by Tania Crosse
But she was determined not to let Esme upset her in any way. Ralph was going to take the dogs for their last outing, for since the business with Mercury, they weren’t allowed out on their own once it was dark. Meg decided not to go with him. And she wouldn’t give Esme any chance to upset her either, but would go straight up to her room. With Jane away, she’d have it to herself, and she could try to untangle her emotions in peace.
Thirty
1938
‘Ralph Hillier’s only gone and given her a blooming puppy for Christmas,’ Esme complained venomously the first time in the New Year she was able to visit Nathaniel Green in the dingy little bedsit he was reduced to renting.
‘What?’ he snarled, his face wrinkling. Then he gave a vicious grunt. ‘I always thought he was a sanctimonious bastard.’
‘Yeah, more righteous than thou,’ Esme agreed. ‘So we’ll have to get rid of the little runt, as well.’
Nathaniel sniffed noisily. ‘Nah, I don’t think so. We got away with dispatching the other one, but if another dog of hers got bumped off, it’d look suspicious. Too much of a bloody coincidence.’
‘D’you think so? That’s a pity. I was looking forward to it.’
‘Yeah, I do. It’d be obvious someone was trying to get at the bleeding cow, and the finger could well be pointed at me.’
‘They’d have to find you first.’
‘Hidden my tracks well, haven’t I?’ Nathaniel smirked. ‘Even if I am almost living under their noses. And you’re not going to tell them where I am, are you?’
A slight doubt flitted across Esme’s brain. Had she detected a hint of a challenge in Nathaniel’s tone? A threat, even? Surely not. But just for a moment, she was uncertain.
‘Course not. And they’d never recognise you with this,’ she assured him, stroking the long, ragged beard that now covered his formerly close-shaven face. ‘I suppose we’ll just have to think of some other way to bring Miss Hoity-Toity to her knees.’
Nathaniel’s lips twisted in a sly smile, and he ran the tip of his finger down her throat to her breasts. ‘And my clever girl’s just the one to think of something. If it weren’t for that bitch, I’d still have my cushy job. And who knows, we might’ve been able to make our arrangement more permanent.’ He threw her an inviting, meaningful glance, but before she had a chance to reply, he took hold of her hand. ‘But for now, come back to bed. You don’t have to leave for another hour.’
If Esme felt any reluctance to make love to him again after his strange tone a moment before, it was quickly dissipated. What did he mean by that, make their arrangement more permanent? Marriage? Well, she wouldn’t mind that! She didn’t want to be a bleeding housemaid all her life. So if she played her cards right with Nathaniel and their situation improved, she could be rescued from her future of total drudgery. And so she slid back into bed and snuggled up beside him.
Nathaniel smiled to himself with triumphant malice. He knew just how to handle Esme. She made a good bedfellow, and she didn’t cost him a penny. But once she’d helped him have his fill of revenge on Meg Chandler, she’d be of no more use to him and he’d disappear from the stupid idiot’s life forever. But for now it suited his evil mind to stay put, so he laced his arm about her, and placed a supposedly tender kiss on the top of her head.
*
‘Mr W, have you heard the news?’
Meg was coming along the corridor just as Wig stepped out of the study.
‘I certainly have!’ Wig’s voice was both furious and alarmed. ‘It’s just been on the radio. Hitler overrunning Austria! This is just the sort of thing Winston Churchill’s been warning about. And what are the western governments doing about it? Nothing, as far as I can see. It looks as though the League of Nations is going to accept it as a fait accompli, although with the greatest reluctance, I’m sure.’ Wig’s chest inflated with a huge, despairing breath which he then released in a ponderous sigh. ‘But that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about, Meg. Will you come into the study for a moment?’ He paused, looking up and down the corridor as if checking nobody was in earshot before he went on, his voice confidential, ‘I’ve had a call from Mr Chillcott this morning about your money. Especially with what’s happened in Europe, he’s concerned about some of the investments he’s made on your behalf. He’s made some suggestions about moving your money to keep it safe. If I take you through it all, you can have a think about it, and then we can make an appointment to go and see him.’
‘Oh, right, Mr W. D’you want me now?’
‘Yes, the sooner the better,’ Wig answered gravely.
Meg nodded, feeling a little embarrassed as Mr W stood back for her to enter the room. There’d been a time when she would have barged through, but she’d come to feel respect for Mr Wig, respect he’d more than earned in her eyes.
‘I think Mr Chillcott’s advice is very sound,’ he went on as Meg walked into the study and Wig closed the door behind them. He pulled up another chair to his desk, and invited Meg to sit down. She did so, waiting patiently while Wig sat down in his own chair, put on his spectacles and drew towards him a sheet of foolscap on which he’d evidently taken notes as he was talking to Mr Chillcott on the telephone.
Neither of them noticed that the door hadn’t clicked shut properly.
*
Esme slunk back around the corner of the servants’ staircase. What on earth would old Wiggy want to ask Meg into the study to discuss? And then Esme caught the words money and investments. Meg’s money? How could she have money? And investments? Weren’t they what rich people had? So what the devil was the bitch doing pretending to be working as a servant? Esme always thought there was something dodgy about it, the way she always seemed to get special treatment.
Esme tiptoed forward. She could hear Wig’s low voice, and after a pause, Meg gave what sounded like a thoughtful reply. So, were they discussing all this money Meg was supposed to have? Esme couldn’t believe it. But maybe she’d misheard or misunderstood. Perhaps she could listen at the keyhole.
As she came up to the door, she managed to stifle a little gasp. The door was open just a fraction. Not enough so that she could see, but she could hear! She glanced round. There was nobody about, and probably wouldn’t be at this time of day. So, she concentrated on listening.
Her eyes gradually opened wider and wider. How much? Bloody hell! It was a fortune! Well, probably not the sort of fortune Wiggy must have, but she could never in her entire life save up anything like that on her wages! So, how come Meg had that sort of money?
Esme didn’t need to hear any more, and the longer she stood there, the more likelihood there’d be of someone finding her eavesdropping. Resentment churned in her stomach as she went on her way back towards the kitchen. There she was, slogging her guts out for next to nothing, when that witch was rolling in it! She’d have to tell Nathaniel next time she saw him, and together they’d think of a way to turn this discovery to their advantage. But just now, Esme couldn’t think how.
But she was sure they’d think of something, if she herself didn’t find some other way of destroying Miss Fancy Pants Chandler first!
*
Clarissa sat at the dressing table in the spacious bedroom she shared with her darling Wig. She did love this grand room with its adjoining bathroom and dressing room, and the wonderful view over the grounds at the back of the house. She adored the whole house, in fact. And she’d have loved it even more if there’d been children to bring up in it.
She imagined them running into the bedroom each morning – although perhaps not on school days – to leap into bed with her, and Wig if he wasn’t staying up in London, to have a cuddle before the business of the day began. They’d play at crawling to the bottom of the bed under the sheets, pretending it was a giant, intimate tent, just as she had done as a child with her parents – to her governess’s horror!
There would be two boys and two girls. What would she have called them? Something good and strong and solid for the boys. J
ohn and James, perhaps. And for the girls, something really pretty. Emmeline, or maybe Beatrice. They’d only have to choose names for one daughter, because the eldest of them all would have been their beloved Marguerite.
Ah, at times it still hurt so much. But she mustn’t let it. Meg was a delight, and so far had proved Wig wrong by showing no sign of wanting to leave. Clarrie really could imagine her taking Nana’s place as the elderly woman grew too old and frail to carry out her duties, although Nana May would remain Clarrie’s friend and companion to her dying day. And until then Clarrie would have around her the two people whom, apart from Wig, she loved most in the world. Yes. Loved.
As long as she had them, she could manage, even if their finances deteriorated and they had to dismiss all the other servants. Sell Robin Hill House, even. Hopefully, it’d never come to that. But who knew what the future held for them all? Would there be another war? It wouldn’t surprise her. And if there was, would Wig win a contract to make munitions at the factory again?
Clarrie opened her locked jewellery case. Her more precious pieces were kept in the safe, heirlooms from her mother, and others from her mother-in-law, although those were shared with Sofia as well. Wig had been horrified when Clarrie had suggested selling some of those she’d inherited from her own mother. But they might have to if things got that bad. She wouldn’t really miss them that much, and she had no child of her own to pass them on to. And she was quite content with the less valuable sparkling adornments in the box before her. They were all attractive and of good quality. Take this nine-carat gold locket. Just as pretty as anything in the safe. Or this skilfully worked sterling silver bracelet. And even this dress ring was set with several diamonds and sapphires.
Clarrie lifted her head. What was all that barking about? She rose to her feet and went to the door just as Trampas raced past her and shot down the main staircase, followed moments later by Sunny and Topaz. Clarrie shook her head with a wry smile. Meg had worked wonders with the dogs’ obedience outside, but they still careered about the house at will. And now Patch came trotting along the corridor, struggling to catch up with the others on his arthritic old legs.
Laughing, Clarrie scooped him up in her arms and ran down the main stairs with him to find out what all the fun and fuss was about. Perhaps little Thimble had been pronounced house-trained and had been brought over to her new residence. That had been such a kind thought on Ralph’s part. Clarrie had the feeling he and Meg hadn’t hit it off at first, but they seemed to have resolved their differences. But just as long as Meg stayed at the house for always, Clarrie would be happy.
She smiled to herself at the thought and hurried on in the wake of the barking.
*
Esme rolled her eyes as she walked down the connecting corridor carrying the clean sheets for Mr W and Mrs C’s bed. Bloody dogs, making such a racket. And the blooming dog hair everywhere. Mrs C must be off her trolley to like the bleeding things so much. But at least Esme wasn’t going to have to put up with that horrible, squirming piece of fluff making puddles all over her bedroom. That stupid waste of space, Jane, would be having it instead, so Esme was thankful for that small mercy.
She pushed the door wider open with her foot and, marching over to the dressing table, laid the sheets on the stool while she stripped the bed. It didn’t take long, and then she turned back to fetch the fresh linen. And it was then that she spied the twinkling objects in the open box on the dressing table.
Oh. Esme was used to seeing Mrs C wearing pearls or other necklaces and rings and suchlike every day. And on a couple of occasions, when the Stratfield-Whytes had been attending a formal function up in London, Mr W had sported tails and a wing-collared shirt, while Mrs C looked magnificent in a ball gown set off with the best family jewels taken from the safe. But Esme had never before seen the usually locked jewellery case left open and abandoned. She’d glimpsed Mrs C disappearing down the staircase carrying that mangy old mutt, Patch, apparently in pursuit of the other barking animals. The woman must have her head turned to leave even her everyday jewellery on display for everyone to see.
Esme’s pulse started racing. There was nobody else about. It wouldn’t hurt, would it, just to try on a ring? She wouldn’t be doing any harm. Her trembling hand simply couldn’t resist, and a second later, a large sapphire stone was gleaming a midnight blue on her finger. Esme twisted it this way and that, watching fascinated, as the tiny diamonds on either side refracted the spring sunshine into all the colours of the rainbow. Next it was the turn of a ring set with red stones. Garnets Esme thought they were, rather than the pinkier red of rubies. How wonderful it’d be to own something like that, but she doubted she ever would.
Now, that bleeding Meg Chandler might one day, with all the money the bitch had secreted away! Where the hell had it come from? And how come Mr W – and presumably Mrs C – knew all about it? Devious bloody vixen, that Meg. Had them all feeling sorry for her – well, Esme didn’t – when all the time she was rolling in it. And there was Nathaniel, struggling to feed himself, and all because of her! Well, she supposed Mrs C and Wiggy were partly to blame as well, but she wasn’t going to bite the hand that fed her, was she?
Positively seething, Esme replaced the rings exactly as she’d found them. And then she decided she’d just see what the pretty necklace she’d always admired the most would look like around her own neck. She undid the clasp and held it up, gasping at her reflection in the dressing-table mirror.
She was so engrossed in her anger towards Meg together with her delight in the necklace, that she didn’t hear Clarrie’s footfall as she came back up the stairs. It was only as she entered the suite along the passageway past the dressing room and bathroom that Esme realised she was there. Bloody hell. There was no time to replace the necklace in the box. Mrs C would see her and know what she’d been doing. There was only one thing for it. And that was to drop the thing into the pocket of her apron for now, hoping Mrs C didn’t notice it was missing, and then replace it later on. And if the box had been locked in the meantime, Esme would simply put the necklace on the floor so that Mrs C would think she’d dropped it there herself.
Esme went to snatch the clean linen from the stool. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs C. I’ll move these somewhere else.’
‘That’s all right, Esme. I just came to get a thick jumper. I’m going to walk the dogs with Meg. It’ll be little Thimble’s first outing into the grounds.’
‘Righty-ho. I’ll get on with it, then.’
Esme took the first sheet and, shaking it open, began to smooth it over the mattress. As she worked, she was aware of Mrs C locking the jewellery box. Esme’s heart tried to break out from her ribs, but the silly cow didn’t seem to notice that anything was amiss. A few moments later, Esme breathed a sigh of relief as Clarrie left the room again. Esme finished tucking in the bottom sheet and then went over to get the top one, her hand withdrawing the necklace from her pocket ready to place it on the carpet beneath the dressing table. She glanced down at it, draped across her palm, reluctant to part with it. For she doubted she’d ever touch such a beautiful thing again if she lived to be a hundred.
It was then, as she hesitated, that a squall of hatred suddenly blackened her heart. The idea reared up in her head, and such a fog of red-hot malice overtook her that she was utterly overwhelmed. Oh, ho! That’d teach Meg Hoity-Toity Chandler! It’d be revenge indeed, and it’d get the cow out of the way for good. And maybe, if Esme played her cards right, May Whitehead might start training her up as the next lady’s maid instead. It’d be better than being a glorified charwoman for the rest of her life!
It was all she could do to hold her gleaming joy in check while she finished making the bed. And then, with a sly, gloating smile, she slunk up the stairs to the female servants’ rooms on the floor above.
Thirty-One
‘Wig, have you seen my necklace anywhere?’ Clarrie asked with a frown. ‘You know, the one with the amethysts? I’m sure I put it back in my box last time
I wore it.’
‘Well, you wouldn’t put it anywhere else, would you? Unless you just left it on the dressing table. Perhaps it’s under the runner or something.’
‘No, I’ve had a good look and I can’t see it anywhere.’ Clarrie’s voice was becoming agitated now. ‘Oh, Wig, surely I can’t have lost it? It’s my favourite. You gave it to me on our first anniversary.’
‘It must be somewhere.’ Wig could tell his wife was beginning to panic. ‘It can’t just disappear. Have you taken everything out of the box?’
‘Yes, I have, and it’s definitely not there.’
‘Well, don’t worry, my dear.’ Wig knew he had to remain calm. ‘I’ll go and track down Nana May. You wear it such a lot. Maybe she took it to the jeweller’s to have it cleaned and forgot to tell you.’
Clarrie watched as Wig left the room, her heart beating a nervous tattoo. No, she mustn’t have lost it! She remembered how Rosebud used to reach up towards it whenever she wore it, and she had to pull back in case her little fingers caught hold of it and broke it. The memory speared at Clarrie now as she began to rummage through the top drawer of the dressing table. Maybe it had been open when she’d last taken the necklace off and it’d fallen in without her realising. But, no. It wasn’t there either, and she was verging on hysteria when Nana May hurried into the room, her old face lined with concern.
‘Oh, Nana, have you seen—’
‘No, I haven’t, Clarrie dear. Let’s have a thorough search, shall we? I’m sure we’ll find it somewhere.’
But an hour later, when every nook and cranny of the bedroom had been turned upside down, the necklace was still nowhere to be found. Clarrie and Nana May turned their attention next to the dressing room and bathroom, and even down the main stairs, all to no avail. And then they started searching all over the ground floor of the house, just anywhere Clarrie might have been.
‘Can you remember the last time you wore it?’ Nana May asked, noting in alarm Clarrie’s ashen face.