Murder at Merisham Lodge: Miss Hart and Miss Hunter Investigate: Book 1

by Grace, Celina

“Mmm.” I didn’t say what I was thinking, which was that Lord Cartwright would need all the money he had to make up for his unfortunate personal attributes. Not to mention his horrible temper.

  “What do you—” Verity began but then we both heard Mrs Watling calling for me.

  “Blast, I’ll have to go.”

  “Me too.” Verity picked up the bowl that she’d placed on the sideboard. “But I’ll tell you what, Joan. I’m going to keep my eyes peeled.”

  “Good. Talk to you later, then.”

  I watched her walk up the stairs to the ground floor, trailing the scent of rose petals in her wake. Then I walked back to the kitchen, bracing myself for the hours of hard work that were yet to come.

  Chapter Nine

  As well as preparations for dinner, I also had to prepare food and drink for afternoon tea. There was an extra person to cater for, in the form of Simon Snailer. It was Albert’s afternoon off so I helped Alfred carry the tea things up to the drawing room. As I carefully carried the tray, teacups and saucers chinking together musically, I remembered doing the same all those days ago, when Lady Eveline had still been alive. I tried to feel a bit sorry at her death but she’d been such an unpleasant person, it was hard to feel much of anything. I felt sorry for Dorothy, though, and for Peter. Especially for Peter, if it were true that he was innocent.

  It was a shock to see him in the drawing room. He was sitting with Dorothy and Rosalind, and they were both cooing over him as if he’d been away for years. Lord Cartwright was sat opposite them all, staring at them without expression.

  “I knew they’d made a mistake,” Dorothy exclaimed. “The police are just so stupid. I tried to tell them they’d made a mistake but did they listen?”

  “I highly doubt the police are stupid,” said Duncan. He was standing by the fire, smoking a cigarette and staring into the flames. “I get the impression that the inspector, for example, is a very sharp and calculating man.”

  Dorothy made a noise of disbelief. “Well, I think it’s absolutely ludicrous that they arrested Peter. Anyone with half a brain could see that he had nothing to do with it.”

  “So who did do it, then?” Duncan asked with a hard tone. He threw his cigarette butt into the fire with a jerk of the wrist.

  There was a shocked silence. I was pouring out the tea and the tinkle of the liquid into the cups sounded very loud. Hurriedly, I put down the pot.

  “Duncan, that is not a subject for discussion in this room,” said Lord Cartwright heavily.

  “That’s right,” said Rosalind. “Pas devant les domestiques and all that.”

  It made me laugh inwardly when our betters said things like that. Did they honestly believe that we didn’t understand what they were saying, just because they said it in French? I didn’t know much French, although Verity was trying to teach me, but I damn well knew what that phrase meant.

  I saw Duncan look at Rosalind with dislike. “Nobody asked you to stick your oar in. Why are you here, anyway? You’re not part of this family, no matter how much you might like to think you are.”

  I saw Rosalind’s face contract with shock, just before Lord Cartwright thundered “Duncan! Apologise at once.”

  Duncan half laughed, bitterly. Then he walked out of the room shaking his head.

  I could see Rosalind trying to pretend it didn’t matter. Dorothy looked uncomfortable, Peter likewise, and Simon Snailer frankly amused.

  “I must apologise for my son, Rosalind, my dear,” said Lord Cartwright, rather redder in the face than was normal. “He didn’t mean it, I’m sure.”

  “It really doesn’t matter,” Rosalind said, with a bright, insincere smile. “We’re all rather tightly wound at the moment, aren’t we? It’s been a very great strain.”

  By now I’d poured the tea out into the cups. This should really have been the time to leave the room and go back down to the kitchen but I was too curious to do that. Instead I stepped back a little from the tea table to stand against the wall next to Alfred. I dipped my head a little and clasped my hands in front of me but kept my gaze on the family.

  One by one, they drifted over to pick up their tea. I got a faint smile and a ‘thank you, Joan’ from Dorothy, but that was it. Peter Drew looked as though he were in a not particularly pleasant dream. Rosalind was clearly still stewing over Duncan’s rude remarks. Lord Cartwright didn’t bother coming up to the table. Instead he snapped his fingers at Alfred. “Get me a whisky,” was all that he said.

  Alfred hurried over to the drinks cabinet. I stood, demurely, watching people’s faces. Simon Snailer came over and helped himself to an enormous number of scones, cakes and sandwiches. Then he went and sat back down next to Dorothy. I looked at him curiously, wondering what it was that she saw in him. He clearly didn’t have money, he wasn’t titled, so what was it? He was good-looking enough, in a scruffy kind of way, so perhaps that was it.

  Alfred handed Lord Cartwright his whisky and came back to stand next to me by the wall. I watched Lord Cartwright. His eyes were frequently on Rosalind, although she didn’t seem to notice. That fake smile had fallen off her face and she was sipping determinedly at her tea, her eyes unfocused. I wondered what she was thinking.

  After ten minutes, I couldn’t put off going back downstairs any longer. Nothing much was happening in the drawing room anyway. Simon sat talking to Dorothy, Peter stood by the window looking out, and Rosalind and Lord Cartwright both remained silent.

  I thought Verity might have to accompany Dorothy out again that night, but luckily, that didn’t turn out to be the case. I was brushing my hair out in front of our little mirror when she came into the bedroom.

  “I thought you’d be out tonight,” I said, catching her eye in the mirror.

  “So did I, but Dorothy changed her mind.” Verity sat down on her bed with a thankful sigh and unbuckled her shoes. “Ooh, my feet. I feel like I’ve been on them all day.”

  “Is Simon Snailer staying the night?” I asked.

  Verity giggled. “Yes, he is. Wonder if there’ll be some late night corridor wandering later?”

  “Verity!” I had to admit, I was a little shocked. “Would Dorothy do that?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past her,” she said, still smiling. “She’s a modern woman, remember?”

  “She’d better hope Lord C doesn’t find out,” I remarked, laying the brush back down on the tiny dressing table. “He’d throw her out of the house.”

  “Well, maybe he’s got a few secrets of his own,” said Verity. She lay back on her pillow, smiling cynically. “I think you might be right about him and Rosalind.”

  “Do you?” I turned in my seat. “I was watching him today in the drawing room at tea. He did look at her a lot.”

  Verity yawned and sat back up. “Lord, I am so tired. I must get to bed.” She heaved herself to her feet and started to undress. “God knows what Dorothy is going to want to do tomorrow.”

  What we’d been talking about went out of my head, given my concentration on getting my hair pinned up properly. Verity took her washbag and went down the hall to the servants’ bathroom to brush her teeth. When she came back, I was already tucked into my bed with the covers pulled cosily up to my chin.

  It was only when she turned down the lamp that it occurred to me. “V…” I said, slowly.

  “What is it?” came her drowsy voice through the darkness.

  “If – and I know we don’t know for certain – if Lord Cartwright is involved with Rosalind—” I broke off, uncertain of whether I actually dared put my thoughts into words.

  “What?” Verity’s sleepy voice said.

  I took a deep breath. “Well, then that gives him a motive, doesn’t it?”

  There was a moment of silence. Then Verity, sounding more awake, said “My God, Joan. You’re right. It does.”

  We were both quiet. Then I said, uncertainly, “It can’t be, though, can it? I mean, surely he’s the first person the police would suspect. Remember Asharton?”


  “How could I forget?” Verity sounded completely awake now. I heard a rustle as she sat up in bed and then the rattle of the matchbox. As she re-lit the lamp, there was a flare of light against the darkness that made me screw up my eyes.

  Verity was looking at me intently, so intently she almost scared me. “What is it?” I said, nervously.

  “I was talking about this with Dorothy,” Verity said slowly. “A few days after it happened, when she’d calmed down a bit. She’d had to tell the police where she was between eleven thirty at night and five and twenty past one in the morning.”

  Her stare was still unsettling me. “So what did she tell them?”

  “Dorothy said she’d got in from Dickie Fotherington-Gill’s party at about one o’clock. She said she was a bit vague about the time because she’d had a few too many cocktails.”

  I half laughed. “Well, she had, hadn’t she? I remember you telling me.”

  “That was something I had to confirm to the police – they asked me whether she was telling the truth.”

  There was something quite shocking in that – the idea that a lady’s maid would be asked to essentially betray her mistress, if in fact, her lady had been telling an untruth. I began to feel nervous again. “So, was Dorothy being truthful?”

  “Yes, of course she was. I helped her into bed at about ten past one. So unless she got up again immediately after I’d left her and went down to the library…” Verity trailed off, chewing her lip.

  I understood her hesitation. It was a horrible thought, a daughter doing that brutality to her mother. I just couldn’t see Dorothy doing such a hideous thing. Would she even have had the strength to wield a heavy piece of wood in that fashion?

  “Anyway,” Verity continued after a moment. “I’ve strayed off the point a little. The fact is that Dorothy told me that both her step-father and Rosalind had an alibi, because they’d been working late together in the study that evening.”

  I laughed cynically. “Working, they say?”

  Verity smiled weakly. “Well, that’s what they said. But you know, Joanie, Rosalind must be telling the truth – about being in the study, anyway – because I saw her.”

  I stared at her. “Really?”

  Verity nodded vigorously. “Dorothy had spilt one of those really sticky cocktails all down her dress, and I wanted to get it in to soak before the stain set. I was coming down the back corridor, you know, that runs past the study and there was a light on in the room. I looked – well, you do, don’t you? And Rosalind was sitting at the desk, writing something down.”

  “What time was this?” I asked.

  “It must have been at least twenty past one. There just wouldn’t have been time for her to…to do it. Not to mention that she’s tiny. Lady E towered over her. Would Rosalind have had the strength to do it?”

  That echoed precisely those thoughts I’d just had about Dorothy. Verity and I looked at each other for a moment. Then Verity added, “I told the police that too.”

  “So they must know that she’s speaking the truth,” I said quietly.

  Verity nodded. “So does that mean they think Lord Cartwright is in the clear as well?”

  Suddenly exhausted, I leant my head back against the flaking plaster of the wall behind me, despite knowing I’d end up with flakes in my hair. “I don’t know, V. I don’t know.”

  There was a short pause and then Verity said, “Look, it’s too late to discuss this now. Let’s see what we can find out tomorrow and see if that takes us any further.”

  “Agreed,” I said. I could feel my eyelids drooping. We both slid down under our respective covers again.

  “Good night, Joanie,” came her tired voice from across the room as she reached out to the lamp.

  “Good night.”

  Chapter Ten

  I woke up the next morning with a feeling of gladness, and for a moment I couldn’t think why. Then I remembered. Today was Sunday, and this afternoon was my afternoon off. Even better, I knew Verity had arranged to have her afternoon off at the same time. After lunch, and after I’d prepared the afternoon tea, we’d be able to leave Merisham Lodge, walk into Merisham, and go for tea somewhere.

  I almost bounced out of bed and hurried to wash myself and get dressed. The water in the servants’ washroom was never more than lukewarm but I didn’t let it bother me. When I got back to our room, Verity was just waking up. She had the luxury of a much later start time than I did, although, to be fair, sometimes she had to wait up or work into the early hours, unlike me, so I suppose it evened out in the end.

  Quickly I started pinning up my hair, realising I had only one clean cap left. I would have to do some washing later. Verity groaned, yawned and slowly extracted herself from the bedclothes.

  “Have you thought about where you want to go this afternoon?” I asked, catching her eye in the mirror.

  “What?” she said sleepily. Then comprehension dawned. “Oh, yes, it’s our afternoon off. Oh, hurray for that! Let’s go to the good tea-shop, Joanie, why not? Let’s treat ourselves to a nice cake and someone else serving us for once.”

  “That sounds wonderful.” I rammed the last pin home, straightened the frill over my forehead, and got up.

  I was at the bedroom door when Verity spoke again. “Joan. Do you remember what we talked about last night?”

  I hadn’t but then, of course, it all came back to me. “Yes, of course I do.”

  Verity picked up her shawl and washbag. “Well, I’m going to do my best this morning to find out who had what alibi. Then we can discuss it later over tea.”

  “Good idea.” For a moment, I felt a strange reluctance to do so. Was it really our place, after all? We weren’t policemen. We weren’t even members of the family. So why were we so interested?

  I said goodbye and began the long journey down four flights of the servants’ stairs. Why were we so interested? I had overhead Rosalind and Peter Drew talking a few days ago, on the stairs as I passed by in the corridor below. Rosalind had said something like, “Of course, the servants’ hall is positively buzzing with gossip. People of that class can be complete ghouls, can’t they?” And Peter had replied, “Well, it’s probably because they don’t have anything else to occupy their minds with, what?”

  They’d heard my footsteps then and stopped talking abruptly as I walked past beneath them. I remembered how my face had burnt as hot as fire, but I’d said nothing; of course I’d said nothing. I’d just kept walking down to the safe confines of the kitchen. It was Peter’s comment that made me particularly angry. Didn’t have anything to occupy our minds with? Apart from making sure he and his family lived in unimaginable comfort, ease and luxury, that is?

  I stomped into the kitchen in a bad mood, forgetting entirely that it was only six hours before I’d have an afternoon of relative freedom. I busied myself with getting the range good and hot, putting the kettle on for Mrs Watling’s cup of tea, and beginning the preparations for breakfast.

  Mrs Watling came in shortly after that and I had to snap out of my mood or risk her displeasure. There was something to be said for work, I suppose; it kept you occupied and stopped you sinking into too much introspection or melancholy. As I fried bacon, and the big flat mushrooms that came from a farm nearby, I thought about an interesting conversation I’d had one night, years ago now. I’d been to visit Verity when she was working at the Cartwrights’ family home in London, the townhouse in Hampstead. It had been around Christmas time, and we’d all had a glass of ale in the servants’ hall, which was quite a comfortable one with a good fire. Perhaps that’s why all the servants were a bit more chatty than normal. Even Mr Fenwick had unbent a little. Everyone started talking about the more eccentric families that they’d worked for, or the strange individuals they had served. Soon, it became almost a game, with maids and footmen coming out with more and more outrageous stories. I, being a visitor at the time, hadn’t put myself forward but I’d listened with great interest. I was new in service then and hadn
’t seen much, but here were tales of the master who, regular as clockwork, would get drunk, come downstairs to the kitchen and start hurling both insults and plates at the kitchen maids. “’Filthy harlots, dirty strumpets!’ he’d say,” said Doris, one of the kitchen maids, almost choking with laughter. “And then Cook, bless her soul, would turn around and give him such a tongue-lashing back until he ran out with his tail between his legs. Oh, she was a caution!”

  Of course, I’d sat there with eyes like saucers, scarcely able to believe such stories. When Mr Fenwick retired to his own room, the anecdotes got a little bit saucier. One of the footmen told us a scandalous tale about the chauffeur to one of the most famous families amongst the gentry, who was managing to have an affair with both the master and the mistress of the house. “No!” we all cried. “That can’t be true!” But the footman, Tom, assured us it was.

  Of course, I was as green as grass then and didn’t really know what he was talking about. I remembered discussing it all with Verity that night as we said goodbye at the kitchen door before I left to go back to where I was in service myself.

  “There seems to be an awful lot of strange, high-born folk around,” I’d said. “What makes them all so eccentric?”

  Verity had given me a strange look, half disbelieving, half sympathetic. “I would have thought it was obvious, Joanie.”

  “In what way do you mean?”

  Verity chuckled. “Look, I know we hate work, but it gives us a purpose, doesn’t it? It means we get up and we’ve actually got something to do. Can you imagine what it’s actually like to do nothing, all day? All year? For the whole of your life? People aren’t designed to do nothing all day, are they? It does something to your mind, I think, to know that you’re absolutely useless, that you can’t even take care of yourself. No, it’s much better to have work than not have it. Really.”

  I had stared at her, amazed. The thought that perhaps we, the servants, were in fact fortunate in this way had never, ever occurred to me.

  I thought about that often, after our conversation. Although I couldn’t quite give up my envy of those who had so much, when I had so little, the memory of Verity’s explanation came in as a comfort sometimes, when the hard work seemed endless and the days so long. Not much of a comfort, but a little.