‘Perhaps if you could say Lady Lavinia picked this dress out for you to wear?’
‘Well, I –’
It seemed to Millicent that before she had a chance to protest, Lavinia’s lady’s maid had somehow managed to leave the room and return with her mistress by her side.
‘Oh yes, Denning is quite right. This dress will suit you much better than the other one,’ exclaimed Lavinia. ‘That shade of blue will bring out the colour of your eyes beautifully. And perhaps a little rouge to give a faint blush to your cheeks?’ She clapped her hands together in an excited fashion. ‘I say, do try the dress on now. I’m dying to see what you look like in it. I’ll make up your face as well, shall I? Oh, no!’ Lavinia had just caught sight of the back of Millicent’s head. ‘Denning, this really will not do. You haven’t done that at all well. Here, let me do your hair again for you, Millicent.’ She caught Rose’s eye. ‘Denning, you really must practise more.’
Rose made a face at Lavinia, which fortunately Millicent did not see, the woman in question being preoccupied at that moment with changing into the blue gown.
‘There, that’s better,’ said Lavinia, a little while later after she had finished her ministrations.
Millicent permitted herself to be steered towards the full-length looking glass. She heard a sharp intake of breath and realised that it was her own. For a moment, she could hardly believe that she was looking at her own reflection. For the woman who stared back at her was someone she did not recognise. Her hair had been brushed and teased into the most becoming of styles. The vivid blueness of her gown seemed to complement, rather than accentuate, the paleness of her skin. And perhaps most surprising of all, her eyes shone and her face looked animated.
Later, when the house was filled with policemen and there was death in the air, she was to remember those precious moments, standing there before the mirror, flanked by Lavinia on one side and the girl she took to be her lady’s maid on the other, seeing in the glass the woman she aspired to be.
Chapter Twelve
In the early hours of the following morning, Pearl Jones crept across the floor of the tiny attic room she shared with Edna. Barely fifteen years of age, she was employed at Crossing Manor as scullery maid.
Before continuing her journey, she paused for a moment in the doorway to make sure that the kitchen maid was sleeping soundly. It was still dark outside and she found it difficult to make out the form in the other bed. At best, it was a dark mass, an inert mound of bedclothes. However, when she listened carefully, she could just distinguish the faint noise of breathing, which sounded quiet and regular to her keen ear. Reassured, she quietly let herself out of the bedroom, softly pulling the door to behind her.
Pearl made her way gingerly down the corridor, careful not to tread on that one, treacherous, squeaky floorboard, trailing her hand along one wall as she felt her way in the dark. Eventually she found what she was seeking, the old oak door which enclosed the servants’ staircase. As she descended the stairs, she did not find them to be as intimidating as the corridor. Even on the brightest and sunniest of days they were only ever half-lit, benefiting from no natural light. Negotiating her way down them now, when it was all but pitch black, was nothing new. Neither was the silence that engulfed her like a cloak. For she was always the first person to rise at Crossing Manor, entrusted as she was to light the stove before the rest of the house stirred.
It was true that Edna was often not far behind her, sometimes only a few minutes. This morning, however, she did not expect the company of her friend. For Pearl had decided to rise a full hour earlier than usual. It was a decision she had made last night when she had spotted Miss Cooper’s Mabs magazine tucked into the seat of her chair, half hidden. If she had not been so very tired from cleaning and scrubbing the pans in the scullery until all hours, Pearl would have sat down there and then to read the magazine. Instead, she had resolved to snatch a few hours’ sleep before tomorrow’s long and tedious day stretched out before her.
Pearl really preferred Women’s Weekly to Mabs magazine, but beggars could not be choosers, as her mother was inclined to say if Pearl saw fit to grumble. In particular, Pearl liked the simple and straightforward advice provided in that periodical by Mrs Marryat in response to readers’ troubles. Really, it was astonishing the sorts of questions people asked, when anyone with anything about them could see the answer as clear as day … Still, Mabs was better than nothing, particularly for someone like herself who could not afford to buy a copy of her own. And Pearl was not a girl to waste an opportunity. Miss Cooper so seldom left her magazines in the servants’ hall for the other servants to glance through. If she had not been called away unexpectedly to attend to her mistress, she would not have forgotten her Mabs magazine. There was no doubt about that in Pearl’s mind. It would be lying now discarded somewhere in her room, probably only half read, not left tucked into her chair for all to read. Tight, that’s what she was. Pearl had said as much to Edna as they huddled under their respective bedclothes in their tiny attic room. Mean and spiteful, that Miss Cooper. Thought she was so much better than everyone else, the way she looked at you as if you weren’t there. And to say what she had said the evening before last at supper. It wasn’t right. How poor Mr Mason didn’t lose his temper, she’d never know.
With these thoughts uppermost in her mind, Pearl set off down the passage towards the servants’ hall. She didn’t like this bit. It was now that she almost lost her nerve. It didn’t feel right for this passage, and the rooms that led off it, to be so quiet and deserted. She was used to them being populated with servants by day, going about their business, accompanied by the comforting sound of chatter and bustle. Craning her neck, she peered into the empty depths of each room as she passed, nervous glances as if she feared what she might see lurking in the shadows, under the tables, behind cupboards. She always felt the same when she went to light the stove, conscious that she was the only breathing person awake in the great, old house. She knew she was being a fool, but at such times she felt the history of the house bearing down upon her. Out of the corner of her eye she could almost fancy that she saw a flicker of the ghosts of servants who had gone before. She quickened her pace before her mind ran away with her. She had thought to read the magazine in the servants’ hall, curled up in one of the chairs. But now she found that such a prospect had lost its appeal. However, she told herself, there was nothing to stop her from grabbing the magazine and taking it back up to her little attic room to read. She could light a candle and sit up in bed. She envisaged in her mind the welcome warmth of the bedclothes, the sound of Edna breathing peacefully in the next bed. Miss Cooper would be none the wiser for she could return the magazine when she came down to light the stove. No one would know …
Peering into the gloom of the servants’ hall, she could just make out the great scrubbed table. She tiptoed inside. Now, could she recollect which chair Miss Cooper had been sitting in? The magazine had been stuffed hurriedly down one side of the seat, she knew that, which meant that it must have been one of the old armchairs … Yes, she remembered now. It was the chair upholstered in shabby red velvet. The material had faded to an unflattering shade of dusky pink long before it had been consigned to the servants’ hall. A relic of the drawing room that had served its purpose and was no longer required upstairs.
All of a sudden she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. There was no reason for it that she could see. True, the room was eerily silent, but no more so than the passage or the other rooms she had passed along the way. There was something though, she felt sure of it. Something that was gnawing away at the edges of her consciousness. It was a feeling she had that everything was not as it should be, that things were definitely not quite right. As her heart thumped loudly in her chest, she felt an icy coldness steal upon her as realisation dawned. She was not alone. There was someone else in the room with her, residing in the dark. It must be someone ghostly, for she could not hear the sound of breathing.
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br /> Her eyes, now more accustomed to the dark, alighted on a figure crouched and huddled in one of the chairs drawn up to the hearth. She wondered why the person chose to sit in the dark. Perhaps, she thought, they had fallen asleep. Pearl fought the temptation to turn tail and flee. Her quest to purloin the magazine had been scuppered, but she could no more return to her room now than call out. Before she lost her nerve, she retreated to the door, but only so she could fumble for the Bakelite ceramic light switch. The room was immediately swathed in light, a brightness that hurt her eyes and for a moment hindered her vision. Pearl turned and faced the occupied chair. The figure was sitting facing away from her. She could see nothing but the back of its head. The only thing that registered in her consciousness was that the hair was very thick and black, good hair, her mother would have said. And something was smeared on it, something sticky that caught the light and glistened. Transfixed, she moved forward. The figure appeared deaf to her presence, for it had not moved a muscle at her approach. A moment later and she knew instinctively that the person was dead. Almost without thinking, she stretched out her arm to touch the gummy substance. She withdrew her hand as quickly as if she had burnt her skin. Her fingers were stained with something. Looking down, she realised that it was blood.
Chapter Thirteen
Martha couldn’t sleep. It was possible that she had dozed a little, but she did not think so. From the moment her head had touched the pillow until now, it seemed slumber had eluded her. Tossing and turning restlessly in her bed, she felt that she had not slept properly for days. Certainly, she knew from bitter experience that, when she got up, there would be a heaviness behind her eyes, which would ache and throb relentlessly. Of course, weeping didn’t help matters. But what else could she do when she carried such a dark secret within her? She couldn’t breathe a word about it to anyone but Albert, and he was no use at all. She stifled a sob, careful as always not to disturb the sleeping Agnes, snoring softly in the next bed, seemingly oblivious to all the cares in the world. How she envied her fellow housemaid.
Not for the first time, Martha wished heartily that she had never laid eyes on Albert Bettering. It was from that moment that everything had started to go wrong. She had loved him, probably still did if truth be told, but now there was something else. She hardly dared admit it, even to herself, but she was afraid of him. He had never hit her as such, not struck a blow, not yet. However, he had raised his voice to her and spoken sharply and she had heard the anger behind his words. Now, it was when he spoke to her softly that she was frightened of him most. There was no tenderness in his voice. When he spoke quietly, there was a coldness that ebbed out of him and chilled her to the bone. She did not think it would take much to make him snap and lash out. She cursed herself for her own foolishness in ever having anything to do with him. How easily he had been able to manipulate her to do his bidding. She had offered no resistance, at least not much. And now look at them. They had done a dreadful thing and, worst of all, Albert didn’t seem to care. No, she corrected herself, she had done it, not Albert. Admittedly on Albert’s instructions, but he was unlikely to admit that if asked. He would not hesitate to lie to protect himself. She knew that. He would let her take the blame and, in the eyes of the law, she alone would be guilty.
She knew things always appeared more awful than they really were in the early, indeterminate hours between night and day. It was easy to exaggerate the importance of things, to imagine the worst. Only of course she had no need to use her imagination. Matters would seem no better in the daylight than they did now. Martha allowed herself to sob quietly, finding solace in the bitter saltiness of her tears as they touched her lips. She could not continue like this, blinking and starting like a frightened rabbit. She knew she resembled a wretched shadow of her former self, close to falling apart at the least provocation. If that was not bad enough, everyone had noticed something was wrong, even Pearl who spent her days ensconced in the scullery, her arms up to the elbows in potato peel. And Martha had seen all too clearly the worried looks exchanged between the butler and the housekeeper. It was obvious what they feared. The housekeeper had asked her outright if anything was the matter and did not appear at all convinced when she had said there wasn’t. She was not surprised. She had only to look in the mirror to see the physical effect of her worries upon her face. Her complexion was sallow, her cheeks pinched and sunken, and fine lines had etched themselves around her eyes, which were red and swollen from crying.
She took a deep breath. There was nothing for it but to speak to Albert tomorrow. Not for a moment did she think it would be pleasant. She would need to stand firm and not allow herself to be intimidated or swayed. She would insist on them having a proper conversation. Not a hurried talk, snatched between tasks, standing in the yard between the washing. A proper conversation where they could sit and talk and decide what to do. And if he refuses, or won’t listen to reason, what then, said a little voice at the back of her mind. Martha sighed, a distressed, heartfelt little sigh, which almost had her in tears again. Then she’d tell him that she would tell Mr Mason everything. It might well cost her her position, and Albert’s too, but anything was better than this. She had had enough.
Rose awoke with a start. She was unsure whether this was due to a knock on her bedroom door or the noise in the outside corridor which seemed, even in her half-conscious state, sufficient to wake the house. She fancied she had heard, a few moments before, the sound of running feet and loud whispers, which suggested that a number of people were about. This seemed odd in itself, stranger yet when she realised that it was still dark outside. But what was most alarming of all was the vision of Edna, now staggering into her room, still dressed in her nightgown, her hair tangled and uncombed, falling down unchecked on to her shoulders. She was holding no welcoming cup of hot tea. Instead, her hands were clenched and there was a bewildered look upon her face.
‘Oh, Miss Rose, Miss Rose –’
‘What is it, Edna? Whatever is the matter?’ Rose enquired, hurriedly sitting up in bed.
‘Oh, it’s awful, it is. Awful.’
Edna’s eyes were wide and Rose had an impression the girl was trembling. Instinctively she put out a hand to her. The girl’s skin was icy cold. Rose immediately sprang up from her bed and motioned for the girl to sit down upon it.
‘Here, get under the covers, Edna. You’ll freeze to death.’
Edna did as she was bid and Rose proceeded to arrange the bedclothes around her.
‘You look as if you’ve had an awful shock. What’s wrong, Edna? What’s happened?’
‘There’s been a death, miss.’ Edna spoke in a dull voice, scarcely above a whisper, so that Rose was obliged to lean forward to catch her words. ‘It’s awful, it is. There’s been a murder in the servants’ hall.’
‘A murder?’ Rose felt her heart quicken. ‘Did you say a murder?’
Edna nodded and Rose felt the colour drain from her own face. She sat down on the bed beside the girl and put an arm around her thin little shoulders. Edna was shivering now.
‘Pearl found the body. Poor little thing. She’s just turned fifteen, so she has. It’s not right.’ Edna pulled the bedcovers more tightly around her and stifled a sob. ‘Mrs Field was ever so upset. Said how it should have been her that found the body, not Edna.’
‘I expect she feels responsible for you both, what with her being housekeeper and you under her charge.’
‘I suppose you’re right. That’s what Mr Mason said. Ever so kind he was. But I don’t look at it like that. We answer to Cook, Pearl and me do.’ Edna passed a thin hand over her eyes. Rose thought how tired the girl looked. ‘He’s telephoning the police now, Mr Mason is.’
‘Good. Where is Pearl now?’
‘Agnes is with her. I didn’t like to leave her alone. But I had to see you, miss, it being a murder and all.’ Edna sniffed. ‘I still think Mrs Field was awful hard on her. Almost gave her a scolding, she did, as if she hadn’t been through enough. Asked her wh
at she was doing in the servants’ hall, like she had no right to be there.’
‘Oh?’
‘Well, she don’t normally go there. Her job’s to go to the kitchen first thing and light the stove. She had no call to go to the servants’ hall. And she went ever so early, so she did.’ Edna bent forward and whispered: ‘Miss Cooper, she’d left her magazine there and Pearl wanted to read it. She had it all planned. She was going to curl up in a chair and read it. But then she saw the body. Sat in one of the chairs, it was. Its head was all bashed in, covered in blood …’ Edna covered her face with her hands and wept.
‘Did you see the body, Edna?’ Rose asked, prompting her gently. ‘I expect she went and got you straight away, didn’t she?’
Edna nodded. ‘Yes, she did. She said she was so scared, she didn’t even scream. She couldn’t remember running up the stairs and coming to get me neither. You should have seen her, miss. She was in such a state. She could hardly get a word out. She wouldn’t go back down again with me, though I begged her. It was awful. I didn’t know what to do, whether to wake Mrs Field, I mean, or go down by myself. I’ll admit I was that frightened, but a little part of me wondered whether it was real. I mean to say, I didn’t want to make a fuss and wake the house over nothing. I thought as she might just have had a bad dream.’
‘So you decided to go down alone?’ The kitchen maid nodded. ‘That was very brave of you, Edna.’
‘Yes. Oh, miss, it was horrible. Ever so horrible. It was just like she’d said.’
‘I’m sure it was. Now, Edna, you keep mentioning it being a body.’
‘That’s what it was, miss. A cold, lifeless thing. I couldn’t think of it as being a person.’
Rose clasped the girl’s hands in her own.
‘Listen to me, Edna. I need to know whose body it was. Who’s been murdered?’
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