The Maid’s Secret

by Emily Organ

  “Yes. I can think of lots of p-people.”

  “Really, Master Glenville? Is that so?”

  “She was argum-mentative.”

  “Did you argue with your sister, Master Glenville?”

  “Yes. M-many times.”

  “When was the last time you argued with Miss Sophia before her death?”

  “The day b-before.”

  “And what was the argument about?”

  “She was always upsetting M-Mother. I told her she did it on p-purpose.”

  “And why did she upset your mother?”

  “She was unhappy. She d-did it out of spite.”

  “Do you know why your sister was unhappy, Master Glenville?”

  “She d-didn’t want to marry Lombard.”

  “Did she tell you that?”

  “It was obvious.”

  “Do you think that was a factor in her death?”

  “What do you m-mean?”

  “Could the reason she didn’t want to be married to Dudley Lombard help to explain her death?”

  “It c-caused arguments in the family.”

  “Arguments with you?”

  Maurice nodded.

  “Master Lombard, as the son and eldest child of your parents, surely you harbour some resentment that you were not chosen to inherit your father’s business?” conjectured Inspector Trotter.

  “Why sh-should I?”

  “Because you are the rightful heir.”

  “I never expected to inherit the b-business.”

  I glanced at his twisted body and felt a pang of pity.

  “So you didn’t bear any animosity toward your sister because she and her future husband, Dudley Lombard, were to inherit your father’s empire?”

  “No. I d-didn’t like her because of what she did to M-Mother.”

  “Interesting,” said Inspector Trotter after Maurice had left the room. “Do you think a cripple is capable of murder? The boy has been described as an idiot, but he appears to be of sound mind. There’s no doubt he could comprehend my questions.”

  “At this stage I don’t think we should rule anything out,’ said James.

  “But what’s the boy’s motive? That he didn’t like his sister?”

  “People have killed for less exceptional reasons than that,” replied James.

  “I don’t think he’s a person of interest.”

  “Keep an open mind, Trotter.”

  “There’s no need to tell me what to do with my mind, Blakely.” Inspector Trotter puffed up his barrel chest. “This is my investigation, and you’re merely assisting me.”

  “You’re taking a long time to clear up a bit of spilled coffee,” commented Mrs Craughton as I walked to the library with a fresh bowl of water.

  “It’s made a terrible mess of the seat and the carpet,” I replied.

  “But it’s almost time for dinner.”

  Maisie approached me as I continued on my way.

  “Are you feeling any better?” I asked.

  “Sort of.” Her face was still pale. “I’ve got ter speak to the ’spectors next. Are you in the room wiv ’em?”

  “Yes, I’m cleaning up the coffee which was spilled.”

  “Can you stay in there when I talks to ’em? I’m frightened, Flo.”

  “Don’t be frightened, Maisie. They’re perfectly friendly.”

  “But they’s the police!”

  “They don’t mean you any harm at all. They’re simply trying to find out what happened to Miss Sophia, and they need everyone’s help.”

  “I don’t want ’em harrestin’ me!” Maisie shivered.

  “They’ll do no such thing. Why should they arrest you?”

  “Dunno.”

  “Come with me now and you’ll see that they’re perfectly fine. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  Despite my reassurances, Maisie fidgeted and trembled during her interview. She kept wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, stuttering over her words.

  “Have you any idea who would wish to harm Miss Sophia?” James asked her.

  “No.” Maisie’s eyes were wide and earnest. “No, I can’t think of no one what would of done it!”

  “Had she upset anyone?”

  Maisie paused before replying. “No. Sometimes she argued with ’er ma and pa. But that’s normal, ain’t it? She never meant nuffink by it.”

  I finished cleaning the carpet and began wiping the chair with my damp cloth.

  “Was she upset about anything in particular? Do you know if there was something bothering her?” asked James.

  Maisie wiped her face with her hands.

  “No. But she wouldn’t of told me about nuffink anyway. Betsy’s the one she spoke to most.”

  “Betsy is a maid who once worked here, am I right?” asked James.

  Maisie nodded.

  “And Miss Sophia was friendly with Betsy?”

  “Yeah, they was good friends.”

  “Do you know if Miss Sophia confided in Betsy?”

  “I dunno what you mean, sir.”

  “Did Miss Sophia tell Betsy how she was feeling?”

  “Yeah, I fink so.”

  “And when did Betsy leave this household?”

  “End of Feb’ry.”

  “To your knowledge, did Miss Sophia confide in anyone else after Betsy’s departure?”

  “Tell someone ’ow she were feelin’, you mean?”

  “Yes.”

  “Dunno. I don’t fink so.”

  “So in your opinion, Miss Sophia was a happy young lady looking forward to her marriage to Dudley Lombard.”

  “Yeah. I mean everyfink weren’t perfect. No one’s life’s perfect, is it? But there weren’t nuffink what would make me think she were unhappy or that made me fink someone else would kill ’er. I don’t understand why they dunnit.”

  “Were you aware that Miss Sophia was out of the house late in the evening on Wednesday the twenty-sixth of March?”

  “No, I weren’t.”

  “Did you see her depart or return?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever known her leave the house secretly late at night?”

  “No, never.”

  “You’re sure you have no knowledge of her leaving the house that evening? Perhaps she went to meet someone?”

  “I don’t know nuffink about it.”

  “On that same evening, footsteps were heard near your door, and your door was heard to open and close. Were you awake at that time, Maisie? At about one o’clock?”

  “No. I were fast asleep. I’m always asleep then!”

  Maisie dissolved into tears and I slipped her my handkerchief. She took a while to compose herself.

  “What a nervous girl,” remarked Inspector Trotter after Maisie had left the room. He poked around in the bowl of his pipe with the end of his pen.

  “She’s frightened of the police,” I said. “I don’t know why. I tried to reassure her. Perhaps her family has had a bad experience with the law in the past.”

  “Well, it seems the young maid had nothing much of interest to tell us,” said Inspector Trotter. “We must turn our attention back to the guests from that evening.”

  “Just a moment,” said James. “We shouldn’t just consider what Maisie told us. We should consider what she didn’t tell us.”

  “And how on earth do we do that?” asked Inspector Trotter.

  “The footsteps that were heard outside her door, and the sound of her door opening and closing. Penny told us about that, and we know she’s telling the truth.”

  “Do we know that?” asked Inspector Trotter, resting his gaze on me.

  “Of course! I know Penny well, and she’s one of the most trustworthy people you’ll ever meet.”

  I felt my face grow warm at the compliment.

  “Maisie must know something about those footsteps,” continued James. “And she certainly must have heard her door open and close at that hour! I’d say there is a high chance that she was res
ponsible for the noise herself. Like Sophia Glenville, she stayed out late that night. Whether the two incidents are connected or not I can’t say, but Maisie isn’t being truthful with us.”

  “Well, that’s rather inconvenient,” said Inspector Trotter. “Why would she hide the truth?”

  “Because she’s frightened,” replied James. “I’d say the girl is terrified of someone. Would you agree, Penny?”

  “Now that you say it, I suppose she does seem overly frightened. She has certainly not been herself since Miss Sophia died. I had assumed it was the grief, but it could also be fear.”

  “Who do you think she may be frightened of, Penny?”

  “I don’t know, I really don’t. I’ll do my best to find out. Perhaps I could ask her directly.”

  “Be very careful about doing that,” said James. “She’s keeping quiet for a reason. You don’t want to make the situation more dangerous for her.”

  I felt the back of my neck prickle. It hadn’t occurred to me that Maisie might be in danger.

  Chapter 28

  Reassuring myself that I could manage just one more week, I unpacked my trunk that evening and returned my clothes to the wardrobe. Then I sat down at the dressing table with Inspector Trotter’s coffee-soaked notebook. It was almost dry, and some of the pages were brown and crisp with coffee.

  Before I began transcribing his notes, I penned a quick letter to Mr Fox-Stirling’s secretary suggesting a date of Wednesday the ninth of April for our meeting regarding my father. It was ten days away. I would surely be free of the Glenville house by then.

  I began to copy out the inspector’s notes from the stained pages. It was interesting to read what Mrs Craughton had told him. The coffee had blurred a number of the words, but I managed to guess their meaning.

  Mrs. Charlotte Diane Craughton. 53. Housekeeper.

  Interview: Sunday 30th March 1884. Half past 11 o’clock.

  Employed by Glenville Family since July 1882.

  Enjoys work.

  Knew victim well. Describes her as defiant and argumentative. Unappreciative of her circumstances. Says victim was spoilt, had everything she wanted. Mrs. C. liked victim and bore no resentment towards her.

  Victim and Master Lombard were to live in Barnes after marriage. Victim choosing furnishings.

  Not known if victim was happy about marriage to Master L. Mrs. C. states that victim “rarely seemed happy about anything”.

  Speculates that victim may have accidentally poisoned herself in a bid for attention.

  Saw no one near victim’s glass on night of poisoning other than Mr. Perrin, butler. Mr. Perrin refilled victim’s glass with champagne. Victim seemed usual self, nothing unusual about her demeanour or bearing.

  Victim fell unwell after drinking champagne. Sudden. Approx. half-past 9 o’clock. Doctor summoned immediately. Attempts made to save victim failed. Victim pronounced dead shortly before 10 o’clock. Occupants of room much distressed.

  I read the notes through after I had written them, and realised how difficult it was for James and Inspector Trotter to glean any useful information from the witness accounts. I tried to imagine what Mrs Craughton hadn’t said in the interview. Was that more important? Her thoughts seemed fairly thorough to me, but I wasn’t sure I could be an effective judge of her account.

  I began work on Mr Perrin’s interview.

  Mr. Samuel Perrin. 49. Butler.

  Interview: Sunday 30th March 1884. A quarter to two o’clock.

  Employed by Glenville Family since February 1880.

  Enjoys work.

  Describes victim as headstrong but pleasant. Victim ran away from home Monday 18th February, approx. 11 o’clock. Mr. P. sent to find her. Mr. P. called at victim’s friend’s house and discovered victim had just departed for Hyde Park. Found victim in Hyde Park approx. 4 o’clock, just before nightfall. Victim cold and unhappy. No reason given for leaving home. Believes victim confided in maid, Betsy, about reason for leaving. Betsy seen listening at library door when Mr. and Mrs. Glenville spoke to victim about her running away. Mr. P. admonished Betsy for eavesdropping. Mr. Glenville dismissed Betsy from household Friday 22nd February.

  Betsy was...

  I was disappointed that a large coffee stain had obliterated the writing for several lines. Surely Betsy had some useful information. If Miss Sophia had confided in her the reason for running away, Betsy would have a good idea about Miss Sophia’s state of mind. I tried as hard as I could to discern what the writing had once said, but all I could see in this section of the page was a stain of dark ink mixed with coffee.

  I turned the page and was able to read the following:

  ...ay 4th March.

  Saturday 29th March. Evening: Mr. P. served wine with each course, poured by himself. No one else poured wine or champagne. Pommery 76. Nothing unusual about bottles. Nothing unusual about champagne glasses, which were kept in drawing room cabinet. All checked for cleanliness before champagne served. Nothing unusual noted.

  Victim’s glass was on table next to chair she was sitting in.

  Below this was a blurred plan of the drawing room sketched by Mr Perrin. He had noted where everyone had been sitting that evening. I redrew the plan and added the annotations he had made. While I worked on it, I noticed that it wasn’t entirely accurate. He had mistaken where Ralph Lombard had been sitting. Mr Perrin struck me as a thorough man, so I was surprised that he had made such a mistake. I would show James and Inspector Trotter my revised plan the following morning.

  Mr. P recalls refilling victim’s glass once. Possibility of twice. Recollection imperfect.

  Victim taken ill at approx. quarter to ten o’clock. Doctor summoned. Victim passed away while being attended to in drawing room. Approx. ten o’clock.

  Mr. P. refutes suggestion he administered any substance to victim’s glass other than wine or champagne. Mr. P. refutes suggestion anyone asked him to administer a substance to victim’s glass other than wine or champagne.

  Of all those present that night, Mr Perrin was the one who had the easiest opportunity to put the poison in Sophia’s glass. Could he have done it? Could someone have asked him to do it?

  And what of Betsy?

  She seemed to be the only person Sophia had confided in.

  James needed to find her urgently.

  Chapter 29

  The following morning I was in the hallway with Mrs Craughton when the grandfather clock chimed nine.

  “What is wrong with that clock?” exclaimed the housekeeper. “It’s supposed to have been stopped! I must ask Mr Perrin to look at it again.” She turned to me. “You do realise the front steps didn’t get scrubbed yesterday, Flo. Can you make time to do them today, please?”

  “Yes Mrs Craughton. I will return these notes to Inspector Trotter and then start work on them.”

  “Good. Today will be busy. The Lombards are returning for further interviews with the police.” She eyed the papers in my hand and frowned. “What have the inspectors tasked you with, exactly?”

  “Inspector Trotter’s notes need to be rewritten after he spilled coffee over his notebook.”

  “Doesn’t he have someone else who can write them for him? You’re busy with your household duties.”

  “It’s not a problem at all, Mrs Craughton. I worked on them last night once my chores had been completed.”

  “You’re good enough at writing then, are you?”

  “I am told that I write well.”

  Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, and I realised I was holding my breath.

  “And the inspector has permitted you to read all that he’s written?” she asked. “It was supposed to be private, or at least that’s what he told me.”

  “I have promised that I will keep every confidence.”

  “Found out anything interesting, has he?”

  The housekeeper stepped forward, as if she hoped that I would show her some of the notes. I gripped the book and papers tightly in my hands.

  “
Surprisingly, no. Everyone’s statements match up quite well so far. And they fit with my own recollections of the evening. But someone was responsible, I suppose, so one or more of the interviewees must be lying.”

  I fixed Mrs Craughton with my full gaze, assessing her reaction.

  “Yes, I suppose someone must be.”

  She stared back at me with her reptilian grey eyes, then looked away and ran her finger along the wainscoting, checking for dust. “It’s extremely clean in this part of the house. It’s no coincidence, I would think, that it’s right next to the library. The doors are rather thin, aren’t they?”

  I didn’t like the stern look on Mrs Craughton’s face, and I feared she had guessed that I had been listening to the conversations in the library.

  “I shall take these papers into the library and then get on with my chores.”

  “Please do. In the meantime, I shall check with Mr Glenville that he’s happy for you to be helping the police in this manner. I would put a stop to it myself, but I know he’s keen that the investigation into his daughter’s death should progress as quickly as possible. He is desperate to find out who the culprit is.”

  “We all are,” I added.

  “Indeed.”

  She gave me an odd look and turned away. I knocked on the library door and heard James’ voice telling me to enter.

  “It’s why the negro maid was dismissed, you know,” said Mrs Craughton, who had unexpectedly paused and turned to face me again.

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Betsy. For listening at doors.”

  “Where is Betsy now?” I asked.

  She turned and walked away from me without giving a reply.

  I entered the library feeling a little perturbed by my conversation with Mrs Craughton. I thought of her handkerchief I had found under my bed and shivered.

  “Morning, Penny!” said James. “Are you all right?” He had noticed the bothered expression on my face.

  “I don’t know. I’ve just had an odd conversation with the housekeeper. She has become rather hostile towards me. I think it’s because I’m helping you.”