The Maid’s Secret

by Emily Organ

  “I’m sure it is,” said Inspector Trotter, lighting his pipe. “You’ve broken rank, you see. Servants are rather peculiar about that sort of thing.”

  I gave the inspector the notes I had written so far.

  “Thank you, Miss Green. You have neat handwriting.”

  “You’ll notice that I redrew the map Mr Perrin had sketched. His version wasn’t quite accurate.”

  “Really?”

  “He’d placed Ralph Lombard next to Sophia, when I can clearly recall that he was sitting beside Lady Wyndham.”

  “Is that right?” Inspector Trotter opened his beleaguered notebook and compared the two drawings.

  “Interesting,” he said. “And you are quite sure of your version of events, are you? There is no chance that you could be mistaken?”

  “Obviously, I have only my memory to rely upon, but it’s usually quite good. I am as clear as I possibly can be that this is how the guests were sitting that evening.”

  “I find it rather intriguing that the butler might have made a mistake in his plan,” said Inspector Trotter. “He seems such a precise, accurate sort of man.”

  “Is he intentionally trying to mislead us?” asked James.

  “He might be, but I doubt it. He doesn’t seem the sort.”

  “The housekeeper told me that the Lombards are returning for further interviews today,” I said.

  “They are indeed,” replied James.

  “It will be interesting to hear what they have to say,” I said. “And you need to find Betsy, James. I keep hearing her name mentioned, and I see that Mr Perrin also referred to her in his interview. Mrs Craughton told me just now that Betsy was dismissed for eavesdropping. I haven’t met the girl because she left before I began my work here, but I understand she and Miss Sophia were close. Maisie says that Miss Sophia confided in her.”

  “Yes, it would be incredibly helpful to have her testimony,” said James.

  “Do you know where she is now? Inspector Trotter, there was a section of Mr Perrin’s interview which I couldn’t transcribe because it was blotted out by the spilled coffee. However, I imagine that it contained some more information about Betsy. The more I think about her, the more I believe she may hold some important information.”

  “She might indeed, if that were possible,” replied Inspector Trotter.

  “Did Mr Perrin tell you where you could find her?” I asked.

  “He did. And he told me a little more than that, in fact.”

  “Perfect!” I said. “She will be extremely useful, I feel sure of it. There is nothing quite like a nosy maid to fill us in.”

  “Penny, I’m afraid that’s not possible,” said James, his face sombre. “I have already tried to find Betsy.”

  “Has she moved away?”

  “No. I’m afraid she’s dead.”

  I gripped the back of a nearby chair to steady myself.

  “She can’t be!”

  “Do you recall that when I came to the Morning Express offices early last month you had just reported on the tragic murder of Elizabeth Wiggins?”

  “Yes, the woman who was beaten by her husband.”

  “Indeed. Well it seems that Elizabeth Wiggins is the Betsy in question.”

  “The same woman?” I stared down at the carpet for a moment, which, despite my hard work, still bore a stain from the coffee spillage. “How do you know this?”

  “When I asked Perrin where I could find Betsy, he told me that she had sadly lost her life,” said Inspector Trotter. “When I questioned him further about the circumstances, he told me that she had been murdered by her husband in Battersea almost four weeks ago. He remembered the very day; the man seems to have a good memory for dates. The murder occurred on Tuesday the fourth of March.”

  “And you’re sure it’s the same woman?”

  “Yes, I’ve confirmed with Mr Glenville that Betsy’s surname was Wiggins,” said Inspector Trotter.

  “But that’s dreadful! I only knew of her as Elizabeth. I had no idea she was also known as Betsy.”

  “Households often like to shorten maids’ names, as you well know, Flo,” said James.

  My legs felt weak. I sat down in the chair I had been leaning against.

  “Betsy would have known a good deal more about Miss Sophia,” I lamented. “She would have been able to help us. Now there are some details which we will never discover.”

  Chapter 30

  The Lombard family arrived at ten o’clock. I served them coffee in the dining room.

  “Well, here we are again,” said Ralph Lombard. “Another day being taken up by merely repeating to the police what we’ve already told them.” He smoothed his thin hair into place.

  “They have their reasons for doing these things, dear,” said Mary Lombard. Tipsy sat on her lap and licked her chin.

  Dudley Lombard’s face was red and blotchy. “I wish to see her!” he demanded. “May I please see Sophia?” he asked Mrs Craughton more politely.

  The housekeeper escorted him to the morning room, and a moment later Mr Glenville entered the room to greet the Lombards. Although there were still dark shadows beneath his eyes, he looked better than when I had seen him last. Tipsy jumped off Mary Lombard’s lap and trotted over to him.

  “How are you bearing up, old chap?” asked Ralph Lombard.

  “I’ve been better,” Mr Glenville replied.

  “Is there any word yet on when the funeral will be held?” asked Mrs Lombard.

  “Next week some time. Camilla and I are discussing the date with the vicar of St. Michael’s. I’m so sorry you’ve been dragged back here again. Inspector Trotter has a detective from Scotland Yard helping him now, so hopefully we’ll get to the bottom of Sophia’s death quickly.”

  “Scotland Yard? Goodness, you must be important!” said Mary Lombard.

  “How did you wrangle that one, Alexander?” her husband asked.

  “I didn’t, particularly. The chap just turned up.” Mr Glenville bent down to make a fuss of Tipsy, whose tail wagged happily. “I can’t deny that I’m pleased to have the Yard’s assistance,” he continued. “Where’s Dudley?”

  “He’s gone to see her,” said Mary Lombard quietly.

  “Oh.”

  “Have you spent much time with her?” she half-whispered.

  “Yes, I have. Not as much as Camilla. She has been reluctant to leave Sophia’s side at all. It’s understandable.”

  “She’s spending time with her while she still can.”

  “Indeed.” Mr Glenville’s voice cracked slightly.

  The door opened and Dudley Lombard entered the room. His face was pale and his droopy lower lip wobbled.

  “You weren’t in there long, darling,” commented Mary Lombard.

  “I couldn’t bear it for long, Ma. She’s so... still.”

  “Yes, of course, dear.”

  “Still and silent. She was never like that while she was alive!”

  “No, she wasn’t, darling.”

  “I think I prefer to remember her how she was.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Alive.”

  “Indeed, my dear.”

  Mrs Lombard took her son’s arm and patted it reassuringly. He pushed his fingertips into his eyes, as if he were trying to stem the flow of tears.

  “We were to be married in six weeks’ time. Just six weeks!” said Dudley. “She was to have been my wife. I can’t understand it. I cannot believe that she’s no longer here. In fact, I’m certain that it cannot be true, I keep expecting her to walk into the room and look at me in the way she always looked at me, with those loving brown eyes. I called them puppy-dog eyes. She had that way of looking at me, and I remember feeling so proud that we were to be married. I feel certain this is just a bad dream from which I will soon wake. Indeed, it’s more than a bad dream. It’s a living nightmare. I cannot believe that it’s true! I refuse to believe that it’s true!”

  Much as I sympathised with Dudley Lombard’s grief
, I couldn’t help feeling an unexplained dislike for the boy. It seemed odd that I considered him a boy when he was my senior by a year. How could Mr Glenville have considered this grown-up child a suitable future owner for his business?

  “Chin up, Dudley. Chin up,” said Mr Glenville patting him on the shoulder. “Sophia wouldn’t have wished to see you so distressed.”

  The mention of her name caused Dudley to emit another large sob.

  “Dudley!” Ralph Lombard said reprovingly.

  He gave me an awkward glance, as if he were embarrassed with regard to his son’s display of emotion. I busied myself with refilling their cups of coffee.

  Mrs Craughton entered the room and immediately approached Mr Glenville.

  “May I speak to you, sir?” she asked.

  “Of course. Please excuse me a moment,” he said to the Lombards.

  “She has to come too,” said the housekeeper, pointing at me.

  “Flo, you mean?” Glenville said. “Come on then, Flo.”

  I joined them in the corridor.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” said the housekeeper, “but the Scotland Yard inspector has asked for Flo’s help.”

  “Has he indeed?”

  Mr Glenville gave an impressed nod and smiled at me. I felt a warmth in my face and struggled to pull my eyes away from his once again.

  “But it’s not convenient, sir,” Mrs Craughton objected. “Flo has so many chores to do today.”

  “What’s he asked Flo to help with?”

  “He says she’s good at writing, sir. She’s been helping to rewrite Inspector Trotter’s notes after he ruined his notebook by spilling coffee on it. And it seems they are so impressed that they require her to take down notes during the interviews they’re conducting today.”

  I felt a skip of excitement in my chest. James was involving me in the investigation as best he could.

  “They will be interviewing each of the Lombards today, sir,” continued the housekeeper.

  “Is it for today only?”

  “I hope so! Flo is a maid, not a police officer! I have concerns about privacy, sir. I don’t think it right that a maid should be privy to police matters.”

  “The inspectors clearly trust her. Who am I to question their judgement?”

  “Quite so, sir. But it’s simply not convenient.”

  I chose not to speak. Instead, I allowed them to make up their minds about me as if I wasn’t present.

  “Can’t Maisie pull her weight a bit more today?” Mr Glenville asked the housekeeper. “The girl’s been hanging about like a wet blanket the past few days. I don’t mind Flo writing notes for the inspectors. If the speed of their work can be increased by them not having to record the statements themselves, so be it. I won’t expect the full range of usual chores to be completed today, Mrs Craughton.”

  “But it’s terribly inconvenient, sir. It can only be for one day. She cannot possibly do it again tomorrow.”

  “I agree. Just one day, Mrs Craughton. Keep them well supplied with refreshments, if you please.”

  “Indeed I will, sir.”

  The housekeeper gave me a frosty stare and I felt immensely happy that I was to hear all that the Lombards had to say for themselves.

  Chapter 31

  Mr Glenville accompanied me into the library, where James and Inspector Trotter were preparing themselves for the interviews.

  “A busy day for you inspectors, isn’t it?” he said to them. “Let’s hope that by the end of it you have a good idea of who may be responsible. It’s unimaginable to think that any of these good friends of mine could have been behind it, but it’s clear that someone I have previously trusted must have been. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, let me tell you.”

  “Of course, Mr Glenville. It’s an extremely difficult time for your family,” James said.

  I watched to see if James displayed any signs of his underlying dislike for Mr Glenville, but I saw none.

  “I do wonder if someone made a terrible mistake,” said Mr Glenville.

  “What sort of mistake?” asked James.

  “I believe the murderer may have intended to kill someone else.”

  “Such as whom?”

  “The most obvious target is myself, isn’t it? Much as I would like everyone to adore me, I cannot pretend that they do. I’m aware that I have my critics. Loud, outspoken critics, who disagree with the way I run my factories. There are others who accuse me of financial misdemeanours. I don’t understand why anyone would want to harm my daughter, but I understand why many people might want to harm me.”

  “Surely there is no one who wishes you dead, Mr Glenville?” asked James. “And your guests on the evening of Miss Sophia’s birthday celebrations were your friends, were they not?”

  “They were people I called friends, but you never know when someone might become a turncoat, do you, Inspector? It’s no secret that Wyndham and I had our disagreements over the years. Someone in that room could have been instructed to poison me. Even paid to do it. It’s not unheard of for servants to do such a thing, is it?”

  “Not unheard of, no,” James replied.

  “All this is mere conjecture, but it’s something I wanted to mention to you because I don’t want it overlooked during your investigation. If you wish me to give you a list of my enemies, I’ll happily provide it. It’s quite long, I can tell you!”

  Mr Glenville laughed, and James and Inspector Trotter smiled.

  Then Mr Glenville’s face turned serious and he lowered his voice. “When I discover who’s behind this poisoning, I won’t hold back.”

  “The strong arm of the law will deal with the culprit, Mr Glenville,” James confirmed, seemingly unbothered by Mr Glenville’s change in tone.

  “But is the arm of the law strong enough, Inspector? With regard to what I have in mind for the culprit, I suspect not.”

  His eyes seemed to grow darker, and he watched each of our faces closely. No one spoke for a moment.

  Then Mr Glenville appeared to brighten up. “Anyway, now that has been said, I hope the interviews go well today. I’m pleased that Flo is able to assist you with them. I often think her active brain requires a more cerebral activity than menial maid’s work.”

  He gave me a broad smile and left the room.

  “Glenville likes you, doesn’t he, Miss Green?” observed Inspector Trotter.

  I shrugged, unsure how to answer him.

  James sighed. “Those were some strong words from a man who may have committed the crime himself. There’s something about him I don’t like.”

  “You think he’d murder his own daughter?” I asked.

  “It would be a cruel act. But I don’t believe it’s beyond him,” replied James.

  “You’re only saying that because you have never liked him. But shouldn’t you forget about your personal thoughts and consider him objectively?” I said.

  “Yes, that’s what we detectives are supposed to do. But what if a detective has a hunch?”

  “Are hunches usually correct?” I asked.

  “I think they are,” Inspector Trotter interjected.

  “For once I agree with Trotter,” said James. “Hunches may be unscientific, but they can’t be ignored.”

  “Well, I have a hunch that Mr Glenville isn’t the culprit, so where does that leave us?” I retorted.

  “We’re the detectives, Miss Green,” lisped Inspector Trotter.

  “So your hunches are worthier than mine?” I asked.

  “In a case such as this, I think they have to be,” replied the inspector. “Now, isn’t the housekeeper supposed to be bringing us more coffee?”

  Their comments made me feel even more determined to prove that someone other than Mr Glenville was behind Sophia’s death.

  James looked up at the portrait of the two children and grimaced. “That pair frightens me. Who are they?”

  “I’ve no idea,” I replied. “But I call them the ghost twins.”

  “
That’s a fair description,” said James.

  “Let’s get on with the interviews, shall we?” suggested Inspector Trotter.

  “Yes, let’s,” replied James. “Are you ready, Penny?”

  I sat myself at the table with a pen, pot of ink and James’ notebook.

  “I think so.”

  “We need you to do more than just write,” said James. “You were there when Miss Sophia died. While these people are talking, please consider how well their testimony matches up with your own recollections of the evening. Make a note of anything which doesn’t seem right to you.”

  “I will do. And I’ve been thinking about Betsy. You could speak to her brother, you know. I interviewed him shortly after her death. If you can find a copy of the Morning Express from the fifth of March, you will see the article there. I can’t quite remember his name. He’s a dark-skinned man.”

  “Thank you, Penny, that’s a good idea,” replied James. “Battersea, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Gonsalva Road, I remember that. It’s close to Wandsworth Road Station.”

  “I know the area well. It’s not far from where my grandfather lived. Right, we’ll get Master Dudley Lombard in first, shall we, Trotter?”

  Inspector Trotter nodded.

  “I should warn you that Master Lombard was rather emotional just now,” I said.

  “Thank you, Penny,” said James. “Extreme displays of emotion can sometimes be used to cover up a person’s true feelings, so we’ll keep a close eye on this one.”

  Dudley Lombard sat in his chair looking desperately sorry for himself.

  “She was as pretty as a picture that evening,” he mumbled, fidgeting with his fingers. “She looked beautiful in her birthday gown. She only wanted a small celebration; that was Sophia for you. She didn’t like a fuss. That was why we only had a small gathering. The dinner was very agreeable. And after that... I can’t bring myself to even think about it.”

  “Did you see anyone else pick up Sophia’s glass or put anything in it?” asked James.

  “I cannot bear to think about it.”

  “I understand your distress, Master Lombard, but can you please bring yourself to think about it? You may have seen something which proves important in our investigation,” James coaxed.