by T E Kinsey
‘Eh?’ he said, bewildered.
‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘Thank you for bringing it.’ I made to close the door.
He stopped me. ‘I’m to wait for a reply,’ he said.
‘Very well. Wait here and I’ll see if there is one,’ I said and took the telegram through to Lady Hardcastle who was sitting at the dining table, sketching.
‘What is it, Flo?’ she asked. ‘News?’
‘Telegram for you, my lady,’ I said, handing it over.
She opened it and read it. ‘Aha,’ she said excitedly, ‘and here is our chance to take that first step. You remember my dinner with Sir Hector on Saturday? Two members of the local social set were unable to attend, but it seems they’re as keen to be in on the gossip as everyone else. They’ve invited me to lunch with them at their home in Chipping Bevington tomorrow. Their names... are James and Ida Seddon.’
‘Of Seddon, Seddon and Seddon, the shipping agents?’
‘I rather expect so, yes. Our Mr Pickering’s employer.’
‘Which Seddon is he, do you think?’ I asked.
‘The second one, I should imagine.’
‘How can one tell, I wonder?’
‘I believe they have it stamped on the bottom. But anyway,’ she said. ‘Tomorrow I am to pay a call on the Seddons where I might learn more about our victim, and you shall accompany me.’
‘I shall?’
‘Of course you shall. I need to win them over and impress them if I’m going to get anything useful from them, and nothing impresses the commercial classes more than a title and turning up to lunch with a personal servant in attendance. It’ll give you a chance to snoop around and talk to his own staff, too.’ She scrawled a reply on the form and gave it to me with some change for the boy.
He was kicking stones on the path and looked up guiltily when I opened the door. I handed him the reply and the money.
‘The ha’penny’s for you’ I said. ‘Don’t spend it all at once.’
He grinned and scampered off towards the village. ‘Tell her ladyship I says thanks,’ he called over his shoulder as he disappeared from view.
I could put off the laundry no longer and so Tuesday morning was spent soaking, washing, wringing, mangling and hanging. It was perfect drying weather – sunny and with a good breeze – and the work went well, even pleasantly. By eleven o’clock everything was done, there was tea in the pot and I still had an hour to make myself presentable for Lady Hardcastle’s lunch at the Seddons’.
Lady Hardcastle appeared at the kitchen door. ‘There is a trichological crisis of disastrous proportions,’ she said.
‘I beg your pardon, my lady?’
‘My hair, Flo, my hair. Look at it.’
I looked at the wispy mess of long dark hair, inexpertly piled on top of her head. ‘It does look a little... untidy,’ I suggested.
‘It looks as if squirrels are nesting in it. Squirrels, Flo!’
‘If you’ll forgive me for pointing it out, my lady, it’s your own fault for being so impatient. I did say I’d help as soon as the laundry was done.’
‘Hang the laundry. Can’t we get someone to do that for us? There must be a laundry nearby.’
‘We’re not in London any more. But I’ve finished now and we have plenty of time to make you beautiful for your appointment.’
‘I’ll settle for “presentable”, but thank you. But where are my new stockings? And have you seen my small handbag? And are my patterned boots clean? And–’
‘I’ll take care of it all, my lady. Sit down, drink this tea, and I’ll be with you as soon as I’ve changed into something less... domestic.’
She sat at the kitchen table, heaved a great, frustrated sigh, and drank her tea.
By five minutes to twelve we were both dressed for lunch and ready to go. That’s to say, Lady Hardcastle was dressed for lunch and I was dressed in my smart “going out” uniform – I’d get lunch with the servants if I was lucky. I was helping her with her hatpins.
‘It strikes me, Flo, that this fashion for huge hats might have its advantages. What do you think of hiding a Derringer in there?’
‘A pistol, my lady? In your hat?’
‘Quite so.’
‘Wouldn’t that open you to the danger of shooting yourself accidentally in the head?’
‘I had a sort of holster in mind,’ she said, ‘concealing the gun inside, perhaps covered by a flap.’
‘I see. And wouldn’t that open me to the danger of you shooting me accidentally in the head as I walked beside you?’
‘You could walk a pace or two behind like a proper servant and then you’d be well clear.’
‘I could indeed. Do you think you need a Derringer?’
‘A lady should always be prepared for any eventuality.’
‘Like the Boy Scouts, my lady?’
‘Similar, but with skirts on.’
‘I don't think the Boy Scouts are allowed to wear skirts, my lady. Perhaps some female equivalent of the organization should be formed.’
‘Most definitely it should,’ she said. ‘As long as they would always be prepared.’
‘One would certainly hope they would. I doubt they would allow them to carry small calibre pistols, though.’
‘It would seem rather reckless,’ she said, thoughtfully.
The doorbell rang.
‘A timely interruption, my lady. I believe you’re ready, and I’ll wager that’s the car.’
I answered the door and there on the step was a handsome young man in a chauffeur’s uniform of fine grey wool. Behind him, on the road, was a similarly grey, similarly handsome Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost.
‘I’m Daniel, miss,’ said the chauffeur, ‘come to take Lady Hardcastle to Mr Seddon’s house.’
‘Thank you, Daniel,’ I said. ‘I’m Armstrong and my mistress will be with you presently.’
‘Shall I wait in the car, Miss Armstrong?’
‘Thank you, that will be fine. She’ll be a minute or two longer, no more.’
‘Yes, miss.’ And with that he turned smartly and returned to the beautiful car.
I made to return to the kitchen but Lady Hardcastle was already on her way into the hall. ‘Ready, my lady?’ I said as she inspected herself in the mirror.
‘I believe I am, pet, yes. Let’s go snooping.’
I locked the front door while Daniel helped Lady Hardcastle into the car and then clambered in beside her while Daniel settled into the driving seat.
It was a perfect driving day as well as a perfect drying day and the half-hour journey was exhilarating and all too short. The Seddons lived in a grand Georgian house on the main road into Chipping Bevington and as the Rolls scrunched onto the broad gravel drive, Mr Seddon himself appeared at the door to greet his guest.
‘My dear Lady Hardcastle,’ he gushed as Daniel helped her from the car. ‘How wonderful of you to come.’
‘Good afternoon, Mr Seddon. It was charming of you to invite me.’
Daniel was sweet enough also to help me while this pantomime continued and I was out of the car in time to see Mrs Seddon greeting Lady Hardcastle with equal effusion. Daniel winked at me.
‘Leave the car there, Daniel,’ said Mrs Seddon, brusquely, ‘and take Lady Hardcastle’s maid...’
‘Miss Armstrong, madam,’ said Daniel, quickly.
‘Quite. Take Armstrong to the kitchen. Cook has some lunch for her, I believe. Does that suit, Lady Hardcastle?’
‘That will be fine, Mrs Seddon,’ she said. ‘Enjoy your lunch, Armstrong. I’ll ring through to the kitchen if I need you.’
‘Yes, my lady,’ I said with a slight curtsey and followed Daniel round to the rear of the house where I was warmly invited into the kitchen by the cook, Mrs Birch.
I was led to a large, oak table which had been set for a lavish lunch. I was treated as the guest of honour and was seated at one end of the table, in a wonderfully comfortable chair.
In private Lady Hardcastle and I usually at
e well and had shared some splendid meals, but when she was staying away from home and I was dining with the household servants, the best I could usually hope for was “hearty and satisfying”. “Meagre and grudgingly served” was more common, but this lunch was utterly magnificent. Pies, cold meats, poached salmon, scotch eggs, fresh salads, fresh breads... all prepared with exquisite skill. It was like the most wonderful picnic. There was even a bottle of champagne.
The kitchen was spacious and well equipped and the atmosphere friendly to the point of rowdiness. To my immense surprise I was welcomed as a fellow professional by the staff and was taken immediately into their confidence as one after the other the cook, valet, lady’s maid, housemaid, kitchen maid and chauffeur each shared with me their joy at meeting the servant of a “real lady” and their dismay at the their own arriviste employers.
‘Blimmin Lady Muck and her airs and graces,’ said Mrs Birch through a mouthful of pie. ‘She was a shop girl when she met him. A blimmin shop girl. And now she swans round here like the Duchess of Blimmin Lah-di-Dah, treatin’ us like the dirt on her shoe. That’s not proper class. She don’t know how to behave.’
The others nodded their agreement. And one by one added their own descriptions of their employers’ shortcomings. I wasn’t completely sure that any of this was appropriately professional, but I also got the feeling that I was providing an important service as a sort of safety valve. I’m not at all sure I would ever have complained about my employer to anyone, much less a complete stranger, but as they told their tales of extravagance, rudeness and generally gauche behaviour, I realized that they felt besieged and just needed to tell someone that might understand. I let them talk and carried on eating.
Mrs Birch had noticed my surprise at the extravagance of the meal. ‘We might as well treat ourselves, my dear. She don’t know what goes on, nor care overmuch, I’m sure. She don’t deign to come into the kitchen and talk to the likes of me; I gets summoned to her study to discuss menus, then sent off to crawl back to my proper place. She pays the bills without looking at them. I overheard her talking to one of her friends once. “If one has to worry about the bills,” she says, “one can’t afford them anyway.” So if that’s the way she sees it, I makes sure to slip a little treat in for us now and again. Nothing too much, mind – I i’n’t no thief – but a nice treat once a month is only what we deserves after putting up with her.’
As our eating slowed in pace and the savoury course drew to a natural close, the bell from the dining room rang and the housemaid slipped out, carrying a tray of cakes and pastries.
They asked me about Lady Hardcastle, where we’d come from, how we were settling in, and what we were up to now. I answered truthfully as much as I could, but not fully. I did let them know we were trying to find out about the murder of Frank Pickering, though.
‘Ah, yes,’ said Langdon, Mr Seddon’s valet. ‘Poor Mr Pickering. He worked for Seddons, you know. A fine young man. More of a gentleman in manner than his employer if you ask me.’
‘You met him?’ I asked.
‘Yes, once or twice. I usually accompany Mr Seddon on business trips and Mr Pickering was sometimes there or thereabouts. He came to the house once.’
‘To the house? Isn’t that a little unusual.’
‘It was, rather. It was quite recently, too.’
‘Have you any idea why?’
‘None at all, I’m afraid. Sadly this is quite a robustly built house and opportunities for eavesdropping aren’t quite what they were in some of the houses I’ve worked in. Thick walls and doors, you see. But he didn’t seem in the best of spirits when he arrived and he saw himself out, slamming the door as he went, so I can’t presume it was a joyful meeting.’
I was about to try to press him for more details when the bell rang from the dining room again.
‘I expect that’ll be for me,’ he said, getting up. ‘Please leave me a piece of trifle if you can spare it. I’m rather partial to trifle.’
He went off towards the dining room and our conversation lightened once more, turning to stories about the antics of the younger servants. We were still laughing at a story told – with actions and comic voices – by Doris the kitchen maid, when Langdon returned. He came over to my chair and spoke discreetly in my ear. ‘It was for you, actually, my dear. Lady Hardcastle asks if you’d take her her pills.’
‘Of course. Thank you,’ I said, rising from my chair. ‘Please excuse me, everyone. Duty calls.’
I found my bag and rummaged inside. Lady Hardcastle didn’t take “pills” but she clearly wanted me in the dining room for some reason. I carried a box of aspirin which would suffice and I took out two of the little pills and went towards the door I’d seen Langdon use.
‘Straight up the passage, turn right and it’s the second door on the left,’ said Mrs Birch. ‘Follow the sound of self-important bragging and you won’t go far wrong.’
The others laughed and I made my way out.
The panelled passageway was hung with watercolours of ships, and the harbour at Bristol, interspersed with polished brass nameplates. There was a binnacle beside the dining room door, complete with compass, with a brass ship’s bell mounted on a shelf above it. If I’d been asked to identify the theme of the décor I should definitely have plumped for “nautical”.
The door was ajar and I slipped quietly inside and looked around. The room was large, high-ceilinged and decorated in fashionably pale shades of blue. Around the wall were more items of nautical memorabilia: polished portholes; another bell, this one slightly dented; framed bills of lading; an intriguingly asymmetrical display of blocks and lines from a ship’s rigging; more paintings of ships; and there, in pride of place above the fireplace, a large portrait in oils of Mrs Seddon in regal pose.
The dining table was large enough to seat ten but there were only five for lunch. Mr Seddon sat at the head of the table with his wife to his right. Lady Hardcastle sat opposite her, with a portly, red-faced gentleman I didn’t recognize to her left and a similarly plump lady that I presumed was his own wife opposite him. Mary, the housemaid, was pouring tea. Their lunch, the remains of which were piled on the sideboard, appeared to have been a more modest version of the one I had just enjoyed. I smiled.
‘Ah, Armstrong,’ said Lady Hardcastle beckoning me over. ‘Thank you so much.’
I gave her the aspirins and she swallowed them down. She thanked me again and waved me away but instead of leaving, I made full use of the mystical powers of invisibility possessed by all household servants and slipped unnoticed to the corner of the room.
‘You poor thing,’ said Mrs Seddon. ‘Are they for nerves? It must be the shock of talking about that terrible business.’
Mrs Seddon was in her early 30s, I judged, slim of figure and blonde of hair. Pretty, I thought, but not truly beautiful, while her clothes were on the gaudy side of elegant, but undoubtedly expensive.
She spoke again. ‘We were simply horrified to hear of his death,’ she said. ‘How much more awful it must have been to actually find his... body. Was it suicide do they think?’
Her accent was hard to pin down. She seemed to be trying hard to sound like a lady, but traces of her Bristol accent poked through the veneer, making her sound like a music hall artist playing a lady for a satirical skit.
‘That’s certainly how it was intended to appear,’ said Lady Hardcastle, ‘but the police weren’t convinced. They’ve arrested a local man for the murder.’
‘Murder? Did you know about this, James?’ she asked her husband sharply before turning back to Lady Hardcastle. ‘He used to work for James, you know,’ she explained.
‘I... er... yes, my dear. I think I heard something about it,’ he stammered, nervously.
‘You never said anything.’ Her tone was distinctly icy by now.
‘I... I... didn’t want to vex you unduly, my sweet. Nasty business. Nasty.’
Mr Seddon might have been the senior partner of a successful shipping agency, but it
was becoming clear who was the senior partner in the Seddon household.
‘Don’t want to speak ill of a chap when he’s lying on the slab at the mortuary and all that,’ said the red-faced man, slightly drunkenly, ‘but it’s dashed inconvenient his dying like that. Left us in the lurch, what?’
‘Oh, Percy, don’t,’ said the unknown lady. ‘You speak as though he got himself murdered on purpose.’
‘Unless he was the victim of a lunatic, m’dear,’ he said, ‘he must have upset someone. Could say he brought it on himself, what?’
‘No, one couldn’t,’ she replied, sternly. ‘And I think you’ve had altogether quite enough to drink.’
There was an embarrassed silence during which everyone but the red-faced man sipped at their tea; he mutinously carried on with his wine. The silence dragged on for almost a minute before Mrs Seddon said, ‘Oh, my dear Lady Hardcastle, you do look quite ill. Are you sure you’re all right? Should I call a doctor?’
Lady Hardcastle looked absolutely fine to me, but it was an elegant way of giving her a reason to excuse herself early. She took it. ‘Thank you, Mrs Seddon, I’m sure I’ll be fine. But might I impose upon your generosity a little further and ask your chauffeur to drive me home?’
‘Of course you may, of course,’ said Mrs Seddon with barely concealed relief. ‘Mary, please go back to the kitchen and tell Daniel to ready the Rolls. You can clear this up later.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Mary and made for the door.
As unobtrusively as I could, I followed her out and we walked to the kitchen together. As soon as I thought we were safely out of earshot, I said, ‘That all got a bit frosty.’
‘It had been heading that way for some time, miss, that’s why your mistress sent for you, I reckon; wanted to get out of there. The missus don’t like being shown up, see, and what with the other Mr Seddon being a little tipsy and him and our Mr Seddon joking about, then all that talk of Mr Pickering, our Mrs S was just about ready to knock some heads together. There’s going to be skin and hair flying when the guests have all gone, I’d put money on it.’
By now we were back in the kitchen and Mary indicated to James that he was required.