years ago when I last met Uncle Tristan."

  Dolly said, "Mr Harbottle enjoys his little games, don't he? On that account, I'm still twenty-one!"

  We both laughed. Dolly with genuine mirth. And I with genuine relief.

  Standing at the shop counter in a pie-and-mash shop, you meet all sorts, and Dolly was the instant-friend type, the class of person who never met a stranger. And I have found in serving hundreds of customers, that type of person also likes to talk.

  I said, "Dolly, tell me about Sir Sandoe."

  A light lit in her birdlike eyes. "What is it you want to know?"

  "Does he have children?"

  "His wife died a while back, and he only has a single child: a daughter, Antoinette."

  I thought for a moment then said, "I suppose I shall see her?"

  "Oh, no, miss. You shan't see her."

  "Why not?"

  "I can't say."

  I placed my hands on the table. "Is it because Antoinette is ill… in the mind?"

  Dolly laughed. "Miss Darling, the next thing you'll be telling me is that Sir Sandoe put pretty Antoinette away in Sharrington Insane Asylum."

  "I heard something to that effect."

  "Well, it ain't true. Sharrington Asylum only took men, and anyway, it closed down years ago. No, Sir Sandoe didn’t put gorgeous Antoinette away."

  "Then what happened to her?"

  Dolly sat very still, her head tilted towards the door as if listening for something. After a moment, she said, "Can't be too careful what you say around here; the walls 'ave ears."

  She needed a little encouragement, so I said, "Dolly, I shan't say a word."

  Dolly placed her fat hand on her pearl necklace and said, "Antoinette got mixed up with Lady Blackwood and her group fighting for social justice."

  "Pardon?"

  "Politicking for women's rights. I suppose the final straw came when Antoinette got involved in the agricultural union."

  I said, "To fight for fair pay?"

  "And so women could join." Dolly lowered her voice. "Antoinette ran off three years ago with a union organiser. The last I heard, the couple set sail for America and ain't never been seen since. Sir Sandoe spread the rumour about Sharrington Asylum to spare embarrassment."

  Everything became clear with her words. Antoinette was in America with her sweetheart, and Sir Sandoe made up a cock-and-bull story to save face. A sense of relief washed over me. In America, Antoinette would be safe, and I felt certain she would continue her fight for women's rights.

  Now I wondered about Dolly's fine clothes and jewellery. I said, "Lovely pearls, where did you buy them?"

  "Oh, no, I couldn’t afford these on my pay! Neither this dress." She let out a little self-conscious laugh. "They belong to Lady Herriman. I likes to 'borrow' her cast-offs when she ain't looking."

  I tried to hide the look of shock on my face. "You are wearing Lady Herriman's wardrobe?"

  Dolly winked and said, "Our little secret, eh?"

  I wasn't sure what to say. The woman was sharing things with me as if we were childhood friends. What was I to think? I said, "Now, listen, I'm not sure you should—"

  Dolly raised a hand, her thick lips twisted into a smile. "I borrowed a silk scarf for your uncle—bright orange. Anyway, I always return everything. Now there ain't no harm in that, is there? I've worked for Her Ladyship over ten years. It's a perk of the job."

  The mention of Lady Herriman reminded me of the upcoming meeting. I said, "Dolly, is Her Ladyship in good spirits this afternoon?"

  "Like a bear woken from hibernation in deep winter. Ain't never seen her in such a foul mood."

  That didn’t sound good. "Perhaps I should call at another time."

  "Her Ladyship is a stickler with appointments."

  "But her foul mood?"

  "That's on my account." Again, Dolly winked. "Lady Herriman can't find her lorgnette spectacles. When I introduce you, try to stay in the shadows."

  "Ah, I see!"

  "I'll 'ave the devil to pay, I suppose." Dolly twiddled with her pearls and grinned. "But it don't matter, cos soon I'll be a lady too."

  "Really?"

  Dolly gazed over her shoulder then lowered her voice. "Before this year is out, I'm gonna be a wealthy woman, just like Her Ladyship."

  "An inheritance?"

  Dolly said, "Don't 'ave no money in my family; we are all dirt poor." She placed a finger to her lip. "Sir Sandoe put aside my pay these past five years to buy shares in a gold mine in Peru. News of a discovery is due before the year is out."

  Chapter 17

  Dolly entered Lady Herriman's dim antechamber on tiptoe.

  I followed close behind.

  "Miss Darling for you, madam," said Dolly as she gave a little bow and withdrew, walking backwards, her back stooped.

  I stood stock-still while my eyes adjusted to the gloom. A chink of light illuminated the outline of the heavy curtains that draped a large window. To one side, in a terracotta pot, a tired aspidistra stretched towards the light. The edges of furniture came slowly into view: a mahogany table, a Victorian writing desk, a Georgian side cabinet facing the window, a gilt-legged console table against a wall above which hung a tall mirror. Upon the mantelpiece, a marble clock jostled for space with bronzes of horses and a pair of wrought-iron candlesticks.

  Then I saw them, and for a moment, I stood in bewilderment. In the centre of the room, in a large glass case, a lion, with a fanged mouth opened wide, stared back. In another case, a tiger with vicious claws, and in yet another, a leopard in full stride. Beyond the cases, I saw several portraits of an attractive, young woman dressed in full hunting gear.

  "Do you hunt, Miss Darling?"

  The question came from the far side of the room. I turned towards the voice. The outline of a figure took shape. My mouth opened and closed, throat suddenly dry. Whatever I had expected of Lady Herriman, it was not this.

  She stood in a dark corner with an oversized goblet in her left hand and a giant black Bible tucked under her right arm. I hadn’t inquired about her age, but she looked older than Mr Gunthorpe, and he died at ninety-eight.

  She wore an outfit that might have once bedecked the wardrobe of Queen Victoria. Grotesque, black marks traced out her eyebrows; her face was stiff with pale powder; irregular, red splotches adorned her hollow cheeks, and red lip rouge was plastered about her thin lips, which were drawn back into an unpleasant smile revealing two crooked rows of rotted teeth.

  On top of her head stood an exuberant Elizabethan wig, resplendent with giant white coils that rose like the peaks in a mountain range.

  "No… I… well… there isn’t much call for it in London." I tried not to stare but couldn't take my eyes off those eyebrows, the massive wig, the sunken cheeks. In fact, I couldn’t take my
eyes off the entire woman.

  Lady Herriman sighed. "I suppose not. I learned to shoot in Kenya, got a taste for it. Alas, the little red foxes we have about Norfolk do not offer the same satisfaction as the African lion or Indian tiger." As she spoke, her thin lips seemed to take over her entire face. "Are you the niece of Mr Harbottle?"

  I took a leaf from Withers' book and kept my answers short. "Yes, madam. That is correct." I threw in a curtsy for good measure.

  Her eyes pierced through the gloom. "Mr Harbottle's young niece, down from London?"

  I didn’t like the direction of the conversation, but it was too late to back out now. I bowed. "That is correct, Lady Herriman."

  Lady Herriman said, "Oh, my child, I am so sorry for you. I've just come from my private chapel where I offered a special prayer for your uncle."

  I hoped it involved gold mines in Peru but said, "Thank you, Lady Herriman."

  "Dear child, I have an illness that admits no cure. That is why my rooms must remain darkened. But I do not pray for my own sufferings. That I bear without complaint."

  "Most courageous, Lady Herriman." I was getting the hang of the Withers' short-answer thing.

  "Miss Darling, it says in the good book, 'Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.' I believe this is a message for your uncle."

  I said, "How so, Lady Herriman?"

  "Mr Harbottle is so puffed up with conceit, I fear he might burst. The last time we met, he wore a repulsive orange scarf about his neck. Why, have you ever seen such a vile parade of colour on a man?"

  There was nothing I could say to that, so I remained silent, eyes cast down in deference.

  "And the man wilfully disobeyed orders." Lady Herriman took another sip from the goblet and swayed a little. "I said to your uncle, the very first thing I would like him to do is throw out all the servants, except Dolly and Withers. I need young blood about me, not a bunch of stodgy old-timers."

  I opened my mouth to say something but decided it was best to keep it shut.

  Lady Herriman continued, "Boots needs starving for a week, and as for Vicar Humberstone—"

  For a moment, I forgot myself and said, "But Boots is already too thin, and as for the vicar,is he a member of your staff?" Then I added quickly, "Madam."

  "If it were down to me, I'd have the man horsewhipped. For a rural man of the cloth, he spends entirely too much time mingling with common people. It is little wonder the church is in decline. Withers is the only decent individual on the entire staff. That man never raises his voice and often joins me in prayers for the unfortunate and poor. Oh, it is so trying to be surrounded by a bunch of Norfolk halfwits. That is why you intrigue me so, Miss Darling. London staff are sophisticated. They understand their role in life is to serve their superiors."

  The woman's outlook was even more dated than Sir Sandoe. I wanted to drop off the papers and get away from Lady Herriman before the cider made me say something I'd later regret. I sucked in a breath but sensed there was more and kept my mouth shut.

  "My in-law, Sir Sandoe, insists we keep the current staff. And your uncle agrees with him." Lady Herriman batted at a stray curl on her wig. "This is the nineteen twenties where all the talk is of universal suffrage, yet he keeps me confined to this place like a lunatic in a sanatorium: no hunting, no high-society balls, and scarcely a visitor. Bagington Hall has become my tomb, but I am not dead yet!"

  Lady Herriman drained her goblet, stepped forward, and craned her neck like an ancient ostrich. Even at a distance and through the gloom, I could sense her eyes roving over my face.

  "Goodness, how the young are aged these days. Have you tried an overnight coat of opium, followed by an ammonia wash the following morning? It does wonders for the pallor."

  "Thank you. Yes, I shall make a note of it." But soap and water were the extent of my daily face-cleansing routine, and I was content with the results.

  Lady Herriman said, "Miss Darling, how did you find London?"

  "Very busy, and foggy during the winter months."

  "Ah, yes. That was so in my day." Lady Herriman turned towards the tall mirror, tidied a stray curl, and studied herself in the glass. She raised her chin, pursed her lips, and lowered her eyelids. With a satisfied grunt, she took a sip from her goblet and turned back. "Miss Darling, how old am I?"

  "I wouldn’t like to say."

  "Guess."

  This was a dangerous game. One I didn’t want to play. "My uncle has asked I deliver these papers for your review."

  "Ah, yes. Alas, I do not have my lorgnette spectacles; Dolly has misplaced them. I shall review the papers later and get word to your uncle of my satisfaction. Now, as to my age, you didn’t answer my question." Lady Herriman turned back to the mirror, lifted a wasted hand, and delicately touched her white wig with the tips of thin, bejewelled fingers. "My age, Miss Darling, what would you guess?"

  In a panic, I said the first thing that came to my head. "Forty-two."

  Again, the thin red lips took over her face, this time curling up into a smile. "Really, well, that is so gratifying. I'd have put you about the same age. You are dismissed."

  Chapter 18

  "Her Ladyship was smiling; that is unusual," said Dolly as we walked down a flight of stairs. "What did you say to her?"

  I shrugged. "Not sure, but I'm glad the audience is over."

  At the bottom of the stairs, we made a sharp turn, walked a few feet then made another turn. The door to the scullery came into view.

  Inside, Dolly said, "Here we are. Take a seat at the kitchen table. Withers will be 'ere in a moment to walk you back to the carriage house. I've got to get back to 'ave a little rest and me afternoon tipple of plum wine. It was nice meeting you, Miss Darling."

  Alone at the kitchen table, I thought about Lady Herriman. She differed from what I'd expected. The word unusual didn’t do her justice. And what about Dolly? She didn’t fit my expectations of a chambermaid either.

  "An odd pair."

  But strangely, they seemed to fit together, almost like a hand fits into a glove. That made me think of Withers. The man moved about as if he were the lord of the manor and had a fiery temper to match. I knew now there was also a streak of meanness hidden just under his surface. I shuddered, grateful that I didn’t have to work for him. Where was he?

  I glanced around the empty scullery. Not much to see. Two doors, the one I entered with Dolly was closed. The other entry, used by Mrs Mullins and her niece, was half-open. There was the wooden linen table, flat irons on the wall, ironing boards, the row of bells above the sink, a small empty bowl for the kitten.

  Footsteps sounded along a hallway.

  "Ah, Miss Darling, I take it your audience with Lady Herriman has concluded?" Withers peered around the room as if assessing all was in order. "Let us return to the carriage house."

  Meow, meow, meow.

  Swiftee hobbled into the kitchen. I wanted to pick the little thing up but remembered my allergic reaction to cats and sneezed.

  Withers glared. "What the dickens!"

  Swiftee scampered under the linen table where he sat with his body bunched up and his head thrust forward watching us.

  Meow, meow, meow.

  "Revolting, deformed devil of a creature. I'll do you in myself, right now!" Withers' lower lip purpled, thick blue veins bulged at the sides of his neck. From a pocket, he pulled out a small knife and a length of string curved in the shape of a noose. "Here, kitty."

  I felt a cold chill of horror. "Withers, I'll take the kitten home with me."

  Withers spun around; his lower lip trembled. "Madam, that ugly beast won't be any good as a rat catcher, not with three legs. Best let me see to him now. It will only take a moment."

  "That's all right, Withers. I'll keep him as a house cat." The words came from my heart, but my head wondered how I'd make it out of Bagington Hall without collapsing in a fit of sneezes. I could already feel my throat closing, and that was at the th
ought of it. But I refused to let the kitten suffer.

  Withers placed a finger on his hairline moustache and for a moment did not move; then with a sharp jerk of his head, he said, "Fine, madam. Take it with you."

  Ding, ding, ding…

  A bell above the sink swung back and forth.

  Withers muttered something under his breath. "That'll be Lady Herriman. I shall return in a moment. Then I shall escort you and the kitten off the premises. Please stay here."

  When he was gone, I stooped on all fours.

  "Here, Swiftee, come to Maggie."

  The kitten stepped towards me.

  I sneezed.

  Swiftee stopped then turned and limped towards the open door.

  "Swiftee!"

  He hobbled from the scullery.

  Quickly, I got to my feet. I hesitated for long enough to decide. If I didn’t get Swiftee before Withers returned, he was done for.

  I sneezed and set off at little more than a trot, all the while hoping the wee creature hadn’t gone too far.

  "Swiftee, come back. Your life depends on it."

  Chapter 19

  I followed Swiftee into a shabby, grey hallway. It stretched ahead for about twenty feet then hit a corner. Paint peeled off the wall, and there was the heavy odour of mildew.

  "Swiftee."

  Withers would be back at any moment. Time was running out for my rescue. But there was no sign of the tiny animal.

  "Here, Swiftee."

  How in the world did a three-legged kitten disappear so quickly? I paced a few steps along the corridor and stopped.

  "No, he couldn’t have gone this way."

  I turned back towards the scullery. The door was ajar. Had the kitten doubled back into the room?

  "Yes, that's the only possibility."

  I retraced my steps.

  As I approached the scullery entrance, I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye.

  Meow, meow.

  I looked down.

  Swiftee sat in a recess in the wall, his eyes wide and unblinking. The indentation, a handbreadth deep, stretched from the floor to the ceiling and was about three feet wide. Only now, as my eyes adjusted fully to the gloom, did I make out the outline of a door.