by Ann Purser
Floss’s father had begun to drop hints about “proper jobs” again, but the longer she worked for Mrs. M, the less she thought about looking for other careers. And the idea of going anywhere too far away from Ben was too painful to contemplate. Now that he was accepted by the family—which meant by her father—she had relaxed, and their relationship had blossomed.
As they drew into the staff car park, Lois suddenly braked hard, put the van into reverse and backed dangerously out on to the narrow road that led across the park to the Hall. She got quickly out of the car and shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand. “Are you looking for something?” Floss said, coming to stand beside her.
“Did you see that car pull out as we came in?” Lois sounded breathless.
Floss shook her head. “Didn’t really notice,” she said. “Is it that one, just past the church? Looks like he’s stopping.” They could just see a figure setting off from the car and disappearing in the direction of the lake. “Taken short, I shouldn’t wonder,” said Floss, laughing. “Come on, Mrs. M, else we’ll be late, and Her Majesty the Director of Hotel Services will give us the boot.”
All morning, as they cleaned bathrooms, hoovered carpets, opened windows to let out the smell of cigarette smoke, and binned evidence of whoopee the previous night, Lois thought about the car. She was certain it was Reg Abthorpe’s old banger, and wondered how she could find out what he was doing at Dallyn Hall, and why he always seemed to be disappearing every time she glimpsed him. As she gathered up cleaning materials and walked with Floss towards the car park, she felt certain now that he did not live miles away in Suffolk, but not all that far from Long Farnden itself.
“They’ve really extended this place, haven’t they, Mrs. M?” Floss said chattily. “I suppose the conversions over there were stables once.”
“And barns,” Lois replied, and as she said this she looked more closely across the stable yard which was now the car park. “Some of those store rooms over there would have been for hay and straw, I expect,” she said.
“Must have been lovely in the old days,” Floss said.
“Lovely for some,” Lois replied. “The nobs who lived in the Hall, anyway. Not so good for the servants at the mercy of their masters.”
“Well,” Floss said, “we could say the same about us and our Director of Hotel Services.”
Lois laughed now, and they got into the van. She started up and was away quickly, but by the time they reached the path leading to the lake, there was no sign of the red car. Not surprising, really. Reg was unlikely to hang about all morning. Lois was silent, trying to work out what Reg could possibly have been doing at Dallyn Hall. It was a smart hotel, and the prices were high, relying on corporate hospitality and rich holiday-makers from all over the world. It was in all the lists of most luxurious hotels, and the cars in the guests’ car park proved it.
“Never seen so many fancy cars,” said Floss. “Where do they all come from?”
“God knows,” said Lois, not concentrating. “And anyway, the one I’m interested in is an old banger, colour red. Belongs to the man handling old Mr. Everitt’s affairs. This bloke in the red car claims to be his nephew, but it all looks a bit dodgy. Keep your ear to the ground, Floss, and let me know if you hear anything interesting on the subject.”
“Thought we weren’t meant to gossip?” Floss said. She was still too new to anticipate Lois’s wrath.
“Don’t you quote rules and regs to me, young lady!” Lois sat ramrod straight, and was silent for a moment. Then she turned and smiled. “OK, point taken,” she said, “but what I ask is in the line of duty. New Brooms is cleaning the old man’s house, and I like to know exactly what’s going on with my clients. If there is something dodgy, the last thing I want is to have the business involved.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll let you know,” Floss said, as Lois dropped her outside her house. Once out on the pavement, she leaned back through the window and said, “Oh, by the way, Mrs. M, any chance of taking Ben on as a cleaner in a temporary capacity? He’s still applying for jobs in IT, but needs to earn some money. He’s quite keen.”
“Ah,” said Lois. She wasn’t too happy about temporary cleaners. They generally let her down, and departed for good without warning. “I’ll think about it, Floss, and maybe get in touch with him. See you later, then.” She drove off home, her thoughts momentarily deflected from Reg Abthorpe to the possibility of another male cleaner. She’d had two in the life of the business. First Gary, whom she’d liked, but who had left her under a cloud. Then Bill Stockbridge, still with her, and a tower of strength. But now that he was expecting a baby—or rather, Rebecca was—he might well decide to get a better paid full-time job. Some clients were happier with a male cleaner, and Lois was reluctant to send the girls to one or two of her clients.
“I’ve decided to give Ben Cullen a try as a temporary cleaner,” she said conversationally to Gran. It was a good idea to mention things to Gran, as she nearly always had something useful to contribute, mostly gleaned from her sessions as shop assistant.
“Goodness gracious!” Gran said. “He’s only a boy. And anyway, does he want to be a cleaner?” Lois explained, and Gran said nothing for a while. Then she set down a plate of salad in front of Lois and said, “Well, he’s a nice, clean, polite boy. And you could do a lot worse. But take my advice, which, of course, you won’t, but don’t send Ben and Floss together to the same job. Like to Mrs. T-J, for instance. I know you send in two now and then for big occasions. But you’ll never know what’s going on in them empty bedrooms and long corridors!”
Lois laughed. “For heavens sake, Mum! They’d know better than to waste New Brooms’ time snogging, and if they don’t know, I’ll soon tell them. No, it’s really whether I want a temporary chap or not.”
“Give him a try,” Gran said. “You can always say it’s not working. What’s more,” she added darkly, “he does live opposite where poor Herbert lived, and might be a useful lookout for you and your copper. And don’t deny that anything’s afoot, because your husband and me know all the signs. Now, it’s time for me to catch the bus. I’m going over to Ringford to visit Ivy Beasley. I met her at WI last month, and she invited me for a cup of tea.”
“Better wear protective clothing, then,” Lois said with a straight face. “She’s known to be a right battling Bessie. She’ll gobble you up if you upset her.”
Gran drew herself up. “I don’t intend to upset her,” she said. “I’m taking her some shortbread I made yesterday. Now, I must be off.”
“Cheers, Mum. Give the old bat my love—no, on second thoughts, give her my respectful greetings. That’ll do. Bye.”
Lois went into her office and looked at the diary. She was picking up Josie to visit Ellen Biggs, but before that she might give Ben a ring, and make a date to see him. She dialled his number, but got the answer phone, and so left a message asking him to call.
T
WENTY-E
IGHT
TWO STATELY HOMES IN ONE DAY! FLOSS DROVE round the back of Farnden Hall and parked in front of the stable block. She went over to greet the black mare who snickered in return, nuzzling in Floss’s palm for the usual Polo mint. What a nice friendly old girl, Floss thought. She hadn’t ridden for a while, but had enjoyed it when she was still at pony-girl age.
“Ponies out, boys in,” she muttered to herself, before turning and making for the back door of the house. It opened before she got there, and Mrs. Tollervey-Jones stood unsmiling on the doorstep.
“It is really not very convenient to have you here this afternoon,” she said. “Still, now you’re here, you’d better get on with it. I hope this is not going to be a regular occurrence.”
Floss did not say that she did exactly as she was told, and had no idea if mornings, afternoons or evenings were what Mrs. M had in mind. Instead, she said pleasantly, “What a nice old mare you’ve got there, Mrs. Tollervey-Jones.” Why couldn’t the woman be Mrs. Jones? It was such a mouthful every time. S
till, at least her change of subject had produced a chilly smile.
“Ah, yes, the old queen, we call her. Her name’s Victoria, and I’ve had her for years. Only horse left in the stables now. I’m too old to do much, and Queenie and I move at about the same pace.”
“Nonsense!” said Floss daringly. “I’ve never seen anyone as active as you, Mrs …. um … Jones.”
“Tollervey-Jones,” was the sharp reply. “And now we must get on. I have a meeting in Tresham at three, so I have to trust you to let yourself out when you’ve finished. Make sure you lock up securely. Houseful of treasures here. It really is most inconvenient,” she added, and strode away.
Still, a nice girl, that, Mrs. T-J considered, as she fetched her papers and handbag. Superior to the usual run of cleaners. Must find out a bit more about her. And, as far as she could tell, the girl was good at the job. I just hope she leaves the place secure, she said to herself as she drove off down the drive.
Meanwhile, Floss was singing softly to herself as she began work. Downstairs first, then up on the first floor. On the top floor, there were servants’ bedrooms, dark and tiny under the eaves, but Mrs. T-J had told her not to bother with those every week. Once every couple of months was enough. They were never used now, except by spiders and mice.
Floss moved into the entrance hall. She loved it, with its large black and white tiles like a gigantic chess board, good as new after she’d dealt with them. She admired the long windows, with damask drapes, looking over the park, sparkling in the sun. The ceiling was covered in elaborate plasterwork, and Floss took advantage of being alone in the house to look up at the scrolls and cherubs and roses, until her neck ached. Fancy owning a house like this, she thought. Ah well, if I marry Ben, the best I’ll do is a house in Blackberry Gardens, or similar. Still, I’d rather have Ben than any son of Mrs. T-J! Imagine her as my mother-in-law … Her gaze was interrupted by the line of trophies, dusty and moth-eaten, all down the side of one wall.
Today, Floss decided to be brave and have a good look at them. She usually gave them a quick glance and moved on. They were too high to reach, even with a cobweb brush. And so far, thank goodness, Mrs. T-J had not suggested a step-ladder. The first was a small, insignificant creature. Floss supposed it was one of those small deer she saw occasionally crossing the park. The next was more impressive, and there were several of these. Stags, still with a tinge of red in their coats, and great branching antlers that looked too heavy for the animals to carry on their heads. Floss imagined them standing proudly on the horizon, outlined against the sky and monarchs of all they surveyed on the moors of Scotland. She shook her head sadly, and looked at the last of the line. It was a different animal, its jaws fixed in a permanent snarl, showing vicious pointed teeth. Faint stripes remained on its bristly coat. A badger, she supposed. It certainly looked like something you wouldn’t want to meet in the dark. She had seen a small one on the road this morning, on her way to work. Must have been knocked by a heavy vehicle into the side of the road. Heavy enough to kill it dead, poor thing. Suppose it was a mother and had cubs waiting for her to come home? She moved on to the display cabinet, and saw the elaborate ormolu clock on top. She realized time was passing, and climbed the curving staircase to the next floor.
* * *
IN THE HALF-LIGHT OF HIS BEDROOM THE OLD MAN sat up in bed, thinking. This was a strange place, and he couldn’t remember how he got here. Not a hotel, that was for sure. And not any kind of nursing home, either. The room was like a cell, and the good food was a bit of a puzzle. And who was the nice young man who brought him his pill and cup of tea early in the morning, and was gone again almost straight away, saying he’d soon be back with breakfast? As Herbert put the pill on his tongue, he raised the tea to his mouth, and then stopped, spitting it out into his hand. What on earth was the pill for? He had obediently taken it every morning, and felt much too muzzy to ask questions. But now he considered. No doctor had seen him for a couple of years, and he was always given a clean bill of health. This morning the young man had been later than usual, and Herbert supposed yesterday’s pill had more or less worn off. He looked again at the little white tablet in his hand. Well, we’ll see which bit of me falls to pieces if I don’t take it, he said, and slid it into his trouser pocket.
Time for a message to whoever is in the next room and knows the Morse code, he thought next, and realized his head was clearing. I suppose it’s a bit of fun for whoever it is, perhaps just a passing travelling salesman on his way to Tresham and staying in this cheap billet for a couple of nights. Probably hopes I’m female, young and plump with long blonde hair, Herbert thought, and smiled. It was the first smile he could remember since … since when? The past was shut off from him. Then he had a sudden flash of memory. His dog! Where was his dog? Were they being kind to him? Was he having his three dog biscuits every afternoon after his walk, each biscuit a different colour?
Maybe I’ve had a stroke, he thought next. Affected my brain. Perhaps I was in hospital and now they’ve moved me on to this weird place to convalesce. But why am I locked in? And why do I have to pee in a bucket?
He began to tap sharply on the wall, and listened hopefully for a reply.
William Cox was asleep. Very sound asleep, as the result of one of the ubiquitous white pills. He did not hear the tapping, but dreamed on. Nightmares again, and then, half-waking, he realized he was soaking with fear-induced sweat. As he succumbed again to the heavy drowsiness, he muttered, “I’ll get that bugger.” But nobody heard.
THERE WAS NO MESSAGE FROM BEN WHEN LOIS REturned to her office. Well, if he couldn’t be bothered to return her call, he was unlikely to be of much use. Perhaps she would call in at Blackberry Gardens when she and Josie got back from seeing old Ellen.
Gran had returned limp and exhausted yesterday from her visit to Miss Ivy Beasley. She had met her match, and admitted it. “She never stopped, Lois! On and on and on, all about her father, who was such an important man, and her mother, who—and this crowned it all—after she died still spoke to Ivy and kept her company. Honest! I’m not making this up. Oh, and by the way, she asked me to make sure Bill was staying with New Brooms, even if he is to be a father.”
“So when are you asking her back to tea?” Lois had enquired.
“Never! Not unless you stay to help me out. Honestly … well, you know me, Lois, I’m not usually backward in coming forward, but I only spoke about two sentences the whole time. The one good thing was the lemon sponge, and that was made by Doris Ashbourne.”
Now Lois was on her way to make conversation with another feisty old lady, except that last time Ellen had been far from feisty. Monosyllabic would be a better word. Josie was waiting on the steps of the shop, and greeted Lois cheerily. “Hi, Mum. It’s a real treat to have an afternoon off. Let’s go.”
“I wish it was something more exciting,” Lois apologized.
“Oh no, this’ll be fun. I’ve always liked old ladies. In spite of Gran …” They both laughed, and chatted amiably until they reached Round Ringford and drew up outside The Lodge, a typical little house built in the period of Victorian Gothic decoration, with its carved wooden barge boards, twisted chimney and ecclesiastical windows. Even the window in the door was a pointed arch, with stained-glass lilies obscuring the light.
Lois knocked loudly as usual, knowing that Ellen was more than a little deaf. No reply. Lois knocked again, and peered past the lilies and into the dark hallway. No sign of Ellen, and no sound of movement. “Surely she can’t have forgotten,” Lois said. “This is my regular day. Has been for ages …”
“Perhaps her memory’s going. She’s probably asleep in her chair somewhere.”
They walked round the house, looking in all the windows, but could see no sign of Ellen. “There’s dirty dishes on the draining board,” Lois said. “That’s not like Ellen. If she was being taken out to the shops, she’d never leave the dishes like that.”
“Oh, Mum, you’re too suspicious. I bet she’s gone
round to see Ivy or Doris. Forgotten all about you coming. Let’s leave it, and go into Tresham. I could do with some new shoes.”
Lois followed reluctantly down the garden path, and out into the road. As they were getting in the car, a voice hailed them. “Is that you, Mrs. Meade?” Doris Ashbourne, neat and tidy, was walking swiftly towards them. “I’m afraid Ellen’s not there,” she said. “She had a couple of funny turns and they’ve taken her in for a few days.”
“In where?” Lois said.
“Tresham General. She was in there once before. It’s a bit of a mystery why she collapsed this time. Right as rain when I saw her the night before. I took her down a steak pie I’d baked, and she was her old self. Critical and grateful at the same time! I sometimes think what with Ivy and Ellen, I ain’t got time to look after myself, but keeping busy keeps you young, they say, don’t they?” She smiled at Josie. “Shop going well, dear?” she added, and said she’d be seeing Ellen tomorrow and would give her good wishes from Lois.
On their way back to Farnden, Lois said, “Josie, would you mind if we didn’t go to Tresham? I do need to talk to young Cullen, and now I’ve got some time it would be a good opportunity.” She looked anxiously at Josie to see if she was disappointed, but was relieved to hear her say that she’d been meaning for a long time to pop over to Waltonby to see an old friend, so not to worry.
“I’ll get out here,” she said, as Lois turned into Blackberry Gardens, “and walk home.”