The Murderess

by Jennifer Wells

  ‘Jimmy, a prophylactic cannot save a reputation nor can it…’ But I stopped when I saw him open his mouth, for he would not dare interrupt me without reason. ‘What is it?’ I said.

  ‘Well, I will be taking Hilda up to the green tomorrow, like I said Madam.’ He cleared his throat as if his next statement needed courage. ‘And I will be visiting the hall at St Cuthbert’s myself, to join up.’

  ‘What?’ I said. ‘So where…’ And then his words finally started to make sense. ‘No, no,’ I cried. ‘No, Jimmy, you can’t!’

  He held up his hands like he had expected my protest and his face seemed calm as if he knew the arguments that I would make – the senselessness of war, the sanctity of life and the will of God – and would not give them another thought.

  And suddenly I realised that he had made his decision long ago. He had signed the papers and there was nothing more that could be done about it.

  ‘But you are so young,’ I managed to say at last, but my words sounded like the tail end of an argument, the kind of reaction one would expect from a woman my age who shared neither his background nor his youth.

  ‘It is not myself I need to think of,’ he said. ‘I go for the country, to protect women like Rosalie.’ Then he added, ‘And for myself in the spirit of adventure.’

  But his last phrase was one which sounded familiar. It was one I had heard Hugh use many a time and I suddenly feared that Jimmy’s decision was not of his own making. The seed had been sown months or even years ago as he had been entranced by Hugh’s stories of the expedition to Tibet: of rugged mountains and palaces; of peasant fighters armed only with pitchforks; of chisel-jawed bravery and jewels of polished jade.

  ‘I will earn a good wage and serve my country,’ Jimmy continued. ‘Just like the master did.’

  It was then that I remembered Hugh, Jimmy and Arthur together, as I had watched them from the kitchen window. Hugh had aimed a stick at Jimmy and shot him; an action meant in jest but one that now held so much meaning. I cursed Hugh for the stories which fell from his mouth but I cursed Arthur also, for keeping his mouth shut.

  ‘Do not fret, Madam,’ Jimmy said. ‘You did not really need a stable lad for just one horse, and now the horse will be gone also.’

  ‘But you have been such a help to Arthur with the walled garden,’ I said, ‘and now there is a glasshouse to build.’ But my words seemed to falter and I realised that all our talk of his position at the Grange was because we did not want to speak of what was so personal, that he would be missed and the household would feel strange without him, and the conversation seemed easier as mistress and servant. ‘Well,’ I said. ‘It will make us all sad when you leave.’ It was a simple statement but I could not sum up my emotions in any other way.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But I hope that I will also make you proud.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said weakly, but I could not manage a smile.

  *

  I returned to the kitchen to find that the stove had gone out and the water in the kettle was cold. The slight creak in the ceiling above me was the only reminder that Hugh was still working at his desk and the house was not completely empty. I had spent longer at the stables than I had planned and I had neither managed to eat my lunch nor fix the baby’s bonnet yet I knew that, after Jimmy’s news, I was not in the right mind to do either.

  I had thought to console Rosalie over Jimmy’s departure but her mauve shawl was missing from the hook and her boots were not by the door and I started to worry that she too would leave me at the time I most needed her.

  I took some deep breaths and tried to still the flutter of my heart. I thought again of the time, several years ago, when Audrey had left me for her married life in London, then, with fewer masters to serve, most of the household staff had left, leaving the house cold and empty. My little sister and the servants had been drawn away by the excitements that the new century had brought. They had been young and free, whereas I, as the heir to the estate, had been left with the family name to uphold and property and grounds to maintain. The Grange had become my prison. It was a time that I did not care to remember, but now, with Jimmy’s departure, I felt that it was happening again. Jimmy would soon be gone, and where was Rosalie?

  Then I saw a note on the dresser, weighted down with a rolling pin. It was from Hugh. He had sent Rosalie out to the farm to collect a goose and some potatoes. I was to ensure we had ingredients for a cake and enough linen to make the guest room respectable. At the bottom of the note was a short explanation – a guest would be arriving the next day and would be staying the night in the blue bedroom – then there was a dash and a name written in a bold hand – Clement Walker.

  ‘Damn!’ I shouted. ‘Damn that man! Why must he come now?’ I picked up the rolling pin and threw it at the wall. The clatter of wood on plaster and stone echoing through the house.

  I sank back down into the armchair by the stove, breathing hard. Then I looked up. The door to the laundry room was open and big, wet eyes shone out of the darkness. I got up and crossed over to where Igor cowered on the mattress. His whole body was trembling, ears flattened against his skull.

  ‘Oh boy, I’m sorry.’ I dropped to my knees beside him. ‘It was just a noise, that was all. I didn’t mean anything by it. Please, don’t be scared of me anymore.’ I stroked his shivering flank and tried to lift his heavy skull off the mattress so that I could look into his eyes. Then, very slowly and gently, I took his bent paw in my hand and stroked it. ‘I’m so very sorry,’ I whispered. ‘Please forgive me, I wish I could take back what I did. I would never do it to you again. The person that hurt you was not me. I am not that person any more, I promise. You don’t need to be scared.’

  Chapter 18

  September 1915

  It was the day that everything changed, but when I woke that morning to the sound of teacups tinkling in the kitchen and the distant grate of the lawnmower, I had no idea that it would be so. Hugh and I discussed the morning papers over breakfast – the Daily Express carried an article about the bravery of civilian horses and valiant battles in Ypres but the Missensham Herald led with a story about tractors, and I fancied that they had not wanted to include a glorious report on a battle that clearly wasn’t, and so had decided not to report on it at all. I found my interpretation to be correct when I looked overleaf to find a casualty list as long as the page itself.

  Hugh planned to set off into the village soon after breakfast. He wanted to see if someone at Partridge’s could arrange some panes for the glasshouse in the walled garden; he would be back in good time for Clement Walker’s visit.

  After I waved Hugh off, I spent the morning preparing the goose and baking a fruit cake, all the time unsettled by the banging from upstairs as Rosalie prepared the guest bedroom. After the morning on my feet, I took my tea to the drawing room and told Rosalie to return downstairs and prepare bread and cheese for the men’s lunches.

  I put my feet up on the settee by the window. A shaft of low sunlight warmed the soft velvet and I took a moment to rest my head on the arm.

  The next sound I heard was the clatter of an engine, the crunch of gravel and a voice outside. I glanced at the clock but the position of the hands seemed to make no sense until I realised that I must have dozed for a while.

  ‘Rosalie!’ I called. ‘Rosalie, come quickly.’ I tugged on the bell cord but the distant jangle echoed with emptiness.

  I ran to the window and looked down onto the driveway. A shiny silver motorcar was parked on the gravel, the bonnet still shuddering with the rattle of the engine. A man stood on the running board, looking towards the house as he slid his fingers from his driving gloves.

  I shouted down the stairs. ‘Rosalie!’ but there was still no answer.

  I ran downstairs, tearing the apron from my neck and flinging it behind the hat stand. I straightened my hair in the mirror in the hallway, stood up straight and cleared my throat.

  I opened the door and stood to one side of the doorstep, my ha
nds clasped in front of me as I had been trained as a girl when we stood to welcome visitors, but then I realised that I could not be part of a silent welcoming party when there was just me to do the welcoming and, with no suitable servants, Clement Walker would have to be received by the lady of the house.

  I walked down the steps and put on my best voice. ‘Mr Walker!’ I held out my hand in greeting. ‘You must have had a good journey in this wonderful contraption, for we were not expecting you until later this afternoon. Please excuse the disarray.’

  He stopped for a moment, perhaps surprised to find me opening my own front door, but then smiled and took my hand. ‘My good lady, I see no disarray whatsoever.’

  I smiled, grateful to him for accepting the situation and I began to wonder if I had misjudged him on our previous meetings when he had been fresh with bravado from his reserves’ training or flushed with alcohol. ‘Let me take your—’

  But he turned back to his vehicle and I saw two heavy trunks on the back seat.

  ‘Not to worry,’ I said. ‘I will fetch the…’ But my lips barely formed the last words. I already knew that I could not rouse Rosalie and I reasoned that, whatever mischief she was up to, it was bound to be with Jimmy, so neither would arrive in time to help. ‘The valet shall take your luggage up to the guest suite presently,’ I said, although it was the first time that the back bedroom had been called a suite and the only time Jimmy would be promoted to valet.

  ‘Of course,’ he said.

  ‘Would you be so kind as to follow me?’

  We climbed the steps and I ushered him through the front door, but once in the hallway my composure left me and I hesitated.

  ‘I realise that I might have arrived a trifle early,’ Mr Walker ventured, ‘so if Hugh is not here, I would very much like to take tea in the drawing room.’ It was not so much a demand but a gentle prompt; something to remind me of the proper social rituals that I had lived so long without.

  ‘Of course,’ I said, smiling gratefully. ‘Please follow me.’

  I settled him on the grand velvet settee with a view over the Long Lawn, then I excused myself and hurried back downstairs. In the kitchen the smell of burning filled the room and I had to run to the oven to remove the fruit cake. It was smoking and blackened but I reasoned that the middle would still be edible if I cut the burnt bits off and covered it with icing. I cursed under my breath, then I filled the kettle and heaved it on to the stove, fumbling with the matches until one complied.

  Then I saw a single red peony, resting on the kitchen table. It was perfect, not a petal dropped from its fat crown, and I fancied that it must have been selected for a special purpose; like a calling card or an invitation to a tryst. I ducked under the sink and rummaged through the cupboard, searching for the little brown box that Arthur had promised to remove when I had discovered its shameful contents back in the spring. I found the box again behind the soap but, when I opened it, the prophylactic was gone. My thoughts did not turn to Arthur; I had never quite believed him on the day of its discovery when he had claimed the offending item as his own. Arthur had always been fond of Rosalie and Jimmy and I fancied that he had taken the blame to spare them from being turned on to the street.

  I opened the back door and yelled: ‘Rosa—’ but stopped quickly when I realised that my voice would be heard from the drawing room.

  Instead I crept across the lawn, ducking my head so that I would not be seen from the large window, and ran to the stable.

  ‘You stupid girl,’ I said under my breath. ‘Oh, you stupid girl.’ I hoped that I would be in time to stop them, maybe prevent the act from taking place all together because, with or without the prophylactic, they were not married and Rosalie’s reputation could end up in tatters.

  I could hear her laughter from the garden but, as I rushed into the stable yard and saw the door to the stall closed, my feet stumbled and slowed. There was something about the sound of her voice and her laughter, something about its playfulness that made me stop and listen. It was a sound that I had not heard for so long, but I did not know whether the feelings it evoked were ghosts from my own past or something that I had only imagined and longed for. This was a personal moment, someone’s own memories being made, and I was uninvited. I retreated and perched on the low roof of the old kennels as I waited for a better moment that I was not sure would come.

  I had not realised that the day had been so fine as I had spent much of it indoors, only catching glimpses of the Long Lawn through the windows. The sun now warmed my back and I watched a group of sparrows bathing in the hollows of dusty hoof marks on the path. A jacket had been flung onto a privet bush, a twirling breeze toying with the fallen leaves. For just a moment I thought that maybe I should try and secure the future of the Grange, try and enjoy this place instead of hating its shabbiness, and I resolved that I should listen to Clement Walker, but at that moment, I realised that I had no desire to hurry back to him.

  Then there was the scrape of a door and I jumped up and ducked behind the kennel, the certainty and bravado I had felt just moments before when I had crossed the Long Lawn now gone. I had changed from the lady of the house, bent on chastising her servants, to an embarrassed intruder and uninvited guest, the kind to mutter an apology and walk away.

  The door opened and the voices became louder, then Rosalie appeared, rubbing the straw from her skirts. She stopped to fix her hair and, as she raised her hands to pin the loose strands back into place, I saw that her blouse was still unbuttoned at the top and I saw a flash of green in the gape of the material. It was a colour that I had seen before; the bright green of the stones that Hugh had brought me from Tibet, the ones that he had always said were the colour of my eyes and the ones that I had seen set in the necklace that I found buried deep in his desk drawer.

  She had taken my necklace. Why?

  Rosalie glanced to the house and then at the clock on the stable wall but any nervousness or sense of duty she might have felt did not show in her face for it was lit by a smile that she seemed unable to control and when she took the path back to the garden, she lifted her skirts as though she might skip.

  Then I heard a tune being whistled and I turned back to the stable. There was something about the whistle, it was loud and cocksure, and I realised that I had never heard Jimmy whistle before and that if he ever did, I could not imagine that it would sound this way.

  And then I saw everything differently: the hoof marks in the gravel led in the direction of the road but it was Jimmy’s hat and crop that were missing from the hooks; the jacket slung on the privet bush was large and well-tailored; and there was a hint of Egyptian cigarettes on the breeze. And then, as the whistling grew louder, the notes fell into place and I recognised the gentle bounding rhythm of ‘Greensleeves’.

  I looked back to the stable but I knew now what I would see. The door opened and Hugh strode into the yard, briskly brushing the straw from his trousers and smoothing his moustache. He stopped whistling, leaving the last note hanging in the air, and took a puff of his cigarette then hurried after Rosalie, catching her on the path and grabbing playfully at her waist. Only then did they separate; he turned towards the front door and she continued on the path back to the kitchen.

  They had been together but would enter the house apart – one as the master through the grand front door and the other as a maid through the servants’ entrance. He would walk into the hallway, hang up his coat and cheerily call my name, while she would make her way into the kitchen and up the narrow stairs, carrying the tea tray I had prepared. Maybe she would move aside if she saw him in the hallway, or he would take a plate from her as she served the afternoon tea, but I knew that when they did meet, it would be as so many times before and, despite everything that I had just seen, once they were in the house, they would pass each other with no more than a glance.

  Chapter 19

  September 1915

  The service bell for the study was ringing. I sat at the kitchen table with my hands ove
r my ears and watched the clapper shuddering back and forth. I had managed to blunt the sound of the bell but could not silence the other sounds that kept repeating in my head: the echo of Hugh’s footsteps on the gravel; the whistled notes of ‘Greensleeves’; the laughter from behind the stable doors; the swish of fabric as they brushed straw from their clothes; their footsteps as they returned to the house, unaware that I was watching from behind the kennels.

  Then the bell stopped and with it the echoes of that afternoon and now all I heard was the crackle of my breath and thud of my heart in my ears. The afternoon was fading into night but I could not forget what I had seen.

  ‘Madam?’ Arthur stood in the doorway. ‘I could hear the bell from the garden. It was ringing for a good ten minutes. Is everything all right?’

  I stood up quickly and wiped my tears on my apron. ‘It’s all right, Arthur,’ I said. ‘Nobody answered the bell but it has stopped now, so you needn’t worry,’ but my throat seemed to tighten around the words.

  ‘Madam?’ he said again, and then ‘What’s wrong?’ He came over to me and put a clumsy hand on my shoulder but I batted it away.

  ‘What do you mean “what’s wrong?”’ I screamed. ‘You know exactly what’s wrong. Why else would you have said that the prophylactic was yours? You were protecting him, while you were laughing at me. You all were: Jimmy leaving his post so they could cavort in secret; you claiming the prophylactic was yours; and Hugh and that slut – you were all laughing.’

  Arthur pulled up a chair next to me and opened his mouth, but it was clear from his expression that he could not find words for the apology he intended. He stared at his feet. ‘You are right,’ he said after a while. ‘I did suspect something and I should have said something to you, but I wasn’t sure, not until the day that you found that, that… thing, and I just thought that it wouldn’t be right if you found out in that way.’ He sighed. ‘I’m sorry, but at the time, I didn’t think that I was protecting him, I thought that I was protecting you.’ He put his head in his hands. ‘I am sorry.’ Then he got up and walked to the sink. ‘I see that the tea service is already laid out, I will put the kettle—’