‘There would have been nothing to prevent him from doing so?’ asked the inspector.
‘I don’t think I quite understand–’
‘The butler didn’t lock the doors on the attic landing leading from the servants’ bedrooms to the back staircases?’ clarified Sergeant Perkins.
‘Ah, I see what you mean, sir,’ said Sergeant Harris, addressing his reply to his superior, and very pointedly ignoring the young sergeant. ‘No, those doors weren’t kept locked. The servants could come and go from their bedrooms to the servants’ hall and kitchen as they saw fit. It was only the main house they couldn’t visit at night.’
‘Right, I think that’s clear,’ said the inspector, pausing in his pacing to make a note of his own. ‘What we are saying is that any one of the servants could have come down in the middle of the night and killed the deceased. That reminds me, does the police surgeon have any opinion on the time of death? I know old Collins doesn’t like to commit himself until after he’s done the post-mortem but even so, he must have some idea.’
‘Any time between about midnight and three o’clock in the morning he told me, sir, unofficial like,’ said Sergeant Harris. He chuckled. ‘He said it ever so grudgingly. He was all for not saying anything and us having to wait for his report.’
The inspector groaned. ‘None of the servants are likely to have alibis for that time that can be proved or disproved. All asleep in their beds they would have been. Only our murderer up and about.’
‘One or two of them share a room, sir,’ said Sergeant Harris.
‘Yes, but given the hours they work and the strenuous nature of their employment, I’d bet that each and every one of them is asleep as soon as their heads touch their pillows.’
‘I am sure what you say is right, sir,’ concurred his sergeant, ‘but we might discover one or two of the servants decided to sit up late in the servants’ hall reading the day’s newspaper, or the scullery maid was kept busy in the scullery scrubbing the pots and pans until all hours.’
‘Well, we’ll find out soon enough during the course of the interviews. Right, now that we have dealt with young Albert, who, according to the butler, was left to return from the main house?’
‘Just Miss Denning … or Miss Simpson, should I say?’
‘Stick with Miss Denning. We’d better not refer to her as Miss Simpson, even in private. Walls have ears, particularly in a place like this.’ Inspector Connor looked around furtively, as if he expected a servant to be crouching in the shadows.
‘Very well’ said Sergeant Harris, though the look on his face showed that he clearly thought this an unnecessary precaution. ‘Well, Miss Denning, she came down next, after seeing to Lady Lavinia. She poured herself a mug of the soup, though it was only lukewarm, and went straight to bed. I daresay she was tired, her not being used to hard labour.’
‘Until recently she worked in a dress shop,’ cried Sergeant Perkins, leaping to Rose’s defence. ‘She is quite used to hard work and working long hours.’
‘That’s as may be, but it’s not the same as a life in service. You ask the wife’s niece. Now, where was I? You made me lose my place … ah, here we are. I’ve got written down here that a few moments later Miss Cooper came down. Ah, now, this is interesting, I’d forgotten about that. The butler said she was in something of an agitated state, whatever that means. ‘Couldn’t settle’, those were the very words he used. She told him she would stop downstairs and have some soup. But when she went to have a look in the saucepan there wasn’t any soup left, on account of Miss Simpson having taken the last bit. So she said she’d boil the kettle and make herself a cup of tea instead.’
‘Miss Denning, not Miss Simpson,’ corrected Sergeant Perkins through gritted teeth.
‘Ay, her,’ said his fellow sergeant.
‘Go on,’ said the inspector beginning to become irritated by the sergeants’ constant bickering, though he admitted to himself that his own man was mostly to blame.
‘The butler was still there in the servants’ hall when she returned with her tea. He had half a thought that she’d go straight to her room. Liked to keep herself to herself as a rule, she did. Didn’t tend to sit down with the others when she’d finished for the day, though occasionally she drank her coffee in the housekeeper’s sitting room. But more often than not she preferred her own company.’
‘But last night she decided to stay in the servants’ hall? I say, that’s interesting,’ said Sergeant Perkins. ‘Do you think it possible that she had arranged to meet one of the servants there? Now, who else was about? If I remember, the butler did say.’
‘Just the housekeeper, Mrs Field. She was in her sitting room doing the household accounts.’
‘I suppose it is just possible that someone else might have been lurking unobserved in the passage outside or in one of the other rooms, waiting until the coast was clear? The butler might have been none the wiser, not if they had pretended to go up to bed and then slipped down again when Mason’s back was turned,’ suggested Sergeant Perkins.
‘Well, it is a rabbit warren of rooms down there,’ conceded Sergeant Harris. ‘Plenty of places to hide if you had a mind to. But according to Mason, there was only him and the housekeeper about, and as soon as Miss Cooper had come into the servants’ hall with her cup of tea, he went and bid Mrs Field goodnight, telling her not to stay up too late. Then he retired for the night. His bedroom’s off his pantry.’
‘Is it indeed?’ exclaimed the inspector. ‘Well, there’s a thing. Rather surprising, don’t you think, if that’s the case, that he didn’t hear anything? No sound of a cry in the night or of the saucepan being wielded?’
‘Well, his pantry’s at the other end of the passage,’ said Sergeant Harris. ‘And he says he sleeps very deep. He plugs his ears with bits of cotton wool, you see. It helps him sleep like anything. As soon as his eyes are closed, nothing wakes him until he is brought in his morning cup of tea. Of course this morning he was wakened early by the housekeeper.’
‘How very inconsiderate of him, the cotton wool, I mean,’ grumbled the inspector, returning to his seat behind the desk. ‘Well, I daresay we’ll find out soon enough from the housekeeper if any of the servants came down to read their newspapers or whatnot, before she took her leave and retired for the night.’ He gathered up his papers. ‘Well, there’s no use putting it off any longer. We’d better see the mistress of the house next. Likely as not it will be a waste of time and she’ll have nothing to tell us. But we’d better get it over with.’
The inspector was not to know, as he sat there shuffling his papers, that before many minutes had elapsed, he would be forced to eat his words.
Chapter Twenty-three
Still pondering Agnes’s tear-stained face, Rose made her way back down the corridor, absentmindedly staring through the open doorways to catch glimpses of the attic rooms beyond. Idly she compared the rooms where the occupants had made efforts to personalise them with pictures and their own possessions, as Pearl and Edna had done, with those where the inhabitants had been content to leave them as they were, plain and unadorned; the dull sage green paint dominant on the walls, the uninviting bare floorboards on the floor. Rose was just thinking how different and warm the rooms could be made to look with a little care and attention, and a few homely touches, when a sudden thought occurred to her. This caused her to halt abruptly and for Edna, who was accompanying her and walking a little behind her due to the narrowness of the corridor, to walk straight into her.
‘Oh, miss, I’m ever so sorry. I didn’t see –’
‘It was my fault entirely, Edna. I shouldn’t have stopped like that. A thought had just occurred to me, that’s all.’ She bent her head a little and leaned towards the girl so that she might speak in a low tone. ‘Tell me, Edna, do you know which room was Miss Cooper’s?’
‘That one there, miss. The one with the door closed.’ The kitchen maid pointed to a door a little further down the corridor. ‘I’ve never peeked inside,
myself. Miss Cooper was one for keeping her door firmly shut, she was. Insisted on doing her own cleaning and dusting too, she did, and making her own bed. Wouldn’t let Agnes or Martha do it for her, though it was their job to do it. Not that they minded of course. It meant less work for them.’
‘I’m curious as to what the police are doing now,’ muttered Rose. ‘I wonder if they’ve searched Miss Cooper’s room yet.’
‘I don’t think they have, miss. They’ve been too busy talking with Mr Mason. He’s in with them now, least he was a few minutes ago. Martha told me when I was trying to make up my mind whether to pop up here. Cook was busy having a go at Mrs Field. And Mr Mason, he was in with the policemen. It made me decide to seize my chance, you see. I didn’t think I’d be missed.’
‘Well, I think I’ll take a leaf out of your book, Edna, and seize my chance now,’ said Rose, walking purposefully towards the door of Miss Cooper’s attic room. ‘Hurry up. You had better come inside with me. I don’t want to arouse Agnes’s suspicions by you waiting outside for me in the corridor.’
‘Oh, miss, do you think we ought to? The police will be ever so cross if they find us there and Miss Cooper … well, she wouldn’t have liked it, us rummaging through her things, I mean.’
‘I’m afraid it can’t be helped, Edna. And if the police find me … well, they won’t be surprised. But you needn’t worry, you won’t get in any trouble. I’ll take the blame.’
Despite these words of reassurance, the kitchen maid still looked worried.
‘Oh, Edna, how very silly of me and selfish too. There’s no reason why you need to come in Miss Cooper’s room with me at all. Go back downstairs. As a matter of fact, it would be much better if you did, in case you’re missed and someone comes looking for you.’
Still the kitchen maid hesitated, biting her lip and moving her weight from one foot to the other. She was a picture of indecision, but Rose could not afford any more time to wait for the girl to make up her mind what to do. With one last passing comment over her shoulder to the effect that if she wished to be of help the girl might keep an eye on the library door and come and warn her should the policemen emerge from that room and begin to prowl, Rose hurried into Miss Cooper’s room, shutting the door firmly behind her.
Leaning back against the door, Rose took a moment or two to survey her surroundings. To all intents and purposes, the room was very similar to her own in both dimensions and décor. Like some of the other servants, Miss Cooper had taken steps to make the room her own. In her case, the attempt had been successful, showing both a tasteful eye and an appreciation of fine things. The pictures that adorned the walls were pleasing reproductions of flower paintings, which had been mounted and framed and hung properly; cord and nails had been used in place of wet soap. The cushion, plumped up on the obligatory lone chair, was covered in Italian flame-stitched needlework and, such was its quality, would not have looked out of place in the Grayson-Smiths’ drawing room. A figured mohair rug on the floor beside the bed, which Rose was to discover was exceptionally soft to the tread, relieved the bareness of the wooden floorboards. Instead of the usual chest-of-drawers, an old wooden wardrobe of modest dimensions stood in one corner of the room, its door tight shut.
For the first time, Rose was thankful that the servants’ rooms were so sparsely furnished. It made the process of undertaking a thorough search a relatively quick affair. With no time to waste, she commenced a methodical examination of the room, starting with the obvious hiding places. The rug was turned back and inspected, the bed stripped of its sheets and blankets, the underside of the mattress examined and the bedframe itself scrutinised. Rose took the pictures from the walls, just falling short of removing the backs to ascertain if anything had been slipped behind the pictures. Though sorely tempted, she felt it would not be possible to do so without leaving evidence of her activities. The pictures returned to the walls, the bed made and the rug put back in position, she turned her attention next to the wardrobe. She felt a shiver of excitement pass through her. Of all the places where something substantial might be hidden, she thought it would be here.
The wardrobe was what could best be described as a gentleman’s wardrobe, being small in stature. It was made of polished walnut, scratched in places, and consisted only of a series of open shelves on one side and a pull out central hanging rail. Before she made an investigation of the inside, however, her eyes were drawn to a small, leather suitcase, scuffed and shabby, perched at an untidy angle on top of the wardrobe, as if it had been thrust there hastily. With the aid of the chair, she got it down and put it on the bed. Rose wrestled with the clasp, which appeared faulty, for certainly it was hard to open. It was only when she had succeeded in doing so that she realised the difficulty had arisen due to the presence of an obstruction, a small bit of blue fabric which had got snagged in the fastening. To her disappointment, particularly after all her efforts, Rose found the suitcase to be empty save for some badly folded brown paper, the corner of which was torn, and a length of string. She tossed the offending article aside in disgust.
Next she concentrated on the inside of the wardrobe. It took no more than a few minutes for Rose to examine the shelves, taking out the neatly pressed clothes, shaking them out lest anything be hidden within their folds or seams. Once she had restored them neatly folded to the shelves, she removed the two pairs of shoes from the shoe rack positioned at the bottom of the wardrobe and felt inside the toes. Next she inspected the wardrobe floor itself. Finally, her attention turned to the clothes that hung from the rail. She discovered that as a consequence of the rail being central rather than horizontal, she could see only the nearest garment, the others being stacked behind it out of sight. To make a thorough examination, she would be obliged to take out each garment in turn. She paused a moment before she began this task. It seemed to her that she had been in the attic room a considerable length of time. It could be only the matter of a few minutes before she was disturbed. She threw a quick glance at the door. She could hear no sounds beyond it, no footsteps marching down the corridor, no voices raised. She hoped fervently that Agnes was still busy attending to the scullery maid, the policemen employed elsewhere in other rooms. Despite her earlier show of bravado to Edna, she did not relish being caught in the act of rummaging through the murdered woman’s possessions.
The first garment she examined was evidently Miss Cooper’s second best lady’s maid’s uniform. Plain and austere, it hung in the wardrobe like a dark shroud, the blackness relieved only by a small amount of white lace at the neck. She threw the dress on to the bed and proceeded to inspect the other clothes in turn. There was a sombre grey wool tweed suit, a day dress in a brightly coloured print, a tea dress in rayon chiffon. These she scrutinised and discarded, throwing them haphazardly on the bed, caring not that in her haste one or two came off their hangers and slipped on to the floor. She came to what she considered was the last garment, a black wool coat, practical but not stylish. It was sufficiently bulky to fill the space entirely. Eagerly she examined the pockets, but they revealed nothing of interest.
Rose was just about to return the other clothes to the closet, when it occurred to her that the wardrobe went further back than she had first supposed, its depth surprisingly spacious. The coat, therefore, was not at the back of the wardrobe as she had assumed. Considerable space lay beyond it. With trembling fingers, she tore the coat from its hanger and threw it carelessly on to the floor.
The sound of a sharply drawn breath surprised her. She was almost tempted to look behind her; it took a moment to realise that the noise was her own intake of breath. For the sight that greeted her eyes was an evening gown of royal blue silk satin, cut on the bias with a slight cowl neckline and sleeveless except for its ruffled panels of silk satin. It was Millicent’s gown, the one she had worn the previous evening, the very same that the lady’s maid had furtively put on so that she might stare at her own reflection in the mirror. Rose pulled out the gown to assure herself that it was the
same. There was no mistake. And behind it hung other dresses, other evening gowns in taffeta and silk satin and beyond those chiffon day dresses …
Rose sat down heavily on the bed beside the discarded clothes. She knew that she must gather her thoughts and make sense of them. But for the moment, all she could think was that Millicent must have lied to them. First she had omitted to tell them about the blackmail business and now it appeared she had deliberately misled them, or perhaps she only wished to portray herself in a better light. Whatever the reason, it was apparent that she had not told them the full truth.
It was then that she heard footsteps coming down the corridor. It was a heavy tread; a man’s tread. She stood up. There was no time to restore order to the wardrobe. Surrounded by the strewn clothes as she was, she braced herself to face the unpleasant consequences of her actions. She turned to face the door in time to see it open slowly and rather hesitantly. She wondered idly if she had betrayed her presence in the room by making too much noise. Yet, for the last few minutes she had done nothing more than sit quietly on the bed. In those last few seconds, as the door was opened wide, an unpleasant realisation came upon her. The man who entered was not one of the policemen, as she had expected. It was true that he shared Sergeant Perkins’ youth. His face, however, was impossibly handsome and there was a nervousness about him that Rose did not associate with any of the policemen.
The man started, as if he’d seen a ghost.
‘Miss Denning! What are you doing here?’
‘I might well ask you the same question,’ said Rose with bluster, though she felt herself inwardly tremble, ‘creeping furtively into this room. I’ve a good mind to tell the policemen. As to why I’m here, I was asked to go through Miss Cooper’s possessions,’ she lied, ‘to see if anything was missing.’
‘I don’t know how you’d know that,’ retorted the young man, relaxing a little. ‘You hardly knew the woman. Mrs Field would have been better placed to do that.’
Murder in the Servants' Hall Page 21