What ’ave you been up to?’
Merry’s bright eyes sparkled with mischief. It was good to see her forgetting her woes, but I could not but feel the situation was unfortunate.
I was not even slightly surprised to see Mrs Wilson waiting for me in the library. Personally, I was less than keen to return to this room, but the housekeeper appeared not to share my qualms. The master of the house was seated at a desk. A rug had been thrown over the area where Miss Richenda and I had dragged the body.
Lord Stapleford eased his chair back as I entered, catching the edge of it on the new rug. ‘Damn and blast this thing, Wilson. Will you have it removed?’
‘The Mistress requested it,’ she said in a pale voice.
‘Does the Mistress use this room? Wretched woman barely knows how to read!’ stormed the master of the house in a most ungentlemanly manner.
I dropped a small bobbing curtsy. As I hoped the movement distracted him.
‘What do you want, girl?’ he barked.
‘You sent for me, sir,’ I said politely.
‘Did I? Why the hell did I do that?’
‘It was about the garden incident, sir.’ A thin smile spread across the pallid features. Mrs Wilson, I reflected, had the kind of face that looked better in death. I do not mean I have murderous intentions towards her, rather that having been present at a number of wakes – usually helping with tea for the mourners – I had had the opportunity to see an unusual number of deaths in my time. This memory brought two things to mind. Firstly, why are the bereaved always so thirsty – a question for which I still have no answer. Secondly, no one had made any mention of Cousin Georgie’s funeral.
‘The odd-tasting cabbage?’ asked Lord Stapleford.
‘The incident with the man .’
How the woman managed to get such an unpleasant mixture of suggestion and malice into one three-letter word is a skill I wish I never succumb to learning.
‘Mentioned by Miss Richenda?’ she added.
‘Ah, yes. You came across a pressman in the garden?’
‘A fine story,’ snorted Mrs Wilson. ‘This is the new girl, sir. On a fortnight’s trial. I’m afraid she is not proving suitable.’
‘Indeed,’ said Lord Stapleford. ‘Why not?’
‘She shows distressing signs of ideas above her station, sir.’
‘Hmm,’ the master puffed into his moustache considering the situation. Then he said, ‘What happened with the pressman, girl?’
‘I do not know he was a gentleman of the press, sir. It is only what I surmise.’
Lord Stapleford’s bushy eyebrows rose and I mentally cursed my inability to talk as befitted my new station.
‘He was asking the gardener’s boy questions about your comings and goings. When I appeared on the scene the boy took the opportunity to leave. I suggested to the man he might be well advised to do likewise. He attempted to ask me some questions, but I rebuffed him.’
‘Did you indeed?’ barked Lord Stapleford. ‘Did he say anything else to you?’
‘He made a comment about the family fortune being founded on death and destruction.’ Lord Stapleford’s expression darkened, so I added quickly, ‘I have no idea what he was referring to and so I told him and sent him on his way.’
‘How exactly did you do this?’ asked my master.
‘I threatened to scream very loudly, drawing the attention of the police officer I claimed was still in the house, if he did not vacate the premises.’
‘Ha! Ha!’ barked Lord Stapleford. ‘You’ve got a rare one here, Jenny!’
The world shifted slightly as I learnt Mrs Wilson had a Christian name and so, despite appearances, a cleric must have attempted to drive out the devil at her baptism. You will forgive me if I suggest said priest must have been young and inexperienced.
‘Well done, my girl! Well done!’ He rummaged in his trouser pocket. ‘Come here. I’ve something for you.’
It was with some trepidation I approached. Lord Stapleford handed me a half-sovereign.
‘Thank you, sir,’ I
Merry’s bright eyes sparkled with mischief. It was good to see her forgetting her woes, but I could not but feel the situation was unfortunate.
I was not even slightly surprised to see Mrs Wilson waiting for me in the library. Personally, I was less than keen to return to this room, but the housekeeper appeared not to share my qualms. The master of the house was seated at a desk. A rug had been thrown over the area where Miss Richenda and I had dragged the body.
Lord Stapleford eased his chair back as I entered, catching the edge of it on the new rug. ‘Damn and blast this thing, Wilson. Will you have it removed?’
‘The Mistress requested it,’ she said in a pale voice.
‘Does the Mistress use this room? Wretched woman barely knows how to read!’ stormed the master of the house in a most ungentlemanly manner.
I dropped a small bobbing curtsy. As I hoped the movement distracted him.
‘What do you want, girl?’ he barked.
‘You sent for me, sir,’ I said politely.
‘Did I? Why the hell did I do that?’
‘It was about the garden incident, sir.’ A thin smile spread across the pallid features. Mrs Wilson, I reflected, had the kind of face that looked better in death. I do not mean I have murderous intentions towards her, rather that having been present at a number of wakes – usually helping with tea for the mourners – I had had the opportunity to see an unusual number of deaths in my time. This memory brought two things to mind. Firstly, why are the bereaved always so thirsty – a question for which I still have no answer. Secondly, no one had made any mention of Cousin Georgie’s funeral.
‘The odd-tasting cabbage?’ asked Lord Stapleford.
‘The incident with the man .’
How the woman managed to get such an unpleasant mixture of suggestion and malice into one three-letter word is a skill I wish I never succumb to learning.
‘Mentioned by Miss Richenda?’ she added.
‘Ah, yes. You came across a pressman in the garden?’
‘A fine story,’ snorted Mrs Wilson. ‘This is the new girl, sir. On a fortnight’s trial. I’m afraid she is not proving suitable.’
‘Indeed,’ said Lord Stapleford. ‘Why not?’
‘She shows distressing signs of ideas above her station, sir.’
‘Hmm,’ the master puffed into his moustache considering the situation. Then he said, ‘What happened with the pressman, girl?’
‘I do not know he was a gentleman of the press, sir. It is only what I surmise.’
Lord Stapleford’s bushy eyebrows rose and I mentally cursed my inability to talk as befitted my new station.
‘He was asking the gardener’s boy questions about your comings and goings. When I appeared on the scene the boy took the opportunity to leave. I suggested to the man he might be well advised to do likewise. He attempted to ask me some questions, but I rebuffed him.’
‘Did you indeed?’ barked Lord Stapleford. ‘Did he say anything else to you?’
‘He made a comment about the family fortune being founded on death and destruction.’ Lord Stapleford’s expression darkened, so I added quickly, ‘I have no idea what he was referring to and so I told him and sent him on his way.’
‘How exactly did you do this?’ asked my master.
‘I threatened to scream very loudly, drawing the attention of the police officer I claimed was still in the house, if he did not vacate the premises.’
‘Ha! Ha!’ barked Lord Stapleford. ‘You’ve got a rare one here, Jenny!’
The world shifted slightly as I learnt Mrs Wilson had a Christian name and so, despite appearances, a cleric must have attempted to drive out the devil at her baptism. You will forgive me if I suggest said priest must have been young and inexperienced.
‘Well done, my girl! Well done!’ He rummaged in his trouser pocket. ‘Come here. I’ve something for you.’
It was with some trepidation I approached. Lord Stapleford handed me a half-sovereign.
‘Thank you, sir,’ I
Similar Books
