Snobbery with Violence

∨ Snobbery with Violence ∧

Nine

You may attempt the upper classes With your villainous demitasses, But Heaven will protect the working girl.

– EDGAR SMITH

Bertram-Brookes was the first to find his voice. “You cannot mean one of us, surely.”

“Who else?” demanded Mrs. Fairfax.

“My dear lady,” drawled Bertram, screwing his monocle into one eye and glaring at her through it, “it appears to have escaped your attention that we are surrounded by servants. The lower orders, Mrs. Fairfax. All prone to violence and nastiness.”

“Hear, I say,” mumbled Harry Trenton, rolling an anguished eye in the direction of the wooden-faced butler.

“Seems obvious to me,” said Mrs. Fairfax. “Servants seem regular enough. You lot don’t.”

“The weather really has turned cold,” said Lady Hedley, “but the autumn colours are quite beautiful.”

“Quite,” several voices agreed.

“It’s no use changing the subject,” said Mrs. Fairfax. “Someone kills Mary Gore-Desmond. Her maid knows who it is and ends up in the moat.”

“It wasn’t her maid,” said Frederica Sutherland, “it was Miss Bryce-Cuddlestone’s maid.”

“Oh, really? How interesting.” Mrs. Fairfax glared at Margaret. “Well, if you ask me, who else would want a maid hushed up but her mistress?”

There was a shocked silence. Margaret, her face white, fled the table.

Sir Gerald Burke, his eyes alight with malice, smiled at Mrs. Fairfax and said, “Amazing. Quite amazing.”

“What is?” she demanded.

“Americans are always being damned as vulgar and coarse. I never believed it before. After all, your nieces, ma’am, are a delight. But now, here you are, a prime example of everything that is coarse and unrefined.”

“Take that back, you whipper-snapper!”

Lady Hedley rose to her feet as a signal for the ladies to join her, seemingly ignoring the fact that the dessert had not yet been served.

To everyone’s relief, Mrs. Fairfax announced loudly that she was going to He down.

Once the ladies were gathered in the drawing-room, Mrs. Jerry Trumpington said, “Wouldn’t it be too marvellous to be like that? I mean, to say exactly what one is thinking?”

“Might start a lot of wars,” said Rose.

“May I remind you all,” said Lady Hedley, “that you are in a civilized household? No more ugly talk of murders, please.”

Mrs. Trumpington and Lady Polly went over to speak to her. The Peterson sisters approached Rose. “When do you think we can get out of this place?” asked Harriet.

“Soon, I hope,” said Rose. “But, oh, I wish we could find out what actually happened. Is your aunt usually so blunt?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” said Deborah. “She’s supposed to be chaperoning us at our first season next year, but we’d better tell our parents that shell frighten off anyone who comes near us.”

“Do you think she was right about Margaret Bryce-Cuddlestone?” asked Harriet.

Rose said slowly, “I cannot imagine her doing anything so awful.”

“Maybe it is one of the servants,” said Deborah. “I mean, Mary Gore-Desmond’s death could have been accidental, Colette could have broken the heart of one of the servants who got mad and hit her on the head and then dumped her in the moat.”

“Miss Bryce-Cuddlestone was very upset,” said Rose. “I’ll pay her a visit and see if she is all right.”

When Rose entered Margaret’s room, it was to find her seated at the window, staring moodily out.

“I am sorry you had to endure that at luncheon,” said Rose. “What an awful woman!”

Margaret shrugged and then asked, “And how are you, after your ordeal?”

“Physically, I’m well, but I still jump at shadows.”

“That doctor, Perriman, is good, do you think?”

“Yes, he seemed intelligent and efficient.”

“And discreet? I mean, not the sort of man to go blabbing about one’s physical condition?”

“Is there anything seriously wrong with you?”

“No, I just get tired. I’m worried about something.”

“I’ll get Dr. Perriman for you. What shall I tell him?”

“Just tell him I want him to examine me. That’s all.”

I wonder if she thinks she is pregnant, thought Rose. She instructed a footman to call the doctor and returned to the drawing-room. The men had joined the ladies and were sprawled about, talking or reading newspapers.

Harry approached Rose. “You’re looking worried. What’s happened?”

Rose told him about Margaret needing to see a doctor, and then said, “It started me wondering whether Mary Gore-Desmond’s death was in fact suicide.”

“Why?”

“Well, say Margaret did spend a night with Lord Hedley and became…er…pregnant, that might frighten her. She would be ruined.”

“And what’s that got to do with Mary?”

“Say Mary had some bad illness or had found she was due to have a child. Perhaps that might make her take her own life.”

He looked at her for a long moment. Then he said, “I wonder if Kerridge was ever given a proper pathology report.”

“They would not keep such a report from him!”

“Oh, yes, they would. To the high and mighty contacted by Hedley, it would seem an embarrassing case of accidental death. I must see him. Because of this latest development, he might be able to find out more.”

♦

Kerridge looked up impatiently when Harry entered the study. “I hope you have something useful to tell me.”

“I’m afraid it’s speculation. Did you see the fall post-mortem report?”

“No, it was sent to my superiors.”

“Is there any chance of you getting to see it now?”

“I can try. What were you hoping to find?”

“Perhaps, just perhaps, Mary Gore-Desmond was pregnant and took her own life. The maid, Colette, knew who was responsible and tried a bit of blackmail.”

“Captain Cathcart, I know you are trying to help, but I could do with some hard facts.”

“I notice that none of our rooms has been searched.”

“I tried to get a search-warrant but was assured it was not necessary.”

♦

Rose waited in the hall until she saw Dr. Perriman descending the staircase. She hailed him.

“Lady Rose,” he said, “I trust you have recovered from your shock.”

“I hope so. How is Miss Bryce-Cuddlestone?”

“I hope I was able to reassure her.”

“What is the matter with her?”

“I cannot discuss my patient with anyone.”

“Oh, of course. Tell me, Dr. Perriman, would your predecessor really have signed that death warrant?”

“No, I cannot believe he would. Dr. Jenner was a very intelligent man. Although only a country doctor, he was in touch with some of the finest medical minds in the country. He did a great deal of research on his own.”

“Into what?”

“There are some medical conditions not fit for a lady’s ears.”

“I am not squeamish!”

The doctor smiled. “But I am and there are certain subjects that I will not discuss with a young lady. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

Rose watched him leave and then went back up to Margaret’s room. Margaret was looking much better and even had a little colour in her cheeks.

“How are you?” asked Rose. “What did the doctor say?”

“It turned out to be nothing more than a little ferninine complaint. Oh, I gather that we only need to be here for two more days. The police are going to question us all over again and at length and then we are free to go.”

“Shouldn’t your parents be here?”

“I told them not to come as I shall be returning home very shortly. A word of advice, Lady Rose. Do not go around poking your nose into things that don’t concern you. If someone really did try to kill you, then they will try again.”

Rose felt a stab of fear but she said gamely, “I really don’t think anyone would dare to try anything with a castle full of police officers.”

“If you say so. Now, run along. You weary me.”

♦

Rose returned to her own room to find her mother waiting for her. “Have you heard?” said Lady Polly. “We shall soon be allowed to leave.”

“So I understand.”

“But I have some good news for you, my dear. I have been talking to Mrs. Jerry Trumpington. She says she is amenable to taking you out to India next year.”

“I do not want to go to India.”

“Now, don’t be a silly billy, my dear. We cannot possibly launch you on another London season. India is just the place for you. All those officers! Your father will contact the Viceroy, and Mrs. Trumpington will be on hand at all times to make sure you don’t make some misalliance with a fortune-hunter.”

“I am not going to go, and that’s that.”

Lady Polly’s normally pleasant round face hardened. “You will do as you are told. You are going to India and that’s an end of it. And have a word with that so-called maid of yours. She was out walking in the grounds with Captain’s Cathcart’s manservant. As you should know, servants are not allowed followers.”

Rose paced up and down in a fury of frustration when her mother had left. The thought of being shipped out to India to be put on some foreign marriage market was abhorrent to her. And yet, what could she do?

She impatiently rang the bell for Daisy.

There was no reply, so she summoned a footman and told him to fetch her maid.

Daisy arrived, looking flustered. “Tm sorry,” she said, taking off her hat. “I didn’t think you’d be wanting me.”

“My mother tells me you were seen walking in the grounds with Becket.”

“I didn’t think you’d mind.”

Rose slumped down into a chair. “I am supposed to mind. Servants are not allowed followers or indeed any life of their own. Just like me.”

“Something bad’s happened. What is it?”

“My mother informs me that I am to go to India with Lady Trumpington next year.”

“With that horrible old cow!”

“Yes, Daisy. What am I to do?”

“Maybe we could do what you thought of. Become business women.”

“I am underage. They would simply come and fetch me, and if I persisted in staying, they would get some tame doctor to get me committed to an insane asylum.”

“You parents would never do that!”

“They might. A girl of my class working for her living would qualify as insanity in their minds. Oh, that reminds me. Margaret summoned Dr. Perriman. I asked if his predecessor would really have signed Mary Gore-Desmond’s death certificate. He said that old Dr. Jenner did a lot of research but when I asked on what subject, he said it was not suitable for my ears. What could it be?”

“Sexual problems, I suppose,” said Daisy. “Like gonorrhoea and syphilis.”

“How do you know such things?”

“A chorus girl down the East End has to know such things. Sometime we got some of the mashers from up west, trying their luck, particularly with the young ones like me.”

“Why was that? I mean, why the young ones?”

“They’d be hoping to find a virgin, like.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, they say that if a man with one of them diseases sleeps with a virgin, he’ll be cured. It happened to one of the girls, Ellie.”

“And what happened?”

“I don’t know what happened to him, the rat, but Ellie got syphilis.”

“Is there no cure?”

“I think you’re supposed to take mercury, but Ellie couldn’t afford doctor’s bills.”

“How awful. You didn’t ever…I mean, you haven’t…”

Daisy gave a cheeky grin. “Not yet. I’ve got fourteen brothers and sisters, but like the song says, we was poor but we was honest.”

“Don’t you miss your family?”

“Not much. Da drinks something awful and is always out of work. I seem to have worked at one thing or another since I was out of the cradle. Never mind me. What about India?”

“I’ll think of something,” said Rose desperately.

♦

Kerridge was taking a break from interviews by walking with Harry in the grounds. Somehow he felt comfortable in the company of the captain, subconsciously sensing a misfit like himself.

“What makes you think the servants are not involved?” asked Harry.

“Because I think Lord Hedley knows something he’s not telling us. I think he’s guilty about something. His voice is becoming hoarse and he doesn’t look well. When I first met him, he looked like our king on a good day.

“You see, the way I look at it is this. You people, you society people, lead very empty lives. Everything is given over to pleasure, and you slave at it. You don’t like the up-and-coming rich from the middle classes, so you invent silly things to keep them at bay. I was served a nice bit of fish last night. “Where’s the fish knife?” I asked. That butler Curzon looks down his nose at me and says, “We do not allow fish knives here.” So I’m supposed to eat my fish with a fork in one hand and a bit of bread in the other.

“The one deadly sin is ‘Thou Shalt Not Get Found Out’. They are releasing the full post-mortem report to me. It should be arriving by messenger tomorrow.”

“I admit Hedley does not look well,” said Harry. “But he does not look particularly guilty either.”

“Who does? Once a murderer’s photograph is published, everyone says, “Oh, look at those killer eyes,” forgetting that before that, they considered him a decent chap.”

“Is there any chance of you letting me know what’s in that report?”

“I’ll think about it. What about you and Lady Rose?”

“What about her?”

“Very attractive girl,” said Kerridge with a sly look.

“I admit she is attractive,” said Harry, “but she is the most unfeminine girl I have ever come across.”

“I wouldn’t say that. You’re dragging that bad leg of yours a bit. Let’s go back.”

♦

Harry’s idea that Rose was unfeminine was to receive what he considered shocking confirmation. Two hours before the dinner gong, he received a note asking him to meet her in the library.

As he made his way there, he felt amused. Perhaps Rose had formed a tendre for him. He would let her down gently.

He found Rose in the library accompanied by Becket and Daisy. He put the little pang of disappointment down to indigestion.

“How can I help you?” he asked.

“I asked Daisy and Becket to attend because it is a delicate subject. I need information.”

“Go ahead.”

Rose had armoured herself in full fashion. She was wearing a thin pale-green silk afternoon dress, with a trimming of dark green velvet. The boned bodice was trimmed with fine lace over green velvet. It had full sleeves and fitting inner sleeves. The wide belt round her small waist was decorated with tiny velvet bows.

Little green velvet shoes peeped out from below her gown as she drew forward a chair to sit down.

“Pray be seated, Captain,” she said. Daisy stood behind Rose’s chair and Becket behind Harry’s.

“I think we should all sit down,” said Rose. “There is no need for ceremony.”

Becket helped Daisy into a chair and then sat down himself.

“I was wondering about sexual diseases,” said Rose.

Harry stared at her, wondering whether he had heard her properly. “Did you say sexual diseases?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” asked Harry nervously.

“It is just an idea,” said Rose. “You see, Daisy tells me that gentlemen have been known to have intimate relations with virgins in the hope of being cured of, say, syphilis.”

“Where is this leading?”

“Mary hinted that she had someone interested in her, that she had been spoken for. Now it would never have crossed my mind before that any unmarried young lady would fall from grace. But if a man had one of these terrible diseases, he might be very persuasive, promise her anything. Then, if she found out the truth, she might want to take her own life.”

“I fear your new-found knowledge of the nastier aspects of the world is making you jump to mad conclusions,” said Harry.

“Not quite. Margaret Bryce-Cuddlestone spent a night with Lord Hedley. Today she sent for the doctor. She was most upset.”

“But why sexual disease? She might just be frightened that she is pregnant.”

“Perhaps. But don’t you see? If Lord Hedley slept with Margaret, it follows he may have slept with Mary Gore-Desmond. Perhaps she threatened to tell his wife and his wife has the money.”

Harry sat silently in thought. “You don’t like the idea,” said Daisy pertly, “because you didn’t think of it.”

“Mind your manners,” snapped Harry.

“Daisy was only trying to help,” said Becket angrily and Harry looked at his manservant in surprise.

“So what do you suggest we do?” he asked. “Confront Miss Bryce-Cuddlestone? She will deny it. She has too much to lose. And Hedley will most certainly deny it.”

“Perhaps you should tell Kerridge of our suspicions. He might get the doctor to talk.”

“Shhh!” said Daisy suddenly. “I think I heard something.”

She ran lightly across the room and threw open the door. She could hear footsteps hurrying off in the distance at the back of the hall. Daisy ran in pursuit and found her way blocked by Curzon. “Is anything the matter?” he asked.

“Get out of my way!” shouted Daisy.

Curzon took her arm in a strong grip. “It is time you and I had a word, Miss Levine. You do not shout at a superior servant in that manner. You –”

“Daisy!” called Rose, hurrying across the hall. “Is anything the matter?”

“I’ll speak to you later,” hissed Curzon.

“It’s all right, my lady,” said Daisy. They walked back to the library. “Someone was listening,” said Daisy. “I heard these footsteps running away and went after whoever it was, but that great idiot Curzon blocked my way.”

Harry looked at Rose. “Is there a constable outside your room at night?”

“Yes. Well, there was last night.”

Harry turned to Daisy. “Make sure he’s on duty tonight.”

♦

Rose was mounting the staircase with Daisy when Curzon came hurriedly up after her.

“Lady Hedley wishes a word with you, Lady Rose. Follow me. Alone,” he added with a glare at Daisy.

Feeling nervous, Rose walked after him, wondering if Lady Hedley had been the one listening at the library door, and then dismissed the idea as ridiculous.

Curzon threw open the door and announced her and then left them together. Lady Hedley was seated before the fireplace in her sitting-room, working at a piece of tapestry.

“Sit down,” she ordered. “No, not there. Opposite. Where I can see you.”

Rose did as she was bid. There was a long silence while Lady Hedley’s needle flashed in and out of the piece of tapestry mounted on a frame.

Then she began. “We have not really had an opportunity to talk.”

“I am most grateful to you for your hospitality,” said Rose.

The needle paused. “No you’re not,” said the countess. “How could you be? What do you think of this castle?”

“Very fine.”

“Why?”

“Well, very romantic, like casdes in stories of knights and ladies.”

“Piffle. I assumed you had some intelligence.”

“You do not expect me to say what I really think,” said Rose, becoming angry.

“It would be pleasant if you would try to do so.”

Rose took a deep breath. Why should she care what Lady Hedley thought?

“All right. It is silly, a folly, and set as it is against the poverty of the local village, a disgrace.”

“Still banging on about that village, hey? It may please you to know that Hedley has set about repairs.”

“Yes, it does please me.”

“He’s only doing it because the gutter press have criticized the living conditions.”

There was another long silence. Rose felt herself becoming almost hypnotized by the flashing needle.

“What did you think of Mary Gore-Desmond?”

“Nothing at all. I barely knew her.”

“I saw too much of her. Did you know I brought her out?”

“No, my lady. At the last season?”

“Yes, for part of it. Her mother fell ill towards the end but was still hoping her plain daughter should make a match with someone, anyone. So we took her on. Nasty little thing.”

“My lady, she’s dead!”

“That doesn’t soften any memories I may have of her. But the real reason I asked you here was to find if you had recovered from your shock.”

“I hope so, my lady but to tell the truth, I am afraid the experience will haunt me for some time.”

“I used to play up there when I was a child when we were brought here on visits. The place was fairly new then. As children, we thought it romantic.”

“I was not playing. Someone asked to meet me on the roof and then pushed me over.”

The marchioness laughed. “We used to invent stories like that. It does take me back.”

The dressing gong sounded.

“Run along,” said Lady Hedley. “And behave yourself.”

♦

Rose repeated the conversation to Daisy. “She sounds mad,” said Daisy.

“No, I think she is eccentric. It must be so terrible to have a philandering husband.”

“That’s mostly what this lot do to pass the time,” said Daisy cynically. “But we should tell the captain about Mary Gore-Desmond having stayed with them in London.”

But Rose was not to be allowed any chance of speaking to Harry after dinner. Her mother drew her aside in the drawing-room and said, “It has come to our ears that you have been seen spending a certain amount of time with Captain Cathcart. Now although your pa is grateful to him for his help and although his family background is impeccable, he does not have any money other than the money he earns. So he is, in effect, a tradesman.”

“I have no interest in Captain Cathcart.”

“I will determine it stays that way.”

When the men joined them in the drawing-room, Lady Polly stayed firmly by her daughter’s side.

She need not have bothered. There was no sign of the captain.

He was in the library with Becket and Daisy, having had a note from Daisy passed to him by Becket.

She told him all about Rose’s interview with Lady Hedley.

“It’s beginning to look as if Hedley himself might be responsible for these murders, and that is going to be very hard to prove,” said Harry. “But Lady Rose is surely safe. There will be a constable on duty outside her door tonight.”

♦

Curzon had supervised the sandwiches and drinks to be taken up to the drawing-room. Now all that was left was to see that the various bedtime requests were taken up to the rooms.

Mrs. Jerry Trumpington required a bedtime drink of hot milk and brandy; Miss Maisie Chatterton, cocoa; and so on. He ran his eyes down the list in his hand. At the bottom was tea, Indian, with milk and sugar for Constable Bickerstaff.

“Who is Constable Bickerstaff?” he shouted.

“That must be the officer outside Lady Rose’s bedroom,” said the cook.

“I think it’s a bit much when common officers start using this place as a restaurant,” grumbled Curzon.

He said to the second footman, John. “Get one of the housemaids to make a pot of tea and you carry it up. And take Mrs. Trumpington’s drink and deliver Miss Chatterton’s cocoa as well.”

John collected the three drinks on a large tray and headed for the stairs. There was a back staircase in the castle for the servants, but most used the main staircase unless they were carrying down the slops. He delivered Maisie Chatterton’s cocoa first and then hurried along to the other tower, where Lady Rose and Maisie Chatterton had their rooms.

He thought sulkily, and not for the first time, that the gas should have remained lit. It was difficult balancing the tray and a candle. He put the tray down on a small table in the passage outside Mrs. Trumpington’s room, put the glass of milk and brandy on a smaller tray and knocked at the door. He handed the tray to the lady’s maid and then turned and picked up the tray with the remaining drink from the table. He was heading up the tower stairs when he heard a voice call, “John!”

The voice was muffled and he could not tell if it came from a man or a woman. He set the tray down on the stairs and held his candle high. It was probably Mrs. Trumpington complaining again. Probably a skin had formed on her milk and brandy. She had complained before.

He ran down and knocked on her door. “Anything up?” he asked the lady’s maid.

“No,” she said, “and don’t knock again. Madam is just about to go to sleep.”

John sighed and went back up the stairs and picked up the tray. He approached the constable who was sitting on a chair outside Rose’s room.

“Are you Bickerstaff?” he asked haughtily.

“That’s me.”

“Here’s your tea.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

John grunted by way of reply and marched off down the stairs. He was already planning to try to find a position in a ‘regular’ household, one where they didn’t have murders or expect footmen to serve policemen.

♦

Bickerstaff sipped the tea. It had a funny taste, but it was probably one of those foreign teas. Give him a good cup of Indian any day. But it was hot and strong and he drank it gratefully.

The tray with the tea was on the floor beside him. He bent down to pour himself another cup when he began to feel dizzy. His legs and arms were beginning to feel like lead. He slumped down onto the floor and with his last remaining strength kicked at the door of Rose’s bedroom and shouted faintly, “Help!”

Rose awoke with a start and rang the bell on her bedside table. Daisy came running in, crying, “Did you hear something? I heard something.”

“Ask the constable if everything is all right,” said Rose.

Daisy opened the door and screamed, “He’s dead! Oh, my God, he’s dead!”