‘In which case anyone could have slipped in and taken the necklace while the room was empty,’ said Lavinia looking disappointed.
‘Not anyone, no,’ Rose said. ‘Think about it, Lavinia. The theft may very well not have been planned, but whoever stole the necklace must have known that it had not been locked away, as was the usual custom. If anyone had seen Mrs Grayson-Smith wearing it the night before, they would quite reasonably have assumed that she had returned it to her jewel box with her other jewellery and locked the box. It was rather careless of her not to have done so, to leave the necklace lying out there in full view, as she did.’
‘Then the thief must be the lady’s maid.’
‘Not necessarily. It seems to me that it is just as likely that this was a crime of opportunity. Don’t you see, Lavinia? Someone could have come into the room not intending to steal a thing, then seen the necklace lying there and decided to take it on the spur of the moment.’
‘I see. At least, I think I do.’
‘Good,’ said Rose, getting to her feet and putting on the hated spectacles. ‘We will also need to find out who holds the key to Mrs Grayson-Smith’s jewel box. That’s to say, does she, or is it her lady’s maid? The same needs to be found out about the jewellery safe. As it’s in the butler’s pantry, presumably Mason holds the key, but we’d best make certain that is the case.’
‘The jewellery safe?’
‘Yes. It’s just possible that the necklace wasn’t stolen until the jewel box was taken down to be put back in the safe. Of course, that would mean that either Mrs Grayson-Smith or Cooper or indeed someone else did put the necklace back in the jewel box before it was removed to the safe. It would also mean that the thief required an accomplice as one person was unlikely to have a key to both the jewel box and the jewellery safe.’ Rose paused a moment and put a hand to her forehead. ‘Of course, it’s just possible that the lady’s maid forgot to lock the jewel box before it was sent down to the safe … but, no … it is all getting far too complicated …’
‘Well, I think you should concentrate on interviewing the lady’s maid,’ said Lavinia. ‘Whatever you say, she seems to me to be a frightfully suspicious character.’ She made a face. ‘Millicent doesn’t like her one little bit.’
Rose made her way up the flights of mean wooden stairs again, clutching a pair of Lavinia’s satin shoes and a brown flecked tweed skirt. The ironing room was located rather inconveniently right at the top of the house in one of the attic rooms. On reaching it, she found the walls to be littered with lockers for guests’ luggage. She realised only on entering that she had expected to find the room unoccupied. It was therefore something of a surprise to discover a maid already standing over the ironing board, on which was placed an ironing blanket.
‘You must be Miss Denning,’ the maid announced, making it sound more like a statement than a question. ‘I’m Miss Cooper, Mrs Grayson-Smith’s lady’s maid.’ She looked Rose up and down in so impertinent a manner as to leave the girl blushing. ‘I must say, you’re not at all what I expected.’
Not for a moment did Rose doubt that she had been found wanting. Her hair, her dress, her spectacles, all of it she felt to be wrong. The woman before her was similarly dressed in black, but her own gown seemed to shine in the sunlight and possess a rich, glossy sheen, rather than looking old and dusty like Rose’s own dress. Rose inwardly cursed Lavinia for insisting that she wear such a rag. If she could have thrown off her spectacles and loosened her hair without observation or arousing comment, then she would have done so. To make matters worse, even the simple cut of the lady’s maid’s dress and the severity of her hairstyle could not disguise the fact that Miss Cooper had an enviable figure and was striking in appearance, attributes Rose considered lacking in herself.
‘Has the cat got your tongue?’ enquired Miss Cooper, her lips curving into a smile that looked anything but friendly. ‘My, you are a timid little thing.’
Inwardly Rose had managed to regain her composure by reminding herself that she was not really a lady’s maid. In a few days’ time, all this tomfoolery would be in the past to be laughed at and then forgotten. It did not matter therefore if this woman standing before her considered her to be inadequate for the position of lady’s maid. Outwardly, however, Rose’s manner had not changed. She still appeared unsure and hesitant, for it had occurred to her that Miss Cooper would be more forthcoming with any information if she did not consider Rose to be a professional rival. That she had obtained a position that the other women envied, she did not doubt. The job of lady’s maid to the daughter of an earl was no small accomplishment; indeed, to many it was a position to be aspired to. It was usually obtained by skill and training. It was therefore hardly surprising if Miss Cooper was somewhat taken aback at Lavinia’s choice of lady’s maid, particularly as she appeared to have chosen a woman who seemingly had little interest in her own dress and appearance.
‘This is not my usual occupation,’ said Rose truthfully. ‘My cousin Eliza is Lady Lavinia’s lady’s maid. She is unwell at present and I am looking after Lady Lavinia in her absence.’ She bent forward in a conspiratorial fashion. ‘Poor Eliza is dreadfully afraid of losing her position. She is so very sickly, you see, always has been, even as a child.’
‘I see.’ This time the smile reached the woman’s eyes as she perceived a potential career opportunity. ‘Well, I’d better not keep you, Miss Denning. Though I’ll say one thing before I go. If you’re intent on ironing that tweed skirt you’re holding, you’d do well to place a linen cloth over it first to protect it from the heat. A damp cloth works best.’
‘Thank you, I –’
‘These gold satin slippers look very grand,’ said Miss Cooper suddenly, swooping unexpectedly and snatching the shoes from Rose’s grasp. ‘Dust these with a soft brush or wipe with a cloth.’ She paused to study them closely. The workmanship was exquisite. ‘I say, is Lady Lavinia really intending to wear these shoes this evening?’
‘Yes, she is,’ said Rose, retrieving the slippers.
‘Does she know that they will be dining alone tonight, she and the mistress? Madam is not in the way of inviting guests, unless you count the vicar and his wife of course. A very dull old couple if you ask me.’ She regarded Rose curiously. ‘I cannot tell you how surprised we all were when we heard that Lady Lavinia Sedgwick was coming to stay.’
‘My mistress likes to wear fine clothes whatever the occasion,’ said Rose, again truthfully.
‘Does she indeed?’ There was a gleam of interest in Miss Cooper’s eye. ‘And does she like to wear fine jewels as well?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where did they meet, your mistress and mine?’
‘At a tea party, I believe –’
‘And they struck up an immediate friendship? How very pleasant.’ Miss Cooper sniffed, her nose wrinkling in a delicate fashion. She bent forward and lowered her voice to little more than a whisper. ‘Between you and me, I am somewhat surprised that Millicent Grayson-Smith made an impression on anyone.’
Rose felt that she had strayed on to dangerous ground. While it was interesting to note that her companion did not hold her employer in very high regard, Rose did not wish to give the lady’s maid any encouragement, or indeed opportunity, to pry into the reasons behind Lavinia’s visit to Crossing Manor. An invitation to stay was unlikely to have arisen following a chance meeting at a tea party. If nothing else, it was painfully clear that, during the usual course of events, Millicent Grayson-Smith and Lady Lavinia Sedgwick would be unlikely to become friends.
She needed to alter the direction the conversation was going. Even at this very minute, Miss Cooper was staring at her inquisitively. A moment or two more and she would be asking Rose why Lavinia was here. It was even possible that the lady’s maid might swoop on her spectacles as she had done the slippers and how would Rose explain the plain glass? She found herself clutching at straws, but also in her desperation she saw an opening and spoke quickly before she could c
hange her mind.
‘Lady Lavinia has not brought her jewels with her on this occasion. Mrs Grayson-Smith informed her that there had been a theft, that …’
Rose allowed her words to falter in mid-sentence. She had not said as much, but the implication was clear. Mrs Grayson-Smith had suggested to her guest that in all probability the thief was a member of her own staff and she could therefore not vouch for the safety of anything of value brought into the house. Her words and the insinuation were not lost on the lady’s maid. The colour had gone from her cheeks and her eyes blazed. No longer did she appear confident and aloof. Instead she clenched and unclenched her hands as if she were attempting to contain an inner turmoil.
‘What did she say? Tell me. Did she say that I was the thief?’
Rose considered it prudent to say nothing. Truth be told, she was now rather regretting her own impulsiveness. She would say no more. Her words had produced a reaction; it was enough. Let the woman believe what she wanted to believe. Perhaps to the good, for on closer inspection she saw that the lady’s maid was in a very agitated state indeed. She required no words of encouragement to speak. She could not remain silent for long.
‘I knew it! She thinks it was me who stole from her. Me! The cheek of it all and she no better than I am. Well, there’s things that I could tell if I wanted to and things I will tell if she’s bold enough to accuse me to my face or thinks to dismiss me.’
‘Oh,’ said Rose. ‘What things?’
‘Never you mind,’ retorted the lady’s maid, drawing herself up to her full height with righteous indignation. ‘I’m not one to gossip.’ She made as if to go to the door.
‘Look here,’ said Rose quickly. ‘If you know something about the theft, why don’t you tell me? It needn’t be seen as telling tales. I can tell Lady Lavinia and she can mention it to your mistress in passing. No one need know that the information came from you.’
Velda Cooper stopped on the threshold. Her back was to Rose and it was a moment or two before she turned around. When she did, there was a look of indecision on her face and something else that Rose could not put a finger on at first.
‘I wouldn’t be telling you anything that the other servants don’t know,’ the lady’s maid said finally. ‘Afraid of Mr Mason, they are, worried about upsetting him. It’s not right, it’s not. The master should have been told and it was Mr Mason who should have told him.’
‘What should Mr Mason have told him?’
‘About the last theft, that’s what. It wasn’t right keeping it hidden. Anyone else and Mr Mason would have had him dismissed. And it’s all very well replacing the snuff box and pretending like it never happened. It was still stolen. That’s the point. Mr Mason, he just wants to brush it under the carpet, he does.’
All the while she had been speaking, the lady’s maid’s voice had risen and with it, her former refined tones and way of speaking had slipped, so that listening to her speech it would have been easy to have mistaken her for one of the lower servants. This was not the proud and haughty woman who had first presented herself to Rose. There was a great deal more behind Velda Cooper’s façade than that. For one thing there was a malicious streak that had first appeared with the curling of her lips into that unpleasant smile.
‘I’m afraid I don’t understand,’ began Rose. ‘Are you saying Mrs Grayson-Smith’s necklace was not the only theft to have occurred in this house? A snuff box … and you say it was replaced?’
‘Yes, but the necklace hasn’t been returned, has it? At least not to my knowledge.’
‘But the culprit,’ said Rose, ‘the person who stole the snuff box. Are you saying he’s known to you?’
‘To everyone, at least to all the servants. It’s a disgrace, that’s what it is. Madam is threatening to call in the police and there he is, going about his business as bold as brass. It isn’t right.’
The colour had returned to the woman’s cheeks and with it a sense of propriety. She had caught herself discussing the family’s business and with a stranger at that. She glared at Rose. True, the girl both looked and appeared to be a little stupid, but you could never tell …
‘Look here, I shouldn’t be standing here gossiping to you,’ she said rather gruffly. ‘I’ve work to do.’
Rose watched her dark retreating figure as she made her way down the corridor to the wooden staircase. She had been tempted to press the woman further, but she felt certain it would have been to no avail. Velda Cooper was undoubtedly of the opinion that she had been manipulated into saying too much already. The purposeful strides, as she tried to put as much distance between the two of them as possible, said as much. Perhaps even now she was bitterly regretting her outburst. And it wouldn’t do for Rose to appear too inquisitive.
What was very clear was that there had been a previous theft from the house of which Millicent Grayson-Smith was presumably unaware. What was more, if what the lady’s maid had said was to be believed, and Rose had little reason to doubt her words, the identity of the culprit in that case was known to the servants and yet the person was still employed in the house.
Rose pondered this matter while she ironed the tweed skirt. By the time she had finished polishing the satin slippers with a soft cloth, she had quite made up her mind to speak to Agnes. She returned to the servants’ hall, determined to put her decision into practice, quite unaware that a surprise awaited her there.
Chapter Seven
On Rose’s recommendation, Lavinia had suggested to Millicent Grayson-Smith that they take their afternoon tea in the gardens where their conversation was unlikely to be overheard by the servants.
It was approaching the end of September when the temperature could be so variable. That day, however, the cold winds of October seemed to belong to another season. The weather was fine and the day warm. It being autumn, the gardeners were busy attending to garden repairs and restoration, planting bulbs and digging up flowerbeds containing summer bedding plants and replanting them with forget-me-nots and polyanthus. The industrious nature of the work drew both women’s attention so that their eyes drifted towards the flower borders as they conversed, the clatter and ring of their china and teaspoons adding to the peaceful scene.
Lavinia glanced over at her hostess. It was true that outside the house Millicent seemed to relax, appearing to benefit from the warmth of the sun on her skin and the fresh air in her lungs. Despite this, Lavinia still thought how pale and drawn she looked. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes as if she had smudged her face with coal dust and her skin was so transparent that Lavinia could see the little blue threads of veins beneath the surface. Millicent’s hair did nothing to help matters for it was so light as to appear almost colourless, and her lips so bloodless as to be hardly distinguishable.
Lavinia sighed. She was firmly of the opinion that the majority of women benefited from the application of a little rouge and lipstick. Millicent’s face was innocent of all make-up. She thought even her dress was the wrong shade, such an insipid pale blue as to be almost white. It was like looking at a ghost. Really, why did Millicent not have on a bright, flower-patterned tea dress or a multi-pigmented tweed suit? She should be wearing something that would bring colour to her face, that would highlight the bright blue of her eyes. She should not be adorned in so anaemic and drab a garment that did nothing more for her than to help her blend into the background and become invisible. Nondescript, that was the word she would use to describe her hostess both in appearance and character, for she just sat there picking listlessly at the material of her dress looking for all the world as if she wished to disappear.
Lavinia was rather regretting her decision to come to Crossing Manor. It was clear that her companion was neither a conversationalist nor an attentive listener. Were she not to give voice to her own idle observations in a light and witty way, there would be an awkward silence, broken only by the labours of the gardeners or the sipping of tea. The news that they would be dining alone had not been welcome. She had visions
that the evening would stretch out before them, long and endless. It was therefore a relief when Millicent finally spoke, and a reminder to Lavinia of why she was there, undergoing this unpleasant ordeal.
‘Do you know when Miss Simpson will be coming?’ enquired Millicent. ‘Mrs Field, she’s our housekeeper, gets frightfully annoyed if we don’t give her much notice of that sort of thing. I suppose she needs to ensure that the bedroom has been properly aired and that there’s fresh bedding. She doesn’t say anything of course. That she’s put out, I mean. But one can just tell. Servants are like that, aren’t they?’
‘The servants at Sedgwick Court aren’t’, said Lavinia firmly. ‘If they behaved like that, they’d be dismissed. Look here, Millicent. I need to ask you a few questions. That’s why I suggested we have tea outside. I should like to gather as much information as I can for Rose in advance of her arrival.’
‘You mean, a bit like when the police interview people and one of them takes down notes of what is said?’
‘Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. Now, tell me, Millicent, who holds the key to your jewel box? Is it you or your lady’s maid?’
‘Cooper does. She was most insistent.’
‘Well, it is usual for the lady’s maid to hold the key,’ said Lavinia, rather dismissively. A thought struck her. ‘Eliza always puts my jewellery back in my jewel box when I retire for the night. She locks the box as well and returns it to the strong room.’
‘Cooper usually does.’
‘But she didn’t the night before the necklace was stolen?’
‘No.’
Lavinia stared at her hostess.
Millicent averted her gaze and looked down at the lawn. It looked very green and inviting. How wonderful it would be to tear off her shoes and stockings and walk barefoot through the grass … It was with some reluctance that she returned her attention to Lavinia.
Murder in the Servants' Hall Page 6