Murder at Merisham Lodge: Miss Hart and Miss Hunter Investigate: Book 1 (8 page)

Chapter Ten

I woke up the next morning with a feeling of gladness, and for a moment I couldn’t think why. Then I remembered. Today was Sunday, and this afternoon was my afternoon off. Even better, I knew Verity had arranged to have her afternoon off at the same time. After lunch, and after I’d prepared the afternoon tea, we’d be able to leave Merisham Lodge, walk into Merisham, and go for tea somewhere.

I almost bounced out of bed and hurried to wash myself and get dressed. The water in the servants’ washroom was never more than lukewarm but I didn’t let it bother me. When I got back to our room, Verity was just waking up. She had the luxury of a much later start time than I did, although, to be fair, sometimes she had to wait up or work into the early hours, unlike me, so I suppose it evened out in the end.

Quickly I started pinning up my hair, realising I had only one clean cap left. I would have to do some washing later. Verity groaned, yawned and slowly extracted herself from the bedclothes.

“Have you thought about where you want to go this afternoon?” I asked, catching her eye in the mirror.

“What?” she said sleepily. Then comprehension dawned. “Oh, yes, it’s our afternoon off. Oh, hurray for that! Let’s go to the good tea-shop, Joanie, why not? Let’s treat ourselves to a nice cake and someone else serving us for once.”

“That sounds wonderful.” I rammed the last pin home, straightened the frill over my forehead, and got up.

I was at the bedroom door when Verity spoke again. “Joan. Do you remember what we talked about last night?”

I hadn’t but then, of course, it all came back to me. “Yes, of course I do.”

Verity picked up her shawl and washbag. “Well, I’m going to do my best this morning to find out who had what alibi. Then we can discuss it later over tea.”

“Good idea.” For a moment, I felt a strange reluctance to do so. Was it really our place, after all? We weren’t policemen. We weren’t even members of the family. So why
were
we so interested?

I said goodbye and began the long journey down four flights of the servants’ stairs. Why
were
we so interested? I had overhead Rosalind and Peter Drew talking a few days ago, on the stairs as I passed by in the corridor below. Rosalind had said something like, “O
f course, the servants’ hall is positively buzzing with gossip. People of that class can be complete ghouls, can’t they?”
And Peter had replied, “
Well, it’s probably because they don’t have anything else to occupy their minds with, what?”

They’d heard my footsteps then and stopped talking abruptly as I walked past beneath them. I remembered how my face had burnt as hot as fire, but I’d said nothing; of course I’d said nothing. I’d just kept walking down to the safe confines of the kitchen. It was Peter’s comment that made me particularly angry. Didn’t have anything to occupy our minds with? Apart from making sure he and his family lived in unimaginable comfort, ease and luxury, that is?

I stomped into the kitchen in a bad mood, forgetting entirely that it was only six hours before I’d have an afternoon of relative freedom. I busied myself with getting the range good and hot, putting the kettle on for Mrs Watling’s cup of tea, and beginning the preparations for breakfast.

Mrs Watling came in shortly after that and I had to snap out of my mood or risk her displeasure. There was something to be said for work, I suppose; it kept you occupied and stopped you sinking into too much introspection or melancholy. As I fried bacon, and the big flat mushrooms that came from a farm nearby, I thought about an interesting conversation I’d had one night, years ago now. I’d been to visit Verity when she was working at the Cartwrights’ family home in London, the townhouse in Hampstead. It had been around Christmas time, and we’d all had a glass of ale in the servants’ hall, which was quite a comfortable one with a good fire. Perhaps that’s why all the servants were a bit more chatty than normal. Even Mr Fenwick had unbent a little. Everyone started talking about the more eccentric families that they’d worked for, or the strange individuals they had served. Soon, it became almost a game, with maids and footmen coming out with more and more outrageous stories. I, being a visitor at the time, hadn’t put myself forward but I’d listened with great interest. I was new in service then and hadn’t seen much, but here were tales of the master who, regular as clockwork, would get drunk, come downstairs to the kitchen and start hurling both insults and plates at the kitchen maids. “’Filthy harlots, dirty strumpets!’ he’d say,” said Doris, one of the kitchen maids, almost choking with laughter. “And then Cook, bless her soul, would turn around and give him such a tongue-lashing back until he ran out with his tail between his legs. Oh, she was a caution!”

Of course, I’d sat there with eyes like saucers, scarcely able to believe such stories. When Mr Fenwick retired to his own room, the anecdotes got a little bit saucier. One of the footmen told us a scandalous tale about the chauffeur to one of the most famous families amongst the gentry, who was managing to have an affair with both the master and the mistress of the house. “No!” we all cried. “That can’t be true!” But the footman, Tom, assured us it was.

Of course, I was as green as grass then and didn’t
really
know what he was talking about. I remembered discussing it all with Verity that night as we said goodbye at the kitchen door before I left to go back to where I was in service myself.

“There seems to be an awful lot of strange, high-born folk around,” I’d said. “What makes them all so eccentric?”

Verity had given me a strange look, half disbelieving, half sympathetic. “I would have thought it was obvious, Joanie.”

“In what way do you mean?”

Verity chuckled. “Look, I know we hate work, but it gives us a purpose, doesn’t it? It means we get up and we’ve actually got something to do. Can you imagine what it’s actually like to do
nothing
, all day? All year? For the whole of your life? People aren’t designed to do nothing all day, are they? It does something to your mind, I think, to know that you’re absolutely useless, that you can’t even take care of yourself. No, it’s much better to have work than not have it. Really.”

I had stared at her, amazed. The thought that perhaps we, the servants, were in fact fortunate in this way had never, ever occurred to me.

I thought about that often, after our conversation. Although I couldn’t quite give up my envy of those who had so much, when I had so little, the memory of Verity’s explanation came in as a comfort sometimes, when the hard work seemed endless and the days so long. Not much of a comfort, but a little.

Remembering this, I brightened somewhat. An extra cup of tea after breakfast helped and then Mrs Watling and I set to with a will to produce the Sunday roast. The family nearly always went to church on Sunday mornings and it gave the house a decently empty feel.

After lunch had been served, cleared away and washed up, I set to, preparing the tray for tea. Once the sandwiches had been cut and the scones had been buttered, I covered them with a damp tea towel, put the little lids on the glass pots that contained the honey, marmalade and fish paste and gave a last polish to the empty silver teapot that stood awaiting its filling, nearer the time. Maggie would see to it in my absence. Then, feeling happiness fill me up again, I took the stairs upstairs as fast as I could, to get quickly washed and changed out of my uniform.

Verity wasn’t there but she was waiting at the kitchen door for me when I got back downstairs. She had on a green velvet cloche hat that Dorothy had given her, which made the red-gold of her hair stand out most attractively. I could see my own happiness and excitement reflected in her face.

We didn’t speak until we were out of the lodge grounds and climbing over the stile to the footpath that wound through the fields.

“Oh my Lord, Joanie, it’s good to be out of there.” Verity threw her head back, squeezing her eyes closed for a second.

“I know what you mean.” It was difficult to walk soberly, as we were expected to do. I felt like running and jumping and spinning around, so glad was I to be free.

“When do you have to be back?”

“Not until seven o’clock.”

“Wonderful.” Verity slipped her hand about my arm and gave it a squeeze. “Because I have lots to tell you.”

As we walked towards Merisham, I found myself thinking of Asharton Manor. It had never been very far from my thoughts over the past week, ever since the murder had happened. That was strange, because after the murder at Asharton Manor, and for a while after I’d left the place, it was as if it had all been a strange and terrifying dream. I had to remind myself that it had actually happened. I think it was when the case came to court that it became real to me again. Perhaps it was the flaring black headlines in the papers every day.
Evil Killers. Depravity at Asharton Manor. Murderers Hanged
. It made it difficult to forget or to dismiss it as a dream.

“Penny for them, Joan?”

I started. Without me realising, we had reached the high street of Merisham and Verity was steering me in the direction of one of the three tea shops available. This one, Peggy’s Parlour, was the most expensive but had the most delicious cakes.

We went inside and were shown to a table at the back. I didn’t mind. We were near the entrance to the kitchens. It was rather noisier than it would have been at the window tables, but that would make it easier to talk without being overhead. It made me feel a little uneasy, the fact that I was thinking like that. It was like Asharton Manor, all over again. But along with the uneasiness was another feeling, the same one I’d felt back then. Excitement. A sense of purpose. The fact that Verity and I were facing a challenge, again.

Verity ordered such a variety of cakes that I was quite alarmed.

“Verity, are you sure…”

She waved away my concerns. “Of course. Don’t worry. Dorothy gave me a couple of extra shillings the other night.”

“Why?”

Verity’s mouth quirked up at the corners. “I think it was because I made sure she got back to her room in time for breakfast.”

I felt my eyes widened. “Back to her room?”

Verity giggled. “Well, yes. Because that Simon stayed the night, didn’t he?”

I could feel myself blushing, absurdly. It was ridiculous, it wasn’t as if I were some giggly teenager anymore, and what was Dorothy’s love life to me? I think I was just awe-struck at her nerve.

I leant forward. “Isn’t she afraid of – well, you know. Getting into trouble?”

Verity shook her head. “There are ways and means, Joanie,” she said, mysteriously to me. “Anyway. That’s enough about her, for now.”

The tea and cakes came then, and the next few minutes were occupied with pouring our tea, pressing cakes upon each other and then taking the first satisfying sip.

After the first cake, Verity daintily wiped her mouth and leant forward a little.

“So,” she said, with a little more urgency in her voice. “I got talking to Dorothy about the police. She’s furious with them because of them arresting Peter.”

“They
did
release him,” I protested.

Verity waved a hand impatiently. “I know that. It’s just that it makes it quite easy to get Dorothy going on the subject. She gets very indignant.”

I helped myself to another cake. The waitress came up and topped up our teapot with hot water and I gave her a grateful smile. It felt so good to be waited on for a change.

“Well,” I said as soon as my mouth was clear of cake crumbs. “He is her brother, after all, despite the fact she obviously thinks he’s a complete no-hoper.”

Verity was pouring tea as I said that and she suddenly frowned. “It’s funny you say that,” she said, putting down the tea pot.

“Why is that?”

“Something that Dorothy told me. She’d been talking to Peter about what he was going to do for money now – you know how he’s always got none. It was funny but she said something like ‘he told me he’s got some money coming to him soon so he’ll be all right.’”

I waited but Verity didn’t say any more. “And?” I prompted.

“Well, that’s just it. Dorothy seemed – seemed a bit nonplussed. A bit puzzled. As if she couldn’t imagine where Peter would be getting this mysterious money.”

It seemed obvious to me. “What about the will?” I asked quietly.

Verity looked at me startled. “The will?”

It wasn’t like Verity to be so slow. “The will,” I repeated. “Her ladyship’s will.”

Verity’s frown cleared. “Oh,
that
. Joanie, you genius, of course it must be that. How could I not have guessed?” She picked up the teapot again and topped up my cup. “I’ll tell Dorothy that tonight, take her mind off it.”

“I suppose the will has already been read?” I asked.

Verity shrugged. “I don’t think it has, actually. I’m sure I overheard Rosalind making an appointment with the solicitors. I think they’re coming during the week.”

We were down to our last cake by now and of course, we each urged the other to have it. “Let’s split it,” Verity said, brandishing a knife.

We each took a piece and munched away. I drained the dregs of my tea cup, wondering if I was going to tell Verity what was on my mind.