Bloody Royal Prints (10 page)

“Repellent, is it? I'll give you repellent,” Mrs. O'Hara shouted. “This is good English cooking, and you'll eat it or nothing. I run the kitchen here, not some Yankee know-it-all!”

Dinah lost it. “You may run the kitchen, but I pay for the food—and your salary. You're fired. Get out. And get out now. We were able to rid ourselves of the butler, and we can get rid of you, too.”

“We're not leaving unless Mr. Ross at the agency tells us to go,” Mrs. Malone shouted. “He's our employer, not you.” She picked up her teacup and turned her back on Dinah.

Dinah ran out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and into the bathroom, nauseated by the smell of kidneys. Her stomach churned with rage and the rank odor. After she'd vomited, she brushed her teeth and washed her face in cold water. She wouldn't eat chocolate cake again for a long time. She phoned Jonathan, but he was out of the office, and couldn't be reached. His secretary said he'd be home about seven.

She locked the bedroom door, lay face down on the bed, and struck the pillows with her fist, still in a rage. If Jonathan didn't fire those women, she had to move out of this house. But where would she go?

Thank goodness Coleman was on her way. She'd be at 23 Culross Friday morning.

She wished she didn't have to show Coleman the house in its present state, so crowded you couldn't move. Maybe she had time to change it. She ran downstairs, and got in the car where James waited until it was time to pick up Jonathan from his office.

“James, you know that Mrs. O'Hara and Mrs. Malone are out of the house every day from three to six?”

“Yes, madam,” James said.

“And you've heard me complaining about tripping over the footstools and whatnots; the detestable oversized planters containing dirty plastic plants; yellowing, chipped, and dingy marble sculptures in every niche and corner; and far too many chairs and occasional tables. Most of the furniture on the ground floor of the house—the drawing room, the sitting room, the dining room—is neither useful nor attractive, and there's far too much of it. The paths between objects are so narrow, I can hardly walk through the rooms.”

She took a deep breath, crossed her fingers, and said, “I hate living in that house. There's enough extra stuff in those rooms to furnish two more houses, and there are six bedrooms we'll never use. I want to move everything we don't use—or don't like—into those bedrooms. I want to do it while Mrs. O'Hara and Mrs. Malone are out for the afternoon, tomorrow, if possible. Can we get a mover, and do it in less than three hours? They're usually away between three and six.”

He looked at her in the rearview mirror, his gray eyes twinkling. “Yes, madam. With a little help we can easily finish before O'Hara and Malone return. I have two friends who'll assist us for much less than the cost of professional movers. I'll call them straight away. They can be at the house at three
P.M.
Wednesday. Do you want to shop in the morning as usual?”

“Oh, yes. Let's go to Whole Foods—the Kensington High Street store. It will be quicker than Fortnum's. I always spend too much time in Fortnum's.”

Dinah went back in the house, excited by her plan for moving the furniture, still annoyed by the smell throughout the house, and dreading Jonathan's arrival. She'd keep the candles burning until the last minute, spray her favorite perfume around, and hope for the best.

Wednesday, May, London

Dinah completed her usual morning activities, and saw Jonathan off to work. As soon as James returned with the car, he drove her to Young Street, next to Whole Foods, where he would wait for her. She raced through her purchases and rushed back to the car, anxious to get back to 23 Culross and implement the big change.

Back at the house, she walked through the crowded rooms, looking cautiously at everything. After she had examined everything twice, especially where she planned to put the furniture she'd leave downstairs, she returned to her bedroom and tried to read. At lunchtime, she made a cup of coffee in her make-do kitchen, and took the salad she'd bought at Whole Foods out of the refrigerator. After only a bite or two, she gave up—she was too anxious to eat. She tried to read again, but after she heard the departure of the witches, she couldn't concentrate, and found herself pacing the floor, fingers crossed.

•••

At three o'clock she looked out the window. Two men in jeans and work shirts were standing near the car talking to James. She ran downstairs. James introduced the men as Franklin and Hamilton. Dinah wasn't sure whether those were first or last names, but she was delighted to see them.

She explained what she had in mind, and showed them the furniture that would remain downstairs. She photographed the rooms they were about to empty, and as soon as she'd finished, raced up to her bedroom to change into a washable denim jumpsuit and sneakers. She'd postponed changing until the last minute—she hadn't wanted to jinx the plan by changing, and having her movers fail to appear.

Back downstairs, she was delighted to see that they had already plunged into the task.

James and his friends moved the large furniture into the spare rooms, while Dinah collected vases, cushions, bric-a-brac, fake flowers, china figurines, cake stands, and dozens of doodads—anything she could carry—and took them upstairs, racing against the clock. When she had moved everything small, she threw out the dirty plastic plants and dead flower arrangements. The flowers had been stiff and ugly when several days ago Mrs. Malone had stuffed them into tacky plastic vases and scattered them around the house. They were now not only unattractive to look at, but the stale water in the vases smelled terrible. After she poured out the odorous water, she left the vases in the kitchen. Maybe a thrift shop would accept them, or the witches would take them away.

The move was completed with an hour to spare. The men helped Dinah rearrange the remaining furniture, and at her direction, removed the most depressing of the dark, old paintings that seemed to absorb the small amount of light the heavy, wine-red velvet curtains let in. The paintings joined the furniture upstairs. Once everything was in its new location, she photographed every object, and noted its exact location in a notebook.

Dinah, thrilled with the uncrowded drawing room, opened the curtains to bring more light into the room. The room looked spacious and inviting, but she was dismayed by how filthy everything was. Even the curtains were gray with dust. The rugs looked as if they hadn't been vacuumed in years. A musty smell pervaded the rooms.

The cleaning woman, who was hired by Mrs. O'Hara, probably never entered these rooms. Dinah knew she'd be unable to make the woman—whose name she didn't know—clean the place properly. If only she could replace the cleaning woman with someone who knew dirt when she saw it, and was willing to do something about it. Jonathan insisted that she accept and work with the entire group that came with the house. She couldn't budge him, even about a cleaning woman. She would clean as much as she could before Jonathan came home at seven, but she had so little time, she feared she'd only move the dust around.

Franklin, the shorter and younger of James's two helpers, apparently read her mind, and stepped forward. “I can take care of the cleaning, madam. I know where the equipment is kept.” Without waiting for a response, he disappeared through the door to the kitchen.

Dinah looked at James. “How can he know where the vacuum cleaner and broom and such are kept?”

James smiled. “Franklin used to work here, madam. Hamilton, too. They're unemployed, which is why I was able to arrange for them to help us today.”

Dinah frowned. “I don't understand. When did they work here? Why did they leave? Why are they unemployed?”

“It's a long story, and if you'll excuse me, madam, we don't have time to discuss it. We need to finish here. Do you have keys to the bedrooms?”

“Yes, they're in the safe upstairs, but Mrs. O'Hara has a set, too. She may also have the combination to the safe. I haven't changed it since we moved it. We'll have to figure out how to keep her out of these rooms, and the spare bedrooms, or she'll put everything back where it was.”

Franklin reappeared with his arms full of cleaning material—brushes, dusters, mop, and broom—and dragging a cart crammed with even more cleaning apparatus, including a vacuum cleaner and a steamer. He'd donned one of the big white aprons Dinah had seen in the laundry room, but which none of the servants wore. With his round chubby face, and short plump body, he looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy. Grabbing a mop and a dust cloth, he appeared eager to begin his Herculean task, but he paused to show Dinah a large key ring.

“Other than those you have, these are the only keys to the bedrooms, including the one to the master suite. I took them from the kitchen drawer where O'Hara stores them. This key ring should not remain in the house, madam—O'Hara and Malone will find it. I suggest you let James keep these keys.” He turned to Hamilton. “Would you go around and lock up, and give the keys to James when all the rooms are safely locked? Excuse me, madam, but you should keep everything private behind locked doors, and drawers. Nothing is sacred in this house. Those women snoop through everything. I heard you say you haven't changed the combination on the safe. You should do that immediately. Now would be a good time.”

Hamilton, tall, gaunt, and silent, nodded, took the key ring, and headed up the stairs again. Franklin continued his cleaning, and Dinah ran upstairs to change the safe combination. When she came back down, James was waiting at the foot of the steps.

“We have an errand to run,” he said.

“Where are we going?” Dinah felt as if she were being swept up by a tornado. Would she land in Oz?

“To the florist's, madam. You told me you want to take charge of the flowers, and from today you shall.”

“But Mrs. Malone takes care of the flowers—she says they are her responsibility,” Dinah said.

James handed Dinah a fat manila envelope. “Here's a copy of your lease. You should read it carefully. You need to be familiar with it to deal successfully with O'Hara and Malone. Do not believe anything they tell you. They are accomplished liars. The flowers are
not
Mrs. Malone's responsibility. She buys half-dead flowers from one of her cronies for almost nothing, and charges you top prices for them. You must tell her that from today you are buying and arranging the flowers, and you will no longer reimburse her for any she buys. You should regularly examine the house accounts, and cancel all the accounts at the places they have been buying food or household goods. There's a list of reliable and honest sources in this envelope. Malone and O'Hara cheat you on everything, and pocket the money. They will rant and rage, but you must ignore them.”

Dinah cringed at the thought of confronting the harridans, but she knew James was right. “Jonathan has an assistant look at the bills, but I suppose she automatically approves everything. I'll take over the accounts right away. But Mrs. O'Hara says that Mr. Ross, the man we dealt with when we rented the house, is their boss, not us. They say they'll call him, and he'll decide what's to be done,” she said.

James nodded. “Ross is responsible for the upkeep of the house—the exterior, or a plumbing or heating problem—that kind of thing. But when you read the lease, you'll see that many aspects of living here—including the flowers—are up to you and Mr. Hathaway. The flowers in the window boxes are Ross's responsibility, but he hires the florist you'll meet this afternoon to take care of them.”

“I wondered about those window boxes—they're lovely. Is Mr. Ross a good person or is he one of
them
?” Dinah asked.

James hesitated. “I'm not sure,” he said. “I don't know the current management. Perhaps you know better than I do. What has been your experience with Mr. Ross? Didn't Mr. Hathaway talk to him about the butler?”

One of Jonathan's first acts after they'd arrived in London had been to visit the famous wine merchant Berry Bros & Rudd, founded in 1698, where he spent a fortune on wines. Three days into their stay at 23 Culross Place, Jonathan caught Connell, the butler, swigging Jonathan's precious claret “as if it were Coca-Cola, right from the bottle,” her irate husband declared. Connell was summarily ejected, with a sharp reprimand to Mr. Ross, who not only headed the agency that had rented them the house, but had also supplied the servants. Jonathan was waiting for Ross to send a new butler to replace Connell.

“Mr. Ross didn't object to dismissing Connell, but we still don't have a butler. Apparently they are hard to find. I don't care, but Jonathan is annoyed.”

“I know a butler you'd like: Hamilton, who was butler here for twenty years. You couldn't do better.”

“I'd love to hire him. He obviously isn't afraid of work, and I can tell he's a nice person. His knowing the house and being a friend of yours make him perfect. What was Franklin's job?” Dinah asked.

“His title was footman, but he did all the cleaning. A house this size requires a full-time cleaner,” James said.

“Oh, I agree. I would hire both of them in a minute, if I could. But how can I do it? I can't do anything without major attacks from these wretched women.”

James smiled. “One thing at a time. First, flowers. When these rooms are clean, and there are flower arrangements on every appropriate table, 23 Culross will come alive. Mr. Hathaway will be able to see how the house should look, how it once looked all the time. He will agree to hire both Hamilton and Franklin, when you explain that they helped you rearrange the downstairs, and show him the before and after pictures.”

In the car and on their way to the florist, excited by the prospect of solving many of her domestic problems, Dinah didn't pay attention to their route, but when James turned onto an unattractive street that appeared to be a dead-end, she thought he must have made a mistake.