“So,” said Brady, after exchanging the necessary pleasantries with Millie, “tell me about Hortense Parker-Trent. You say that she said something to you before she died, Jim?”
“Yes.” Haxby looked at Millie and smiled slightly. “She told me that she was pushed. But she also told me something else. She said, ‘I heard talking. Millie’s father innocent.’”
“She didn’t say who she heard talking?” asked Brady.
“No. The poor woman could hardly breathe, and what she said took a lot of effort.”
“She told me last night, just before I met you on the stairs, that she had something to tell me,” said Millie. “But Mr Parker-Trent wouldn’t let her. He wouldn’t let me talk to her today.”
“He wasn’t kind to that girl,” said Haxby.
“So I’ve heard,” said Brady. “Hortense is from around these parts, you know, and people still follow her progress. Rumour has it that marrying Parker-Trent wasn’t the escape the poor girl thought it was going to be.”
“Do you think he pushed her?” asked Millie, horrified. “To stop her talking to me? But why would he? Unless he was one the one she heard talking. But what would he know about my father?”
“That’s what I intend to find out,” said Brady.
“Can we be there when you interview people?” asked Haxby.
“Jim, I’ve told you, this isn’t the colonies. We have to do things by the book here. And, whilst I hate to say this, you and Miss Woodridge have to be treated as suspects.”
“No, because we’re each other’s alibi,” said Haxby. “We walked down Masson Hill together, and never lost sight of each other until they came and told us about Mrs Parker-Trent. Isn’t that so, Millie?”
“Yes,” said Millie. But her mind was thinking of something else. If Mrs Parker-Trent spoke her last words to Haxby, who was to say he didn’t silence her?
“And what about when you were on the ledge with her, Haxby?” asked Brady. He looked at Millie and nodded, as if he had guessed her train of thought.
“Oh come on, Simon,” said Haxby, his eyes flashing in anger. “And you, Millie. You don’t really believe …”
“No, I don’t,” Simon said. “I know why you’re here, so you’d have no reason to silence Mrs Parker-Trent.”
“You do hear a lot,” said Haxby, smiling his easy smile.
“I make it my business to know everything that’s happening.”
“Then I wish someone would tell me,” said Millie, “so that I can know too.”
“Millie,” said Haxby, “I came here this weekend because I was asked to investigate the possibility that someone in this house framed your father. Not only that but they intend to betray the country again. That’s why it was a surprise to see you here.”
“Who? Chlomsky?”
“That’s a possibility. The truth is we don’t know. Only that our intelligence tells us that an important document was going to handed over to an enemy agent at Fazeby Hall.”
“By a visitor? Not someone living here already?” said Millie. She could not imagine Henry and Cynthia Fazeby being involved in wrongdoing, but anything was possible.
“Actually that’s a good point,” said Haxby. “We don’t know who is involved. So it could be anyone.”
“How do you know it’s not me?” asked Millie.
“I pride myself on being a good judge of character. There’s no way you’d have sent your own father to his death.”
“You don’t know me. For all you know I could be cold and callous,” said Millie.
“With those eyes? I don’t think so.”
“Ahem,” said Simon Brady, grinning. “Now we’ve established that Miss Woodridge’s eyes preclude her from being a femme fatale, shall we concentrate on finding out who is guilty?”
Simon Brady, still refusing to let Millie and Haxby take part in the interviews, spoke to everyone who had visited Masson Hill that morning, but no one had seen anything.
Dinner that night was a sombre affair. Millie thought it was a testament to British upper-class fortitude that it took place at all. The world may be falling apart, but customs must be observed.
Mr Parker-Trent was the only guest absent. Inspector Brady left the Hall some time before, to continue with his investigations.
“I left Parker-Trent sleeping,” said Count Chlomsky when he joined them for an aperitif just before dinner was served. “It will be better for him to rest.”
“Yes, of course,” said Cynthia. “I wish there were something we could do for the poor man.”
Millie was surprised by how hard Hortense’s death had hit Parker-Trent. She would have sworn that he did not care for his silly young wife. On the other hand, he might see her as one of his possessions. Like his factory. Something to be held onto at all costs. Perhaps, Millie thought to herself, I am being unfair. After all, one never knows the real truth about a marriage. Some neighbours near her old home were always arguing, to the point of the police being called to restore order. Yet they had celebrated fifty years of marriage that each described as ‘happy’ when the local newspaper covered the event. Perhaps the Parker-Trents too had been happy in their own way.
Only Mrs Oakengate was unfazed by the sad event, and in a way, it helped to break the deadly silence. She regaled them with tales of her life on the stage.
“I was five years old when my mother first introduced me to the audience on Drury Lane,” she told them. “I played Juliet at the age of fifteen.
By the time dinner had ended, she had reached her final performance. “The audience cried when I told them that I was leaving to become a respectable married woman,” she said. “I still get letters begging me to return to the stage.”
“Would you like to act in moving pictures?” asked Millie.
“Good Lord, no,” said Mrs Oakengate. “It is a culturally bereft medium, and the actresses who star in such films nothing more than prostitutes.”
“Not like good old Nell Gwynne, then,” said James Haxby, winking at the other guests. Millie smiled into her coffee.
“Oh that’s different,” said Mrs Oakengate, “she was the mistress of a king. Did I tell you about the time that old reprobate King Edward cast his eye on me? Lily Langtry was most put out.”
Everyone waited, to see if she would tell them of illicit meetings with the King, but that seemed to be the extent of her story. When that was over, she went back to the beginning, only the second time around she took her first steps onto the stage at the age of four and played Juliet at the age of fourteen.
“Was that before or after Henry the Eighth cast his eye on you?” muttered Henry Fazeby. Mrs Oakengate glared at him, before appearing to remember he was her host and laughing girlishly.
Millie blushed for her employer. She was not used to people who said exactly what they thought. Her father would have cut his tongue out rather than cause offence, yet James Haxby and Henry Fazeby did not seem to care if what they said offended or not. She realised that came from status. Henry Fazeby was a rich landowner who, though he had no title himself, was descended from a noble family.
James Haxby was also rich, but there was another reason for his bluntness. He had travelled, and faced terrible dangers. It made him fearless. Neither did he seem to care if people liked him, and as a result, people liked him very much. Millie wished she could be more like that.
“I think it’s time we ladies left the men to their port,” said Cynthia. She turned to the butler. “Jenkins, could you go and check on Mr Parker-Trent? Take him a plate, in case he is hungry.”
The women were just taking their coffee, when there was a commotion from the dining room. A few moments later the door to the drawing room opened and Henry Fazeby stood there, looking aghast.
“What is it, Henry?” asked Cynthia.
“It’s Parker-Trent. He … he’s dead.”
“His heart gave out,” the doctor told them, when they were all seated in the drawing room an hour later. The doctor was an elderly man who l
ooked as if he should have retired some years previously. “Not surprising really, given the shock he’d had today. He was on tablets for blood pressure, and I gather that Parker-Trent had survived one heart attack.” He looked to Henry Fazeby for confirmation.
“Yes, that’s correct. He told us about it last night, after the ladies had left us. Myself, Markham and Chlomsky that is. Mr Haxby hadn’t arrived at that point.”
The doctor nodded. “So, not surprising at all. Sad of course. A husband and wife on the same day. I have known it happen, with a couple who have been together for a long time, but I gather they’d only been married a few months.”
“One does not need to know someone all one’s life to become utterly devoted to them,” said Haxby. Yet he did not sound as though he believed that of the Parker-Trents anymore than Millie did.
“No, certainly,” said the doctor. “It’s all very unfortunate.”
Millie glanced up, and realised that Haxby was looking at her. She wondered if he were thinking what she was thinking. That it might seem fortunate to someone in the household. If Hortense had shared information with her husband, it gave her killer a motive to want him out of the way.
“You are sure it was a heart attack?” asked Millie. Haxby nodded his approval.
“I’m sure the doctor knows his job, Millicent,” snapped Mrs Oakengate, getting up from her chair. “Really, child, you are in a contrary mood today. Come along to my room, I want to talk to you before we go to bed.”
“Let it wait until the morning,” said Barbara Conrad, looking at Millie kindly. “It’s been a long day and we’re all upset.”
“Thank you, Mrs Conrad,” said Mrs Oakengate. “But this is between myself and my employee.” Millie knew that was all she was. Staff. She may have more freedom and status than serving staff, but in the end she was still a paid worker. Mrs Oakengate left the room, like a ship sailing through stormy seas.
“Goodnight, everyone,” said Millie, getting up to follow Mrs Oakengate.
“Millie,” said James Haxby.
“Yes?”
“I’d like a word in private.”
“Again,” said Cynthia Fazeby, with a hint of amusement in her voice. Millie noticed that she exchanged knowing glances with Barbara Conrad. It seemed that both women were in on a secret about which Millie had no knowledge.
Millie had the distinct feeling that talking to him in private would get her into more trouble with her employer. “I really should go and see what Mrs Oakengate wants.”
“It won’t take long.”
He followed Millie into the hallway, shutting the drawing room door behind him. “I want you to lock your door tonight. Don’t let anyone in. Even if you think you can trust them.”
“Why?”
“You and I both know that Parker-Trent’s death wasn’t by natural causes. He’s dead because the person who killed his wife believes she may have told him what she was going to tell you. They may not know that she didn’t get a chance to speak to you.”
“Doesn’t that mean you’re also in danger?” asked Millie. “You were the last person she spoke to.”
“I can look after myself. It’s you I’m worried about.” He said it with such tenderness that Millie once again felt her eyes sting. She stopped herself, feeling angry that so many times over the past couple of days she had come close to tears. She was not a weak person, and she despised women who burst out sobbing the time, yet the small kindnesses that had been shown to her continually brought her to the brink of crying.
“I’ve had to look after myself for a while now,” said Millie. “I’ll be all right.”
“Yes. I rather believe you will, my grey lady.”
“Millicent!” Mrs Oakengate’s imperious voice rang out from the gallery above the hallway. “I said I wanted to speak to you.”
Millie turned to leave, but James caught her by the arm. “Whatever she says, you’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I know. But I am an employee, so I must go.”
“That won’t always be so, Millie. When all this is over…”
“Millicent. I will not tell you again!”
Millie whispered goodnight and left him, wondering what he was going to say next.
Chapter Five
Half an hour passed before Millie was finally able to seek sanctuary in her own bedroom. She locked the door, not as a result of Haxby’s warning, but due to a pressing desire to lock the entire world out. Or Mrs Oakengate at least.
She had endured a lengthy lecture from her employer. “Really, Millicent, the way you threw yourself at that man.”
“Which man?” Millie had asked, her cheeks aflame.
“Haxby, of course. Unless there are others I don’t know about. I daresay that like many young girls you find him exciting, but you must know he is not for the likes of you. I don’t say this unkindly,” Mrs Oakengate paused, as if garnering her strength. “But you are a plain girl, with no real attributes. The sort of woman who would excite James Haxby would have seen something of the world. She would be older, sophisticated, and not … I am sorry to say … the daughter of an executed spy. Now, I will forgive you your behaviour today, but should you disobey me again, you will find yourself out of a job. I do not need to remind you that you would find great difficulty in finding other employment with an upper classed employer, given your status. No, you and I are stuck with each other, through my loyalty to your dear mother. So we must make the best of it. And we can only do that if you clear your mind of any silly notions of finding a man who will want to marry you.”
The memory of Mrs Oakengate’s dressing down caused Millie to fall onto her bed, beating her fists into her pillow. If only she had Haxby’s courage. If only she had any courage. The growing fear that Mrs Oakengate was right gripped her like a vice, constricting her, knocking the breath right out of her.
Millie had no ‘silly notions’ as Mrs Oakengate called them, of being married. She tried not to consider that marriage to Haxby might be very exciting. It might be exhilarating to be in his company, given that he was such a force of nature, but she had no illusions about him.
And yet, he had aroused feelings in her she never knew she had. Yearnings for something she was afraid to name, but which made body tingle at the thought of his touch. Had she really thrown herself at him? She blushed to think it might be so. He probably despised her for it every bit as much as Mrs Oakengate did, whilst encouraging her – perhaps because it flattered his ego – with a kindness and tenderness she had not known since her father’s death.
The worst part was that what Mrs Oakengate said about her not finding other employment might well be true. How then could she live? It was then that Millie realised she was neither a proud nor a snobbish person. She would happily work in a factory or a shop, rather than suffer years of humiliation at the hands of Mrs Oakengate. She had seen the factory girls on the streets near to her old home. They had often looked exhausted at the end of their shift, but also possessed, in their countenance, a look of freedom that she now lacked.
She paced her floor, long into the night, working out if it would be possible to just leave Mrs Oakengate. She would have to give notice, and that was the part that worried her. She suspected that Mrs Oakengate would simply brush the resignation aside, and carry on as if nothing had changed. To run away might be her only chance of avoiding years as Mrs Oakengate’s charity case. She would leave a note, of course, so that no one would try to send the police after her, as they might if she did just disappear.
She realised she could not go anywhere until the investigation into Hortense Parker-Trent’s death had ended. They might think she was running away because she was guilty. Besides, she wanted to know the answer herself. Who had pushed Hortense off the cliff? Was her husband’s death really a heart attack, due to immense grief? Or was there something more sinister afoot? Who had Hortense heard speaking about Millie’s father? The thought that someone in the house was a murderer disturbed Millie greatly.
&nbs
p; Unable to sleep, Millie picked up Barbara Conrad’s manuscript, and tried to read a few paragraphs. It was very well written, and Barbara had a way of deftly showing the idiosyncrasies of human nature. Despite that, Millie could not concentrate. She put it back on her bedside table, and lay down, thinking long into the dawn. About the two deaths. About escape. About freedom from Mrs Oakengate’s condescension. But her last unbidden thought, before drifting into a dreamless sleep, was about James Haxby and how his lips might feel against hers.
“Millie, Simon Brady and I are going back up to Masson Hill this morning. Would you like to come with us? Another pair of eyes might be very useful.”
The breakfast table fell into silence as if the answer mattered to everyone there.
“I’m afraid I must stay here,” said Millie, looking down at her plate regretfully. She would have liked nothing more than to go with the two men and help in their investigations, and felt a small thrill at being asked. “Mrs Oakengate needs me.”
“Yes, that is true,” said Mrs Oakengate. “Besides, it is not seemly for a young woman to go off in the company of two men.”
“Did you think I intended to seduce her whilst Brady watched?” asked Haxby. He threw down his napkin and rose from the table. “I may have visited some savage places,” he said, angrily, “but I have never been accused of behaving like a savage.”
“Might I remind you, Mr Haxby,” said Mrs Oakengate in her sweetest, deadliest voice, “that Millicent is employed by me as my companion, and as such is subject to my commands.”
“And don’t you just love that?” said Haxby. “Ordering that girl around, questioning her worth in this world. Telling her whom she might or might not love.”
Millie gasped. Had he followed and listened to the conversation of the night before? If so, why would he? Perhaps he suspected her or Mrs Oakengate of some wrongdoing. Or perhaps he had merely guessed what her employer would say to her.
“Haxby…” Henry Fazeby’s voice was gentle, but firm. “You are not really helping Miss Woodgate’s cause. Or your own.”
My True Companion Page 4