‘She’s far too busy,’ said Rose quickly, eager to change the subject. ‘Now, I wonder why you are here?’ Her enquiry was met with an ominous silence. She hurried on. ‘Shall I make a wild guess?’
The young man stared at her, fear and surprise showing on his face in equal measure. With a deep breath, Rose decided to take the bull by the horns.
‘I think you are looking for the diamond necklace, Albert. The one that’s missing. Am I right?’
It was not a promising start. Inspector Connor realised that as soon as the door opened and admitted the woman he took to be Mrs Grayson-Smith. He saw at once that she was of the fragile-looking, nervy type that he knew well, having encountered that sort often enough in his career. He groaned inwardly and, catching his sergeant’s eye, saw Sergeant Harris do the same. Her kind usually made the worst interviewee. They had to be handled right or else they went to pieces. One awkward question, or a sharp tone of voice, and they dissolved in tears and there was nothing you could do about it, save provide a clean handkerchief, which would be returned to you crumpled, complete with smudges of make-up on it that would never wash out. And you might as well give up there and then with the questioning, because it was no use hoping that after the crying subsided you’d be able to get any sense out of them. Frightened of their own shadows, they were. They gave hesitant answers, doubting their own memory of events so you did too. Others would not utter a word unless it was torn grudgingly from their lips and then it would only be feeble nonsense, or information of the useless kind. Nothing of any substance.
Inspector Connor cleared his throat and tried to empty his head of such disconsolate thoughts. It did not do to start an interview with such negative expectations. If he treated the woman like a hothouse flower, then likely as not she would act like one. And people could surprise you. She might look as if she lacked a backbone, would scream as soon as look at you, but it was just possible she contained an inner strength hidden behind that delicate shell. If she was treated with care, she might bloom under questioning rather than wilt. With these thoughts uppermost in his mind, the inspector attempted to put the woman at her ease. He arranged his face into a kindly expression and adopted a genial tone of voice as if he were playing the part of a favourite uncle. Patience, that was the key thing; he must be patient. He only hoped that Sergeant Harris, not a man renowned for his forbearance, would follow his lead and not intimidate her with that face of his, which looked gloomy at the best of times.
‘Mrs Grayson-Smith, I’m Inspector Connor. Won’t you please take a seat?’
The inspector beckoned to the chair in front of his desk, so positioned as to obscure from view, and hopefully also from mind, the two sergeants. The older of the two had drawn up a chair in which to sit and take notes unobtrusively, the younger lounged in a nonchalant fashion against a bookcase beside the door. Both were notable only by their silence and the way they seemed to disappear into the very fabric of the room. Certainly Millicent did not appear to see them, her focus being solely on the inspector, whom she viewed warily and with not a little apprehension. Before she had seemingly given it any thought, or intentionally acquiesced, she found herself seated in the allocated chair. She did not remember walking over to the seat, nor sitting down upon it. She bit her bottom lip and clasped and unclasped her hands in her lap. She was restive, and she did not wish to be. She wanted to compose herself, portray herself in a good light, and give the inspector her full attention. Instead she averted her gaze and stared unseeing at the carpet, much as Sergeant Harris had done earlier when he had realised he had made an error in mentioning the disappearance of the diamond necklace to Mason before they had interviewed the lady of the house.
‘I appreciate this must be difficult for you, Mrs Grayson-Smith,’ began the inspector, ‘what with the deceased being your lady’s maid.’
‘Oh? No. I didn’t know her very well, you see.’ Millicent, obviously flustered, put a hand to her mouth. ‘She had only been with me a few months at most …’ She allowed her voice to dwindle to nothing, not quite sure herself what she was intending to say next.
‘Even so, it must have been –’
He got no further, for the door burst open and a woman, who was patently everything Millicent Grayson-Smith was not, rushed into the room. It was true that she shared Millicent’s sense of fragility and delicate features, but there the similarity ended. Where Millicent’s face appeared strained and wan, hers was bright and animated. It took a moment for Inspector Connor to realise that it was this vitality, compared with Millicent’s lethargy, that made the greatest impression. Her tall, willowy figure and cool, aristocratic beauty might draw Sergeant Perkins’ attention, and Sergeant Harris would have much to say about the platinum dyed hair, but it was the girl’s obvious energy that attracted the inspector. The woman standing here before him was not a creature who would answer questions with monosyllabic answers. She would show no self-restraint in the expression of emotion, the words would flow from her lips before she gave a thought to stop them, regardless of the consequences.
‘Oh Millicent, there you are. Why didn’t you wait for me?’ Millicent made a half-hearted attempt to answer and then stopped, staring up at Lavinia with something of a bewildered look upon her face, her eyes large and doleful. To the policemen, who watched her closely, she seemed to shrink back a little in her seat.
‘Hello, our frightened little goose never intended that her confident young friend should accompany her,’ said Inspector Connor to himself. ‘Now, that is interesting. She’s just the sort who needs someone to hold her hand. So why doesn’t she want her ladyship here?’
‘Never mind, I’m here now,’ Lavinia was saying. Whether or not she realised an answer would not be forthcoming, she did not bother to wait for Millicent to speak. ‘No harm done. Mrs Grayson-Smith is a little nervous, Inspector. She’s never encountered this sort of thing before, whereas of course, I have.’
‘Indeed?’ said the inspector.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Lavinia, seating herself comfortably into a chair that Sergeant Perkins had kindly drawn up for her.
The inspector decided not to pry. This type of woman required no encouragement. If he were to show any interest in what she was saying, he was afraid she would not stop talking. That sort never did; too fond of their own voices, they were. Momentarily, he felt a little at a loss. With Lady Lavinia Sedgwick present he did not doubt that he would receive detailed answers to his questions. The problem was that they would not come from Mrs Grayson-Smith’s lips. For this reason, his preference was for witnesses and suspects to be interviewed alone, particularly if they were impressionable and apt to be swayed by others. He looked at Millicent’s pale and drawn face. He noted the way her lip trembled and her hands fidgeted. He remembered the way she had already barely comprehended his first few questions and stumbled over her answers. Somewhat against his better judgment, he decided rather grudgingly to permit her friend to stay.
‘You are welcome to remain, Lady Lavinia,’ he said. ‘To give moral support, that is. But I should like Mrs Grayson-Smith to answer my questions herself. Do you understand what I am saying Miss … em … m’lady?’ The inspector coughed awkwardly over the oral address. He felt it placed him at a disadvantage by emphasising their very different stations in society.
‘But of course, Inspector.’ Lavinia smiled sweetly apparently oblivious to any discomfort on the inspector’s part.
‘Very well. Now, Mrs Grayson-Smith,’ began the inspector adopting a firmer tone than he had originally intended, to cover the feelings of inferiority he was experiencing, ‘I’ll be asking you the routine questions about how long Miss Cooper had been employed here as your maid and her references and such like in a minute. But what I am interested in at the moment is getting a picture of the events of last night. Your butler’s given us a bit of an account from the servants’ perspective. Now I’d like one from yours.’
‘I … I’m not sure I understand,’ began Millicent, something o
f a frightened look creeping back upon her face.
‘Well, of course you do, Milly,’ said Lavinia, squeezing the woman’s hand. She might have been speaking to a child or to a person with marred intellect. ‘The inspector wants to know what time Cooper left you last night and the type of mood she was in. Isn’t that right, Inspector, you want to know that sort of thing?’
‘Yes, indeed, m’lady,’ muttered Inspector Connor almost under his breath.
Sergeant Perkins turned his head away to hide a smile. If truth be told, he was enjoying himself immensely. There was much to be said for being on the fringes of an investigation. Lady Lavinia Sedgwick was proving herself to be a most lively and interesting woman, everything he had hoped for in the form of entertainment. He could see why such a woman had riled Inspector Deacon. He wondered how his uncle was going to fare.
‘Well,’ began Millicent rather hesitantly, ‘she appeared to me in much the same state of mind as usual. Of course we were not by way of being friends.’
‘I appreciate that, Mrs Grayson-Smith. But did she, for example, appear excited at all or perhaps a little agitated?’
‘No … I don’t think so.’
‘And yet, if you don’t mind my saying, you sound rather hesitant. Are you quite sure she wasn’t upset about something?’
‘Yes, I’m perfectly certain … at least I think I am. It’s difficult to remember.’ Millicent hung her head a little as if ashamed at the apparent inadequacy of her memory. ‘We weren’t on familiar terms.’
‘Well, of course they weren’t,’ said Lavinia rather indignantly. ‘After all, Cooper was only a servant, Inspector.’
‘I am quite well aware of that,’ said the inspector coldly.
‘I can’t quite remember what time she left me,’ continued Millicent quickly. ‘Let me see. She helped me undress at the end of the evening. Oh, yes. I remember now. She took my gown. That’s to say, the one I had been wearing. She said it needed repairing.’
‘And what time did she leave you for the night?’
‘Oh. I have just told you I’m not certain.’ She turned to her friend. ‘Lavinia, do you know?’
‘About a quarter to eleven, I should think. I wasn’t looking at the clock. But Mrs Grayson-Smith doesn’t keep late hours, Inspector. Even when she entertains.’
‘Did you actually see her go? The deceased, I mean?’ Inspector Connor asked her sharply.
‘Well, as it happens, I did. She was in the corridor when Rose … Miss Simpson, opened my door to leave,’ said Lavinia. ‘She must have just come out of your room, Millicent. I remember she was carrying your dress. The one you had been wearing. I think I recall it because of the colour; it was such a vivid blue.’
‘I see. Now, Mrs Grayson-Smith,’ Inspector Connor said in a tone which suggested that the interview was drawing to a close. ‘I’m obliged to ask you this question. It’s a mere matter of routine. I doubt very much whether you’ll be able to help me, not being one of the deceased’s fellow servants or a particular friend.’
‘Oh?’
He heard the apprehension in her voice. Her hands, which a moment before had been neatly folded in her lap, now jerked alive of their own accord and clung to the sides of her seat. His interest aroused, he said quickly, before the momentum was lost: ‘Do you know if the deceased had any enemies?’
‘No,’ said Lavinia quickly, ‘of course Mrs Grayson-Smith doesn’t know.’
‘Yes,’ said Millicent. ’She did.’
‘Oh?’ Inspector Connor stared at Millicent, his eyes glued to her as if he found her fascinating. Even Sergeant Harris had paused in his note taking, his pencil hovering impatiently above the page.
‘Me.’
‘You?’ exclaimed the inspector. He stared at her with incredulous horror.
‘Shush, Millicent, don’t be silly,’ began Lavinia. For the first time during the interview she looked worried.
‘Be quiet, Lady Lavinia, if you please,’ commanded Inspector Connor. ‘You were saying, Mrs Grayson-Smith?’
‘It’s no good. Don’t you see?’ Millicent said, looking imploringly at Lavinia. ‘It’ll come out in the end.’
‘Yes it will,’ said Sergeant Harris ominously from the depths of the room.
The two women had forgotten that he was there and both started visibly.
‘Oh do shut up,’ cried Lavinia with feeling. She was ostensibly addressing the sergeant, but few in the room would have doubted that she was also speaking to Millicent, begging the woman to hold her tongue.
‘I suppose you would say Cooper was blackmailing me, Inspector,’ Millicent said quietly. Now that she had released her burden, she seemed strangely at peace. ‘She caught me in a … a compromising position. But it wasn’t my fault. That’s to say, it wasn’t how it looked.’
‘Of course it wasn’t,’ said Lavinia, rallying a little. ‘Mrs Grayson-Smith happened to be upset one day and the footman … well, he is an impertinent fellow. He took advantage of the situation and put his arm around her shoulders.’
‘Would that be Albert Bettering?’ enquired the inspector.
‘Yes. I think he was just trying to be kind, Lavinia,’ said Millicent, her cheeks going crimson. ‘I don’t think he meant anything by it.’
Sergeant Harris snorted and the inspector frowned.
‘Of course I pushed him away,’ said Millicent, ‘but not before Cooper caught us. It was all rather embarrassing. I didn’t know where to look. I thought she would pretend she hadn’t seen anything. But later that evening when I was dressing for dinner and she was brushing my hair, she said men were funny creatures and apt to think the worst. Of course I asked her what she meant. She said that in her experience husbands were prone to think that their wives were up to no good when there was a perfectly innocent explanation, and wouldn’t it be awful if my husband happened to find out that the footman had held me in his arms.’
‘I see. She hinted that she intended to blackmail you?’
‘Yes. I was frightened, Inspector. My husband is a jealous man. I … I didn’t know what to do. In the end I asked her what she wanted. I said I didn’t have much money of my own. She said that she didn’t want money.’
‘Oh? She did, did she?’ The inspector sounded surprised. ‘What did she want?’
‘She said it was usual for mistresses to give their lady’s maids dresses they no longer wanted, and that she would like to take one or two of the gowns I didn’t wear.’
‘And you agreed to this?’
‘I didn’t see the harm. I was relieved. She seemed to be asking for so little.’
‘I know what you are thinking, Inspector,’ said Lavinia, ‘that this gives Mrs Grayson-Smith some sort of a motive for wishing Cooper dead.’
‘Lavinia!’ Millicent shrank back in her seat, as if she had been stung.
‘There is no need to look so alarmed, Millicent. I was just going to explain that this only happened last night. Hardly enough time to take it on yourself to kill the woman. Why, she probably hadn’t even decided which dresses of yours to take.’
‘But she had,’ said Millicent. Having recovered from her initial shock, her voice was now quiet, and her tone dull. She sounded resigned, a heavy weight slipping from her shoulders, to come tumbling down to deliver the final blow. ‘She took my best ones.’
‘But –’ began Lavinia.
‘I’m sorry, Lavinia. I’m afraid I lied to you. Do forgive me.’ Millicent stared at her hands while she spoke and worked the fabric of her skirt between her fingers. ‘It all happened last week, not last night. When she blackmailed me, I mean. I wanted to tell you the truth, really I did. But I was so embarrassed. She took my best clothes. I knew if I refused to let her she’d tell Edwin. I didn’t know what to do. I was awfully afraid of what she would ask for next.’
Chapter Twenty-four
Albert took a couple of steps forward. As he advanced on her, Rose wondered whether he intended to strike her. Certainly he appeared sufficiently angry. Hi
s good looks were momentarily marred with rage, and his dark eyes blazed dangerously like two lumps of coal. She also fancied she saw his hand twitch, as if in preparation for being raised.
She had been a fool. In those few seconds of uncertainty, while she waited to see how Albert would react, she cursed herself for her own stupidity. To goad a man such as him had been an act of madness. She had already seen him display a violent temper in the servants’ hall. There had been others present then to restrain and placate him. Now she was very aware that she was entirely alone and vulnerable.
There were no witnesses, should he decide to hit her. There would only be her word against his and he might well decide that the odds were sufficiently in his favour to take the chance. In that instant, her nerve almost broke and she was sorely tempted to tell him who she really was, believing it would be sufficient to stay his hand. On a second’s reflection, however, she considered it might place her in worse peril. For she would be forced to give the reason for her deceit. To admit that she was an amateur sleuth, when Albert might at best be a thief and at worst a murderer, would be placing herself in even greater danger.
Looking wildly around the room, she saw there was no obvious means of escape. To get to the door she would need to brush past Albert and he would surely grab her. Of course she could always scream, but she doubted anyone would hear her, hidden away as she was high up in the attics. It was true that Pearl and Agnes might hear her muffled cries, but in their highly distressed and agitated states, might they not flee below in fright rather than take a moment to investigate from whence the noise had come?
What had threatened to become a deadly situation, in the end strangely resolved itself peaceably enough. So much so that Rose almost felt cheated by the outcome, being as it was something of an anti-climax. For the footman to all intents and purposes backed down and withdrew. Perhaps she had not, after all, provoked him sufficiently, or possibly he had thought better of it than to strike a visiting servant amidst a murder investigation while the police still lingered in the house. Whatever the reason, Albert straightened and lowered his hand to his side. The expression on his face returned to its usual one of insolence, which had the odd effect of accentuating his good looks. With an air of assumed indifference, he shrugged and retraced his steps to the door.
Murder in the Servants' Hall Page 22