by C. G Oster
Lady Pettifer was silent for a moment, sitting in the white cane chair by the window with her discarded book in her lap. "I really have no idea who could have done this terrible thing," she confessed.
"I don't either," Dory said quietly, although she still didn't entirely dismiss Vivian, but Lady Pettifer didn't want to hear any suspicion cast on the boys. Even so, they seemed the most likely if DI Ridley's suspicions were true, that it was someone in the house. Dory sighed. "I think we can safely say it isn't Mr. Holmes or Mrs. Parsons. Murder is certainly not within the bounds of good service. They would never support anything improper."
Lady Pettifer chuckled. "I suppose murder to keep standards up would be too far a stretch."
"One would hope so. I'd probably be next in line otherwise."
The mirth melted from the lady's face. "I think we will all be surprised when it comes out," Lady Pettifer continued after a moment of silence. "If it comes out. Can you imagine if no one is ever caught and we are stuck here in perpetuity knowing someone around us had gotten away with murder." The woman shuddered. "You better leave me for a while now, Dory. I think I will rest."
"Of course," Dory said, putting the lady's gloves away in her armoire. Leaving, she closed the door behind her and walked downstairs. Gladys was already preparing for the evening meal, which was still hours away. "Lady Pettifer is napping," she said as she sat down heavily on one of the chairs. It had been a busy morning and afternoon. Lady Wallisford had had visitors, so between regular duties, lunch and afternoon tea, there hadn't been a moment to spare. Dory felt exhausted both in mind and body.
"Why don't you take a slice of the lemon drizzle cake left over from tea and go sit outside for a moment."
"Actually, that sounds heavenly." Dory rose and walked over to the serving tray still bearing leftovers and grabbed a slice, placing it on a paper napkin. Gladys was in charge of distributing any leftovers, so there were definitely some perks to having the cook as an aunt. "Thank you. I might take your advice and get a bit of sun.”
Walking across the lawn with slice in hand, she made her way over to a large boulder which soaked up the sun all day long. It was a lovely place to sit on a sunny day. Hard, but warm and she could use some sun on her legs.
The drizzle cake was magnificent, soft and moist, with a tang of sweet lemon. If only she could cook and bake the way Gladys did. Unfortunately, it wasn't a gift that ran as readily on her side of the family. Dory's mother hadn't the inclination or skill to cook the way Gladys did.
Crumbs were left on the napkin and she crumpled it up and put it in her apron pocket. She also took off her white maid cap with the black ribbon running through it. It itched on her head sometimes, although most often she forgot it was there. Mrs. Parsons was not forgiving if she left her room without it.
The crunch of gravel drew her attention and she looked over to see DI Ridley walking along the path. "Miss Sparks," he said.
"Mr. Ridley. I didn't know you were here today."
"Just checking on some things." Leaping up on the boulder, he sat down next to her, looking more informal than she had ever seen him. He wore a blue suit today and stretched out his legs along the boulder. "This is a nice spot."
"When it's sunny," she said. "I hope everything is faring well with the investigation."
Taking a deep breath, he blew air out through puffed cheeks. "Some of the family members are making it difficult for me, feeling this should be done entirely without any inconvenience to them, or involve any participation from them. They are a disagreeable bunch."
He didn't know the half of it. They really did behave atrociously at times.
"They are always guarded when I'm around,” he continued. “So are the servants, to be fair. Policemen make people uncomfortable."
"Oh, I heard something interesting the other day," Dory said. "I spoke to Michael Jones' brother."
"Stephen," DI Ridley cut in.
"Oh, you've spoken to him? Of course you have," she said, now feeling silly. "Well, he said that before she died, Nora had shown an interest in something Michael was working on. Some car, but he didn't know which or what, but that it was unusual that she was interested."
DI Ridley was quiet for a moment and Dory had no idea what he was thinking. He was so difficult to read. Deep in thought, he was stroking his hand across his chin as if feeling the stubble there. "I'm going to be releasing Michael Jones soon. The report is back on the bloody rag, which shows conclusively that it was the wrong blood type to be Nora Sands'. We have no evidence to hold him on at this point, which also means the true killer will know this now, too."
"That will please a lot of people."
"Pleasing people doesn't normally solve cases." Sitting up, he crossed his arms and leaned his elbows on his knees. "I must ask you a favor."
"Of course," Dory said. "How can I help?"
"I find that things are quite obscure for me within the house. People aren't saying what is really going on."
"Not sure I have noticed anything in particular going on, as such."
"But I would very much appreciate it if you would keep your eyes open, keep track of anything unusual."
"I'd be happy to," Dory said, feeling an immense sense of pride that he would ask her to help.
"Nothing more than that, just keep an eye on people coming and going."
Actually, that was a big task, because they came and went all the time, particularly Cedric, Vivian and Livinia. Livinia was the one that Dory knew the least about, and it seemed, according to everything Dory had heard, that Livinia had not been at home the night Nora died. Only Vivian, Lord and Lady Wallisford, and all of the staff. Probably the reason she hadn't given much thought to Livinia.
"I will," she finally said, thinking of the little notebook she had in her room and how she could use it to record information. "Livinia and Cedric were not in the house at the time."
"No, they are the only two people we can safely rule out. And as we don't have an exact time, we cannot take many of the alibis given amongst the staff as concrete either. But someone had motive, and access. To stab someone could take as little as seconds. They would only have to be gone from where they were supposed to be for a minute or two. Someone could actually slip out of a room and return before anyone noticed."
The task of solving this murder seemed insurmountable when put like that.
"And unfortunately," he continued, "there is no hint of a motive yet. Nothing out of the ordinary."
"Except that Nora was asking questions about some of Michael's work—what, we don't know. But Michael might remember."
"I will ask him," DI Ridley said and rose from the boulder.
"Am I a deputy now?" Dory asked with a smile.
"No," he said outright. "A mere informant."
"That does sound adventurous, doesn't it? A police informant."
"Don't get carried away. I am merely asking you to keep your eyes open when I am not here."
"Yes, sir," she said and saluted.
"We only really salute at funerals."
"Oh," Dory said and put her arm down. It just occurred to her that policemen sometimes died in the line of duty. It seemed a far-fetched idea from stories, but they probably did get fatally injured doing their job.
Chapter 16
Dory had no idea what she was supposed to do. Keep her eyes open and note who came and went, he had said—which was hard as she was often buried in a linen closet or down ironing something of Lady Pettifer's. Obviously, she paid most attention to Vivian, who, out of everyone, seemed the only one with some reason to kill Nora—even though he had emphatically denied having any kind of relationship with her. It wasn't inconceivable that some kind of assignation went on between them, even as she had a boyfriend. It was easy to see why someone would have their head turned by Vivian Fellingworth.
As for herself, Vivian showed absolutely no interest in her now that she'd shown she wasn't interested. It didn't surprise her. Men like him were after the easy c
onquests. They probably didn't even know how to do it otherwise.
But her focus on Vivian was because she had no idea why anyone else would kill her. And honestly, Vivian Fellingworth picked up and dropped girls on a regular basis. It was unlikely he would kill because of some over-amorous girl—that, he would know how to deal with.
It was hard to get any kind of grip on Nora. She had seemed so secretive. Gladys simply refused to speak of her, as if speaking of it would give breath to some evil in their midst.
If anyone knew her, it would be Mavis and Clara, and maybe Larry. But then, she didn't know that for sure. George the driver might know her better than assumed, and so could some of the gardening staff for all she knew.
George was sitting in the servants' dining hall, reading a paper. Out of all of them, excluding Mr. Holmes and Mrs. Parsons, he had the cushiest job—taking care of the car and driving when required. Beyond that, he had nothing to do and often sat around drinking coffee, smoking and reading the paper.
"Hello, George," Dory said and walked over to the sideboard to pour herself some hot water for tea. "How are you?"
"Oh, you know, steady as the wind," he said without looking up.
"It's a lovely day outside, isn't it?"
"I suppose."
Now Dory didn't know how to start the conversation she wanted to have. She cleared her throat and scratched her cap. "I hear they're releasing the mechanic that they suspected for Nora's murder."
"Oh, I hadn't heard."
"You must know him, being a mechanic."
"I suppose. He sees to the cars if there is something that needs replacing. Nice enough lad."
"Did you know Nora was seeing him?"
"Nope. She never told me, and neither did he."
"Was she interested in cars?"
"Nora?" he said with surprise. "Only in getting a lift."
"Did you give her lifts often?"
"If I came across her walking and I was alone. Only happened once in a blue moon." Dory supposed with family in the car, a walking Nora, or any other staff member, would just be driven past, left to take the long walk home. It had a logic Dory couldn't quite wrap her head around, but then the Fellingworth family, in general, had a logic she couldn't quite wrap her head around.
"No one seemed to know her well," Dory said.
He shrugged. "Some people are private people. In a place like this, it is all too easy to live in each other's pockets. Bit of distance makes for more cordial relationships, I find." Maybe that was why George was more aloof than others. He didn't tend to seek other people's company as much.
She had heard Mavis saying, however, that he had a sweetheart down in London and often went to see her when he could. That sounded about right; his heart never seemed to be here, instead gone out in the world somewhere—probably London.
"No one seemed to have a thing against her—still, she ended up murdered."
"I'm still thinking it was some lunatic wandering around, stumbling onto her and doing what madness drove him to."
"Yet no lunatic has been found."
"Probably moved on," he said, folding the paper and dropping it on the table. He walked out without another word.
Nothing, she had learned nothing from that conversation. Nora was as much a mystery as ever. It was almost easy to believe a lunatic had come in through the door and killed her, because no other motive was presenting itself. But there was no lunatic around. People had searched for one after the death, but no one was found anywhere nearby who didn't belong there.
Returning to her ironing, Dory finished and took the dress upstairs to hang. Lady Pettifer was not around, so Dory didn't stay; instead, she made her way downstairs.
"You there," a male voice said. It was the slow drawl of Lord Wallisford.
"Yes, my lord," Dory said and gave a curtsy. She had no idea if she was supposed to—she had never been directly addressed by him before. Now she blushed because she didn't know if she was acting like a ninny.
"I spilled something. Come help me clean it up."
"Of course," Dory said and made to follow when she realized she had absolutely nothing to clean with. She couldn't very well use her apron. "I'll grab the necessaries," she said and ran off. Running was probably not what she was supposed to do either, but she didn't stop until she got to the nearest closet and grabbed a pail and some rags.
In his study, there was tea spilled all over the Lordship's desk, and he held some dripping paper up over the desk.
"Damned thing," he said, referring to the tea cup. "Went down on the edge of a book. Completely ruined now, I suppose."
"Tea will stain the pages," Dory said. “I might try to save it, though, if you wish."
He grumbled, standing there in his green tweed jacket, still holding the document up. Dory placed her rag on the table and started to soak up the spilled tea. Taking the second rag, she patted the edge of the document he held in the air, careful not to smudge any ink. It had to be an important document if he sought to rescue it above everything else.
"You're the new girl," he said.
"Yes. I suppose I am here to replace Nora."
"Dreadful business."
"She seemed a nice girl. There is no hint of a reason why anyone killed her."
"I thought they arrested some boyfriend or other."
"He's been released after questioning," she informed him.
"Doesn't mean he's not guilty. Without proof, a person can't be held. Habeas corpus. Damned nuisance at times. It's usually the boyfriend, you know," he said as if he spoke with certainty. "Try to hide it afterwards. Passionate nature makes some do the queerest things."
"Do you know Michael Jones?"
"No, of course not. I am assuming that is the boyfriend."
"He works on some of your cars."
"Does he? George takes care of all that."
Dory smiled, twisting out the rag into the pail. "I'll get some water and wipe the desk, otherwise it will be sticky from the sugar."
"Ah, Holmes. A spill."
"I see," Mr. Holmes said curtly, having appeared at the door.
"I'll just get some water. Would you like me to hang the document up to dry?" Dory said, returning her attention to his lordship.
Lord Wallisford was still holding onto it. "Holmes, take care of this," he said, handing it over, making Dory feel overlooked and dismissed—deemed incapable of dealing with it.
Perhaps she shouldn't. Lord Wallisford trusted Mr. Holmes to dress him in the mornings, so it was natural he would turn to Mr. Holmes for assistance above anyone else. Otherwise, he thought her too big an idiot to deal with the care of a document—or distrusting her with its content.
They both walked out, leaving Dory to finish cleaning up.
The study was warm with the sun shining in through the window. She'd only been in here a couple of times cleaning the grate, but it was too warm for a fire now. On the desk still sat the book that had been inundated with tea and Dory picked it up. He hadn't answered if he wanted her to care for it, but she would try to recover the damage.
There wasn't much else on the desk, a pen made of onyx, an envelope holder and a telephone. The tea had gotten everywhere and she had cleaned up all she could see, but everything she lifted up had tea under it and it took a good half an hour to clean everything.
Well, she had learned two things. Lord Wallisford believed Michael Jones was guilty, and also, that unlike his sister, Lady Pettifer, he was wholeheartedly uninterested in the murder and the investigation. Unless he was a good actor—which somehow, Dory doubted.
Chapter 17
"A word," Mrs. Parsons said when Dory walked downstairs carrying the dirty plates after the family supper. The woman walked off to her small office and Dory rushed to the scullery to put down her burden.
She followed Mrs. Parsons to her office, who stood by the door as Dory walked in and closed it behind her. That was an ominous sign, Dory thought.
"Mr. Holmes spoke to me earlier," Mrs. P
arsons said, smoothing her skirt as she sat down. "It seems you were in the study with Lord Wallisford earlier."
"Yes, he asked me to help him with some spilled tea."
"Mr. Holmes was under the impression you were questioning him."
Dory's mouth opened, but nothing came out, so she closed it again. Mrs. Parsons was still looking expectantly at her. "Well, I did inform him that Michael Jones had been released," Dory said quietly, knowing she was trying to make her actions sound more innocent than they were. She had been questioning him, or trying to.
"I understand that you perhaps hold some strange fascination with Miss Sands’ demise, but it really isn't your place to indulge that fascination with Lord Wallisford—with any member of the family."
Dory was looking down on her lap, feeling her cheeks color. She was being admonished for her behavior. Although she wished to defend herself, she couldn't really. The accusation was true, and yes, it wasn't what she had been brought here for. "I'm sorry," she said.
Mrs. Parsons exhaled. "You don't seem to understand your place in the scheme of things."
There was no point mentioning that DI Ridley had asked her to keep an eye on things. Dory knew that would only upset Mrs. Parsons, who believed that for members of staff, their standards in providing service far outweighed in importance, any investigation the police were doing.
"I will be more mindful," Dory said after a moment of painful silence.
"See that you are. This is not an amusement park for you, Miss Sparks. This is your place of employment and there are standards of conduct you must uphold."
"I understand." Heat still flared up her cheeks. There was nothing Dory hated more than being told off, but there was no way to say her motives were honorable, because it wasn't her place to have honorable motives. She was here to clean and serve, and anything beyond that was not appreciated. And what policeman in their right mind would engage her to help, they would say.