Murder in the Servants' Hall

by Addison, Margaret

  ‘I say, Miss Denning, this is most intriguing,’ said Sergeant Perkins with a deal of humour. ‘You are the only person who has been pleased to see me since I entered this establishment. I’ll have you know I have spent the morning trying to avoid stepping on Sergeant Harris’ toes or ruffling the old boy’s feathers. I rather think my uncle regrets asking me to tag along.’

  ‘Who are you interviewing at the moment?’ asked Rose, ignoring his jovial manner.

  ‘The housekeeper, Mrs Field. I’m afraid she is not being very forthcoming. She’s indignant that a murder has occurred in this house, but that’s all she’ll say on the matter. Keeps looking at the clock. Says she must find a room for the servants to have their meal. It will be time for the mistress’ lunch soon and they can’t keep her waiting and she won’t have the servants working on empty stomachs.’ He made a face. ‘She doesn’t want standards slipping. Apparently, even a murder occurring in the house under her very nose does not warrant an upset to routine.’ He looked at Rose quizzically. ‘Though I rather gathered she was none too fond of young Albert. Am I right?’’

  ‘Yes. She doesn’t like him much; very few do. She and Mason, and a number of the other servants, think he did it; murdered the lady’s maid.’

  ‘Do they indeed? Well, I shall let you in on a little secret,’ he paused for effect, ‘so do we!’ He gave her a sudden, penetrating stare. ‘But I suppose the question is, do you think he did it, miss?’

  ‘I really don’t know,’ Rose answered truthfully. ‘Everything seems to point to him being the murderer. He and the deceased appear to have been lovers. Did you know about that?’

  ‘No, I didn’t. Well, I’ll be blowed! I thought he was fond of the other maid, the pretty one.’

  ‘Martha? Yes, he is. I’m afraid Albert doesn’t appear to have any scruples about anything,’ Rose paused a moment before continuing. ‘Mrs Grayson-Smith’s told you about the blackmail business?’

  ‘She did indeed, much to Lady Lavinia’s annoyance. She’s quite a character isn’t she, that friend of yours?’ He chuckled. ‘I think she could give old Sergeant Harris a run for his money. Now, what’s with all this cloak and dagger stuff, miss? You said you needed to ask me a question.’

  ‘Yes. Tell me, did you go with the other policemen to view the body?’

  ‘I did,’ said Sergeant Perkins, his manner at once becoming serious. ‘It was not a pretty sight.’

  ‘I’m sure it wasn’t. Will you tell me please, what … what was she wearing?’

  Sergeant Perkins raised his eyebrows in surprise. The question was not one he had been expecting.

  ‘Do you mean in the way of clothes?’ Rose nodded. ‘Well, she had on a dress a bit like yours. Rather a sombre affair, if I remember. Black, save for a bit of white lace at the cuffs and neck.’

  ‘Was she wearing anything else?’

  Sergeant Perkins gave her a puzzled look.

  ‘No. I don’t think so. What sort of thing did you have in mind?’

  ‘A coat. Was she wearing a coat?’

  ‘A coat?’ He looked surprised. ‘No. She wasn’t wearing a coat. And before you ask, I am quite sure. I studied the body quite closely. I would have remembered if she had been wearing a coat. She wasn’t. She was just wearing the black dress.’

  ‘Would it surprise you to learn that she was wearing a coat when her body was first discovered? Edna told me. If you remember, she went down to make sure there really was a body before she roused the housekeeper.’

  ‘The kitchen maid? The friend of the scullery maid who found her?’

  Rose nodded.

  ‘She must have been mistaken.’

  ‘I don’t think she was,’ said Rose. ‘I think Cooper was wearing a coat when the body was found.’

  ‘If that’s the case, what’s happened to it? We must make a search of the house. It can’t have gone far.’

  ‘There’s no need, Sergeant. You see, I know where it is.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘It’s hanging at the back of Cooper’s wardrobe.’

  ‘I … I don’t understand,’ said the young man, clearly puzzled.

  ‘It’s really very simple, Sergeant. At some time between Edna viewing the body and your viewing the corpse, someone removed the coat and hung it up in the deceased’s wardrobe.’

  ‘Why would anyone go to all that trouble?’ asked the sergeant, looking bemused.

  ‘To hide the fact that the deceased was intending to leave Crossing Manor.’

  ‘What? In the middle of the night? Are you quite sure? Why wouldn’t she wait until morning?’

  ‘I think she had her reasons. But at the moment, it’s pure conjecture on my part, so I don’t really want to say any more at present until I have some proof. Now,’ Rose said, holding up her hand as the sergeant made to protest, ‘will you tell me something else? Have you interviewed Albert Bettering yet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘My uncle’s all for leaving him to last. He thinks his nerves will do for him if we make him wait. He fancies he’ll go to pieces and make a full confession.’

  ‘Does he?’

  ‘Of course we didn’t know then that Albert had been carrying on with the deceased. That will be another nail in his coffin.’ The sergeant smiled. ‘I reckon you’ve earned yourself a pat on the back, miss.’

  ‘Well, I do hope the inspector will think so,’ said Rose, ‘because I should like to be present when you interview Albert Bettering.’

  Rose emerged from the study. She hurried across the entrance hall and slipped through the green baize door, eager to reach the servants’ quarters before Mrs Field came out of the library. When she arrived in the passage, the orderly air that had prevailed seemed to have dissolved into chaos in the housekeeper’s absence. For servants were running this way and that and she could hear the raised voice of the cook, scolding one of the unfortunate maids.

  ‘Everyone’s behind with their duties,’ explained Agnes, who had appeared at her shoulder. ‘And Pearl has just upset a saucepan of soup much to the chagrin of Cook. Not got time to make any more so she says, not with no help all morning. We’re to make do with a bit of bread and dripping and cheese if we’re lucky. I don’t know what old Fieldy will say. And there’s nowhere to sit and eat, only the scullery and we can’t all fit in there. We’ll have to eat in shifts, so we will.’

  ‘Where is Mr Mason?’

  ‘He’s in his pantry, He’s been in there ever since he came back from seeing the policemen. Deathly pale he was, so Martha says. She happened to pass him in the passage.’

  ‘Where is Martha now?’

  ‘I don’t rightly know. She said something about going to her room. If you’re wanting some lunch, I’d go to the scullery now, before there’s nowhere to sit.’

  Rose thanked her, though she had no intention of taking her advice. Following her discussion with Sergeant Perkins, she had only one object in mind. She must talk to Martha. For she felt that the girl held the key to the mystery. Something had upset Martha long before the murder, something that had made her so miserable and dejected that it had been readily commented upon by the rest of the staff. It could not be explained by the girl having a vague suspicion that the man she loved was a thief. There must be some substance behind her belief. Of course, it appeared to be common knowledge among the staff that Albert had pilfered one of Edwin Grayson-Smith’s snuff boxes. However, the item had been returned undamaged and really it was quite another thing to steal a valuable diamond necklace, which was still missing.

  Rose found herself going against the tide, for it seemed that all the other servants were now making their way towards the scullery, keen to secure a seat before all the chairs were taken and they were obliged to prop themselves against tables or eat standing up, as they partook of their very humble meal. Consequently, she found herself being pushed and pulled as they filed passed her in the narrow corridor. It was, therefore, something of a relief to find herself
at the bottom of the servants’ staircase, a solitary figure, her eyes stretching to look up to the floors above as she considered the number of steps she had to climb to reach the attics.

  It was not until she had started on the second flight of steps that she realised she was not alone. She had caught a faint glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye, fleeting, but long enough to have registered in her brain. She paused for a moment on the stairs and strained her ears. No, she had not imagined it. She could just make out the faint sound of someone breathing. Her own heart beat painfully and noisily in her chest. Someone was hiding in the dark at the top of the flight of stairs waiting for her. She fought desperately for an innocent reason to explain why anybody might wait for her in the shadows. Perhaps they thought there was not enough room for them to pass on the stairs and out of courtesy had held back to let her come up first so that they might pass on the landing where there was more space.

  She stood stock still, not sure what to do. The temptation was to turn tail and run down the stairs two at a time. However, the idea of turning her back on a possible assailant was unbearable and besides, deep down she did not think she would make it to the bottom of the stairs before she was overpowered by a being much stronger than herself. Instead, she remained where she was and waited for the next move. It appeared, however, that her unseen adversary had made a similar decision. Save for the faint sound of breathing and her own beating heart, silence engulfed the staircase. Undeterred, she waited. It was only when the seconds became minutes, which seemed to her, in her highly agitated state, more like hours, that Rose could endure the endless waiting no longer. She felt at that moment that it was better to know the worst, than to be stuck in an unfathomable limbo.

  ‘Who’s there?’

  She heard the waver in her voice, and her words themselves seemed to reverberate queerly in the confined space, producing an eerie echo.

  A bitter laugh, which confirmed her worst fears, was the only reply she received. She heard the figure walk out of the shadows before she saw it standing perched at the top of the stairs looming over her. She did not need her eyes to tell her that it was Albert towering above her, a menacing expression distorting his handsome face.

  She fought the impulse to scream aloud for help, for she did not want him to know how terrified she was. Besides, it was unlikely that anyone would hear her cries being huddled as they all were in the scullery.

  The next minute, before she could think what to do, Albert had bounded down the stairs and was upon her, pushing her against the wall with sufficient force to make her stumble. He shoved his face so close to hers that she could feel his breath on her skin. Instinctively Rose recoiled, turning her gaze away from his face, but not before she had noticed the fury and hatred in his eyes. These violent emotions had the effect of disfiguring the young man’s good looks to such an extent that she wondered why she had ever considered him handsome.

  ‘Where is it?’ Albert snarled. His voice was hardly recognisable.

  ‘Where is what?’ Rose asked, trying to keep the fear from her voice.

  ‘I’m not in the mood to play games, Miss Denning. The diamond necklace, of course. Where is it?’ He gripped her arm painfully and she winced.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Albert. I haven’t got any diamond necklace.’

  ‘Don’t give me that! You accused me of going to Cooper’s room to look for the necklace and you were right. Only you were there, so I couldn’t look for it. Not then. Well, I’ve just come back from there now. Made a thorough search of the room, I did. And it wasn’t there.’ He bent towards her so that his face completely filled her vision. ‘Still, you knew that already, didn’t you? Because you took it.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ said Rose, ‘I promise I didn’t.’ This time she could not keep the fear from her voice.

  Rose closed her eyes. Albert did not believe her and there was nothing she could say to make him. Any moment now, he would fasten his hands around her throat and later they would find her lying crumpled in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. This was the moment for her able mind to find a solution, but she felt as if all her inner strength had been drained from her. Even as these thoughts raced through her brain, she felt Albert’s hands upon her neck. She imagined the inspector and Sergeant Harris exchanging knowing looks, satisfied that their misgivings and predictions had proved correct. With a sob, she saw Cedric’s face as he waited in vain for his bride to appear. She would never now walk down the church aisle to greet him. Never would he see her in the wedding dress that had been so lovingly made by her mother …

  ‘Albert! What are you doing?’

  The voice, unexpected as it was, jolted her brain and she was brought back to reality. It appeared to have had a similar effect on Albert, for he immediately released his grip on her throat. He then lurched forward, stumbling down the steps in his haste, pushing past the man who had so mercifully interrupted them, before disappearing through the door at the bottom.

  ‘Miss Denning. Are you hurt?’ The man moved a step or two forward. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I’m all right, thank you, Mr Mason,’ said Rose, collecting her scattered thoughts. Apart from her arm, which ached a bit, she was somewhat surprised to find that she was indeed physically unharmed. ‘I will come and see you in your pantry in a minute and tell you all about it. But first … first I must speak to Martha.’

  ‘But Miss Denning –’

  Rose looked down at the butler. His face was pale and drawn, and he was trembling a little. It was patently obvious that the scene he had just witnessed had given him a considerable shock. ‘If you wish to help me,’ she said more gently, ‘please keep an eye on Albert.’

  Before the butler could respond, Rose was racing up the stairs, leaving him further and further behind. She did not stop to take a breath until she had reached the attics, and then she only paused for a moment. Then she was running almost blindly down the corridor, banging with her fist on any door that happened to be closed and flinging it open. Her feet stomped on the bare floorboards, making sufficient noise to wake the dead. But she was oblivious to all this, aware only that she couldn’t find Martha. Each door she opened revealed a room that was empty. Panic threatened to overpower her, and she began to fear the worst.

  It was only as she neared the end of the corridor that a door was flung open and the figure of Martha appeared. Her eyes were large with fright, her face pale and white. She might have been a ghost had it not been for the red rimmed eyes. Her lips trembled and she clung to the door, as if she intended to use it as a weapon.

  It was only then that it occurred to Rose what a sight she must look and how bizarre her behaviour must seem, running down the corridor, opening and shutting the doors like a creature possessed. Martha had been in an agitated state for days, on the verge of going to pieces. Rose had no wish to alarm her and add to her suffering.

  ‘Martha.’ Rose put out a hand to touch her arm, but the girl shrank from her, and looked for a moment as if she might retreat back into her room and lock the door behind her. ‘Martha. Please, listen to me. I know you’re frightened, but I want to help you.’

  ‘No one can help me,’ said Martha. Tears filled her eyes at the unexpected kindness in the other girl’s voice. She made no further attempts to retreat. Instead she leaned against the doorframe, as if she did not have the strength to stand without support. ‘I’m going to prison.’

  ‘No you’re not,’ said Rose firmly, though even as she uttered the words, she knew she had no right to give such an assurance.

  ‘It’s very kind of you, I’m sure, but I don’t see how you can possibly help me, Miss Denning,’ mumbled Martha.

  There was a look of hostility on Martha’s face. She had regained some of her composure and was eyeing Rose suspiciously, as if she did not trust her. Certainly she must think her unduly interfering and inquisitive. Rose realised then that Martha was not the type of person who would answer questions simply to satisfy someone
else’s idle curiosity, particularly as to do so was likely to place her in a more precarious position. It seemed to Rose then that there was only one course of action.

  ‘I’m not Miss Denning,’ she said, removing her spectacles. ‘I’m not even a lady’s maid. My name is Rose Simpson, and I am a sort of amateur sleuth. Mrs Grayson-Smith engaged my services to recover her diamond necklace. I am also now investigating the murder of Velda Cooper. The police know who I am and why I am here in this house masquerading as a servant. Now, Martha, if you please, I should like to ask you one or two questions.’

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  For a moment it did not look as if Martha would relinquish her position by the door. The colour had drained from her face following Rose’s disclosure and with trembling hands she clutched the door to her, as if warding off a dangerous spirit. However, following a few persuasive words of encouragement, the housemaid reluctantly released her hold and fell back against the wall sobbing bitterly. She made her hand into a ball and used it to mop ineffectually at her eyes. Rose passed Martha her own handkerchief and waited for the crying to subside, before steering Martha back into the room she shared with Agnes. It was almost an exact replica of Pearl and Edna’s. Heartily sick of looking at the same sage green walls, Rose encouraged Martha to sit on the one solitary chair, while she herself perched on the end of a bed.

  ‘Am I in trouble?’ sniffed Martha through her sobs. ‘Will I lose my job?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Rose truthfully. ‘I rather think that might depend on what you have done.’

  ‘Albert made me do it. I didn’t want to. I knew it was wrong.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it.’

  ‘He can be awful persuasive, can Albert. When he wants to be, he’ll be as kind as anything. I’ve never known a man be so tender.’ This description of the young man’s character was accompanied by a sad little smile from Martha.