by Emily Organ
Chapter 29
The following morning I was in the hallway with Mrs Craughton when the grandfather clock chimed nine.
“What is wrong with that clock?” exclaimed the housekeeper. “It’s supposed to have been stopped! I must ask Mr Perrin to look at it again.” She turned to me. “You do realise the front steps didn’t get scrubbed yesterday, Flo. Can you make time to do them today, please?”
“Yes Mrs Craughton. I will return these notes to Inspector Trotter and then start work on them.”
“Good. Today will be busy. The Lombards are returning for further interviews with the police.” She eyed the papers in my hand and frowned. “What have the inspectors tasked you with, exactly?”
“Inspector Trotter’s notes need to be rewritten after he spilled coffee over his notebook.”
“Doesn’t he have someone else who can write them for him? You’re busy with your household duties.”
“It’s not a problem at all, Mrs Craughton. I worked on them last night once my chores had been completed.”
“You’re good enough at writing then, are you?”
“I am told that I write well.”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, and I realised I was holding my breath.
“And the inspector has permitted you to read all that he’s written?” she asked. “It was supposed to be private, or at least that’s what he told me.”
“I have promised that I will keep every confidence.”
“Found out anything interesting, has he?”
The housekeeper stepped forward, as if she hoped that I would show her some of the notes. I gripped the book and papers tightly in my hands.
“Surprisingly, no. Everyone’s statements match up quite well so far. And they fit with my own recollections of the evening. But someone was responsible, I suppose, so one or more of the interviewees must be lying.”
I fixed Mrs Craughton with my full gaze, assessing her reaction.
“Yes, I suppose someone must be.”
She stared back at me with her reptilian grey eyes, then looked away and ran her finger along the wainscoting, checking for dust. “It’s extremely clean in this part of the house. It’s no coincidence, I would think, that it’s right next to the library. The doors are rather thin, aren’t they?”
I didn’t like the stern look on Mrs Craughton’s face, and I feared she had guessed that I had been listening to the conversations in the library.
“I shall take these papers into the library and then get on with my chores.”
“Please do. In the meantime, I shall check with Mr Glenville that he’s happy for you to be helping the police in this manner. I would put a stop to it myself, but I know he’s keen that the investigation into his daughter’s death should progress as quickly as possible. He is desperate to find out who the culprit is.”
“We all are,” I added.
“Indeed.”
She gave me an odd look and turned away. I knocked on the library door and heard James’ voice telling me to enter.
“It’s why the negro maid was dismissed, you know,” said Mrs Craughton, who had unexpectedly paused and turned to face me again.
“Who?” I asked.
“Betsy. For listening at doors.”
“Where is Betsy now?” I asked.
She turned and walked away from me without giving a reply.
I entered the library feeling a little perturbed by my conversation with Mrs Craughton. I thought of her handkerchief I had found under my bed and shivered.
“Morning, Penny!” said James. “Are you all right?” He had noticed the bothered expression on my face.
“I don’t know. I’ve just had an odd conversation with the housekeeper. She has become rather hostile towards me. I think it’s because I’m helping you.”
“I’m sure it is,” said Inspector Trotter, lighting his pipe. “You’ve broken rank, you see. Servants are rather peculiar about that sort of thing.”
I gave the inspector the notes I had written so far.
“Thank you, Miss Green. You have neat handwriting.”
“You’ll notice that I redrew the map Mr Perrin had sketched. His version wasn’t quite accurate.”
“Really?”
“He’d placed Ralph Lombard next to Sophia, when I can clearly recall that he was sitting beside Lady Wyndham.”
“Is that right?” Inspector Trotter opened his beleaguered notebook and compared the two drawings.
“Interesting,” he said. “And you are quite sure of your version of events, are you? There is no chance that you could be mistaken?”
“Obviously, I have only my memory to rely upon, but it’s usually quite good. I am as clear as I possibly can be that this is how the guests were sitting that evening.”
“I find it rather intriguing that the butler might have made a mistake in his plan,” said Inspector Trotter. “He seems such a precise, accurate sort of man.”
“Is he intentionally trying to mislead us?” asked James.
“He might be, but I doubt it. He doesn’t seem the sort.”
“The housekeeper told me that the Lombards are returning for further interviews today,” I said.
“They are indeed,” replied James.
“It will be interesting to hear what they have to say,” I said. “And you need to find Betsy, James. I keep hearing her name mentioned, and I see that Mr Perrin also referred to her in his interview. Mrs Craughton told me just now that Betsy was dismissed for eavesdropping. I haven’t met the girl because she left before I began my work here, but I understand she and Miss Sophia were close. Maisie says that Miss Sophia confided in her.”
“Yes, it would be incredibly helpful to have her testimony,” said James.
“Do you know where she is now? Inspector Trotter, there was a section of Mr Perrin’s interview which I couldn’t transcribe because it was blotted out by the spilled coffee. However, I imagine that it contained some more information about Betsy. The more I think about her, the more I believe she may hold some important information.”
“She might indeed, if that were possible,” replied Inspector Trotter.
“Did Mr Perrin tell you where you could find her?” I asked.
“He did. And he told me a little more than that, in fact.”
“Perfect!” I said. “She will be extremely useful, I feel sure of it. There is nothing quite like a nosy maid to fill us in.”
“Penny, I’m afraid that’s not possible,” said James, his face sombre. “I have already tried to find Betsy.”
“Has she moved away?”
“No. I’m afraid she’s dead.”
I gripped the back of a nearby chair to steady myself.
“She can’t be!”
“Do you recall that when I came to the Morning Express offices early last month you had just reported on the tragic murder of Elizabeth Wiggins?”
“Yes, the woman who was beaten by her husband.”
“Indeed. Well it seems that Elizabeth Wiggins is the Betsy in question.”
“The same woman?” I stared down at the carpet for a moment, which, despite my hard work, still bore a stain from the coffee spillage. “How do you know this?”
“When I asked Perrin where I could find Betsy, he told me that she had sadly lost her life,” said Inspector Trotter. “When I questioned him further about the circumstances, he told me that she had been murdered by her husband in Battersea almost four weeks ago. He remembered the very day; the man seems to have a good memory for dates. The murder occurred on Tuesday the fourth of March.”
“And you’re sure it’s the same woman?”
“Yes, I’ve confirmed with Mr Glenville that Betsy’s surname was Wiggins,” said Inspector Trotter.
“But that’s dreadful! I only knew of her as Elizabeth. I had no idea she was also known as Betsy.”
“Households often like to shorten maids’ names, as you well know, Flo,” said James.
My legs felt weak. I sat down in the chai
r I had been leaning against.
“Betsy would have known a good deal more about Miss Sophia,” I lamented. “She would have been able to help us. Now there are some details which we will never discover.”
Chapter 30
The Lombard family arrived at ten o’clock. I served them coffee in the dining room.
“Well, here we are again,” said Ralph Lombard. “Another day being taken up by merely repeating to the police what we’ve already told them.” He smoothed his thin hair into place.
“They have their reasons for doing these things, dear,” said Mary Lombard. Tipsy sat on her lap and licked her chin.
Dudley Lombard’s face was red and blotchy. “I wish to see her!” he demanded. “May I please see Sophia?” he asked Mrs Craughton more politely.
The housekeeper escorted him to the morning room, and a moment later Mr Glenville entered the room to greet the Lombards. Although there were still dark shadows beneath his eyes, he looked better than when I had seen him last. Tipsy jumped off Mary Lombard’s lap and trotted over to him.
“How are you bearing up, old chap?” asked Ralph Lombard.
“I’ve been better,” Mr Glenville replied.
“Is there any word yet on when the funeral will be held?” asked Mrs Lombard.
“Next week some time. Camilla and I are discussing the date with the vicar of St. Michael’s. I’m so sorry you’ve been dragged back here again. Inspector Trotter has a detective from Scotland Yard helping him now, so hopefully we’ll get to the bottom of Sophia’s death quickly.”
“Scotland Yard? Goodness, you must be important!” said Mary Lombard.
“How did you wrangle that one, Alexander?” her husband asked.
“I didn’t, particularly. The chap just turned up.” Mr Glenville bent down to make a fuss of Tipsy, whose tail wagged happily. “I can’t deny that I’m pleased to have the Yard’s assistance,” he continued. “Where’s Dudley?”
“He’s gone to see her,” said Mary Lombard quietly.
“Oh.”
“Have you spent much time with her?” she half-whispered.
“Yes, I have. Not as much as Camilla. She has been reluctant to leave Sophia’s side at all. It’s understandable.”
“She’s spending time with her while she still can.”
“Indeed.” Mr Glenville’s voice cracked slightly.
The door opened and Dudley Lombard entered the room. His face was pale and his droopy lower lip wobbled.
“You weren’t in there long, darling,” commented Mary Lombard.
“I couldn’t bear it for long, Ma. She’s so... still.”
“Yes, of course, dear.”
“Still and silent. She was never like that while she was alive!”
“No, she wasn’t, darling.”
“I think I prefer to remember her how she was.”
“Yes, of course.”
“Alive.”
“Indeed, my dear.”
Mrs Lombard took her son’s arm and patted it reassuringly. He pushed his fingertips into his eyes, as if he were trying to stem the flow of tears.
“We were to be married in six weeks’ time. Just six weeks!” said Dudley. “She was to have been my wife. I can’t understand it. I cannot believe that she’s no longer here. In fact, I’m certain that it cannot be true, I keep expecting her to walk into the room and look at me in the way she always looked at me, with those loving brown eyes. I called them puppy-dog eyes. She had that way of looking at me, and I remember feeling so proud that we were to be married. I feel certain this is just a bad dream from which I will soon wake. Indeed, it’s more than a bad dream. It’s a living nightmare. I cannot believe that it’s true! I refuse to believe that it’s true!”
Much as I sympathised with Dudley Lombard’s grief, I couldn’t help feeling an unexplained dislike for the boy. It seemed odd that I considered him a boy when he was my senior by a year. How could Mr Glenville have considered this grown-up child a suitable future owner for his business?
“Chin up, Dudley. Chin up,” said Mr Glenville patting him on the shoulder. “Sophia wouldn’t have wished to see you so distressed.”
The mention of her name caused Dudley to emit another large sob.
“Dudley!” Ralph Lombard said reprovingly.
He gave me an awkward glance, as if he were embarrassed with regard to his son’s display of emotion. I busied myself with refilling their cups of coffee.
Mrs Craughton entered the room and immediately approached Mr Glenville.
“May I speak to you, sir?” she asked.
“Of course. Please excuse me a moment,” he said to the Lombards.
“She has to come too,” said the housekeeper, pointing at me.
“Flo, you mean?” Glenville said. “Come on then, Flo.”
I joined them in the corridor.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” said the housekeeper, “but the Scotland Yard inspector has asked for Flo’s help.”
“Has he indeed?”
Mr Glenville gave an impressed nod and smiled at me. I felt a warmth in my face and struggled to pull my eyes away from his once again.
“But it’s not convenient, sir,” Mrs Craughton objected. “Flo has so many chores to do today.”
“What’s he asked Flo to help with?”
“He says she’s good at writing, sir. She’s been helping to rewrite Inspector Trotter’s notes after he ruined his notebook by spilling coffee on it. And it seems they are so impressed that they require her to take down notes during the interviews they’re conducting today.”
I felt a skip of excitement in my chest. James was involving me in the investigation as best he could.
“They will be interviewing each of the Lombards today, sir,” continued the housekeeper.
“Is it for today only?”
“I hope so! Flo is a maid, not a police officer! I have concerns about privacy, sir. I don’t think it right that a maid should be privy to police matters.”
“The inspectors clearly trust her. Who am I to question their judgement?”
“Quite so, sir. But it’s simply not convenient.”
I chose not to speak. Instead, I allowed them to make up their minds about me as if I wasn’t present.
“Can’t Maisie pull her weight a bit more today?” Mr Glenville asked the housekeeper. “The girl’s been hanging about like a wet blanket the past few days. I don’t mind Flo writing notes for the inspectors. If the speed of their work can be increased by them not having to record the statements themselves, so be it. I won’t expect the full range of usual chores to be completed today, Mrs Craughton.”
“But it’s terribly inconvenient, sir. It can only be for one day. She cannot possibly do it again tomorrow.”
“I agree. Just one day, Mrs Craughton. Keep them well supplied with refreshments, if you please.”
“Indeed I will, sir.”
The housekeeper gave me a frosty stare and I felt immensely happy that I was to hear all that the Lombards had to say for themselves.
Chapter 31
Mr Glenville accompanied me into the library, where James and Inspector Trotter were preparing themselves for the interviews.
“A busy day for you inspectors, isn’t it?” he said to them. “Let’s hope that by the end of it you have a good idea of who may be responsible. It’s unimaginable to think that any of these good friends of mine could have been behind it, but it’s clear that someone I have previously trusted must have been. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, let me tell you.”
“Of course, Mr Glenville. It’s an extremely difficult time for your family,” James said.
I watched to see if James displayed any signs of his underlying dislike for Mr Glenville, but I saw none.
“I do wonder if someone made a terrible mistake,” said Mr Glenville.
“What sort of mistake?” asked James.
“I believe the murderer may have intended to kill someone else.”
“Such as w
hom?”
“The most obvious target is myself, isn’t it? Much as I would like everyone to adore me, I cannot pretend that they do. I’m aware that I have my critics. Loud, outspoken critics, who disagree with the way I run my factories. There are others who accuse me of financial misdemeanours. I don’t understand why anyone would want to harm my daughter, but I understand why many people might want to harm me.”
“Surely there is no one who wishes you dead, Mr Glenville?” asked James. “And your guests on the evening of Miss Sophia’s birthday celebrations were your friends, were they not?”
“They were people I called friends, but you never know when someone might become a turncoat, do you, Inspector? It’s no secret that Wyndham and I had our disagreements over the years. Someone in that room could have been instructed to poison me. Even paid to do it. It’s not unheard of for servants to do such a thing, is it?”
“Not unheard of, no,” James replied.
“All this is mere conjecture, but it’s something I wanted to mention to you because I don’t want it overlooked during your investigation. If you wish me to give you a list of my enemies, I’ll happily provide it. It’s quite long, I can tell you!”
Mr Glenville laughed, and James and Inspector Trotter smiled.
Then Mr Glenville’s face turned serious and he lowered his voice. “When I discover who’s behind this poisoning, I won’t hold back.”
“The strong arm of the law will deal with the culprit, Mr Glenville,” James confirmed, seemingly unbothered by Mr Glenville’s change in tone.
“But is the arm of the law strong enough, Inspector? With regard to what I have in mind for the culprit, I suspect not.”
His eyes seemed to grow darker, and he watched each of our faces closely. No one spoke for a moment.
Then Mr Glenville appeared to brighten up. “Anyway, now that has been said, I hope the interviews go well today. I’m pleased that Flo is able to assist you with them. I often think her active brain requires a more cerebral activity than menial maid’s work.”
He gave me a broad smile and left the room.
“Glenville likes you, doesn’t he, Miss Green?” observed Inspector Trotter.