Snobbery With Violence (13 page)

“The coroner will bring a verdict of accidental death. I will be constrained to say I found no evidence of foul play. Then I will leave directly afterwards and return to booking and charging the lower classes who cannot pull strings.”

“Makes you a bit bitter, does it?”

“You have no idea. But if you could find anything to pin this murder on any of them, I’d be very grateful. Here is my card.”

“A word of warning,” said Harry. “Do not spout off your radical views to all and sundry. You are lucky that Lady Rose is an intelligent woman. What if word of your views got back to your superiors?”

“I’ll be careful,” said Kerridge. “To tell the truth, I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was the poverty of this village. The inn’s all right, but have you seen the houses? Little more than hovels.”

“He’s a bad landlord,” said Harry with a sigh. “Maybe something can be done about it.”

Daisy prepared Margaret for bed. Rose had said she could put herself to bed. She brushed down her hair and reached for the cotton-wool pads and wash to clean the make-up from Margaret’s face, thinking it odd that a debutante should wear makeup at all, even though it had been skilfully applied.

“That will be all, Daisy,” ordered Margaret. “You may leave. I will not be requiring your services again. Lady Trumpington has kindly offered me the services of her lady’s maid, who is more experienced than you.”

Daisy went out into the corridor and began to look for hiding places. She found a chest for storing linen in one of the embrasures in the corridor and managed to squeeze down behind it.

She heard the stable clock chime midnight. She heard the last of the guests going up to bed. By one o’clock her eyes were beginning to droop and she fought to keep awake.

She struggled with sleep until the clock chimed two, and was about to give up when she heard a furtive footstep at the end of the corridor.

Daisy was frightened to raise her head above the chest, but looking up, she saw a large shadow racing ahead of someone carrying a candle. Then there came a soft knock on Margaret’s door.

Daisy slowly raised her head above the chest, just in time to see the Marquess of Hedley disappearing into Margaret’s room. She waited until the door had closed behind her. Feeling stiff and cramped, she eased herself out from behind the chest.

She crept over to the door and listened. She could hear the murmur of voices and then Margaret’s laugh, but could not make out any words.

Afraid of being caught, Daisy decided to beat a retreat.

She was bursting with news and felt she could not bear to wait until the morning. Daisy shook Rose awake, hissing, “You’ll never believe it.”

Rose struggled up against the pillows. “What has happened? Another death?”

Daisy perched on the bed, her eyes alight with excitement. “Lord Hedley went in to Miss Bryce-Cuddlestone’s bedchamber at two in the morning!”

“Perhaps she was ill?”

“Garn!”

“Daisy! You must remember to behave like a proper lady’s maid!”

Daisy was tired. “Look, my lady, a proper lady’s maid don’t have to spend the night listening at doors. Like being a proper detective means finding out things for yourself.”

Rose’s eyes blazed with anger. And then she sank back against the pillows with a sigh. Daisy had made her feel guilty. Daisy had made her feel that she was merely playing at being a detective while delegating the hard work to someone else.

And why should she expect Daisy to behave like a conventional servant when the very reason she liked the girl was because of the fact that she was not conventional at all.

“You are right, Daisy. But I am shocked. How on earth can Margaret hope to find a husband when she is . ..”

“Damaged goods?”

“Quite.”

“I believe some ladies say it got broke when they were out riding.”

“Broke what?”

“You know. The thing that keeps you a virgin. Sounds like hymn books.”

Rose shifted awkwardly. “Never mind that. If Margaret has fallen from grace, then it stands to reason that Mary Gore-Desmond might also have been having an affair.”

“There’s another thing,” said Daisy eagerly, “what I heard in the servants’ hall.”

Rose was about to correct Daisy’s grammar but decided against it. The idea of escaping to London and working for a living was growing in her mind. Like herself, Daisy was now an excellent typist. They could go together. And if that happened,
they would be equals. On the other hand, Daisy would need to speak properly if she were to become a businesswoman.

“Do you want to hear what I have to say, or not?” asked Daisy.

“Go on.”

“Lord Hedley’s pa blew the family money building this monster of a casde. Lady Hedley’s the one with all the money. Her lawyers tied it up in the marriage settlements so he can’t get his hands on it until she’s dead. What if Lord Hedley was playing fast and loose with Miss Gore-Desmond and she threatened to tell Lady Hedley? There’s a reason for murder.”

“It’s a reason for Lord Hedley to murder his wife. Of course, had it been Lady Hedley who had been found dead, perhaps he would be suspected right away. I think we should communicate your findings to Captain Cathcart.”

“Thought you didn’t like him.”

“Whether I like him or not is beside the point. He has the experience we need. Good night, Daisy. You did well.”

“I’m sorry I forgot my place, my lady.”

“You may behave as an equal when you are with me, but not in public. I have plans for us.”

“What plans?”

“I’ll tell you when I have worked it all out.”

Harry was handed a note by Becket the following morning. It said: “Please meet us in the library at nine. We have news for you. Rose Summer.”

Harry showed it to Becket. “We? I wonder who the other person is?”

“I should think it would turn out to be her lady’s maid, Daisy.”

“But one does not say
we
when talking about a servant. I mean, a lady’s maid is a fashionable shadow.”

“I think Lady Rose and Daisy are more in the way of being friends.”

“What an odd girl she is, to be sure. You’d better come along as well.”

When they entered the library, it was to find both Rose and Daisy waiting for them.

“I suggested we meet here,” began Rose, “because I doubt if anyone ever uses this room.”

“Let’s sit down and you can tell me about it,” said Harry.

He sat in one chair and Rose sat in the other. Daisy stood behind Rose and Becket behind Harry.

“I think we should all sit together,” said Rose. “The detective work is all Daisy’s.”

They all grouped around the library table.

Daisy told her story while Harry listened intently. “Well done,” exclaimed Harry when Daisy had finished, and Rose felt a pang of jealousy. Not that she was romantically interested in Harry, of course. Simply that she felt she should have been the one to find out about Margaret and about the marquess’s financial position. “Colette’s disappearance may have had nothing to do with Miss Gore-Desmond’s death. Miss Bryce-Cuddlestone may have decided her maid knew too much and dismissed her. And yet it was she who started the search for her. Anyway, I’ve found out some more things.

“I was talking to Maisie Chatterton. She babbles on about everything in that silly lisp of hers. She tells me that Mary Gore-Desmond said something one evening in the drawing-room to Sir Gerald Burke. Sir Gerald glared at Mary and then muttered something vicious to her, according to Maisie. Freddy Pomfret was flirting with Mary on one occasion but Maisie said that was
because Mary had a large dowry. Neddie Freemantle was heard braying with laughter at everything Mary said. Maisie asked him afterwards what he had found so funny and he said Mary had mimicked the accents and behaviour of the guests brilliantly. I’ve forgotten the most important thing. Is Miss Gore-Desmond’s lady’s maid still in the castle?”

“No, sir,” said Daisy.

“But surely she was kept behind for questioning by the police?”

“She left the morning after Miss Gore-Desmond was found dead. She said she would travel to the parents’ home.”

“What was her name?”

“Quinn, sir.”

“Becket, we’d better get over to that inquest. The Gore-Desmonds will be there and with luck the lady’s maid. But the fact that Colette disappeared and not Quinn is most odd. Quinn would know her mistress’s secrets. What an amateur I am. I should have thought of the lady’s maid right away.”

“Perhaps it is because you are more used to covering things up than exposing them,” said Rose.

“That was a rather nasty thing to say.”

“It was not meant to be nasty. It was a statement of fact.”

“Well, here’s a statement of fact. You are the most unfemi-nine woman I have ever come across.”

Becket cleared his throat. “I will bring the car round, sir. The ladies will wish to accompany us.”

Becket left the room quickly before Harry could protest.

“Where is the inquest to be held?” asked Rose.

“At the coroner’s court in Creinton, a market town near here.”

“Very well,” said Rose. “We will meet you outside in the courtyard in half an hour.”

“Make it fifteen minutes,” said Harry.
l l 6

Mrs. Gore-Desmond’s anguished cry in court that her daughter had never touched arsenic did not sway the verdict of accidental death.

Outside the courtroom the marquess was in high good humour which he tried to hide. Daisy nudged Rose’s arm and whispered, “That’s Quinn, the lady’s maid, over there.”

Rose hurried towards a tall, severe-looking woman, the very opposite of Daisy.

“I am sorry for your loss,” began Rose.

Quinn curtsied and nodded. “I am surprised you did not wait to be interrogated by the police,” said Rose.

“Our local police called on me to take a statement. I told them that Miss Gore-Desmond had never used arsenic for cosmetic purposes. I left to be with Mr. and Mrs. Gore-Desmond. Mrs. Gore-Desmond’s lady’s maid had recently left and she was advertising for another. I knew I could get the job if I moved quickly.”

“Was Miss Gore-Desmond romantically interested in any of the gentlemen at the castle?”

Quinn stared at Rose from under the shadow of an enormous black hat. “I think she found them all rather silly, to tell the truth. But she was not the sort of lady to chatter to servants.” The stare hardened even more, implying that Rose was one of the ones that did. “Now, if you will excuse me, my lady.”

Harry went up to the marquess. “It turns out you did not need my services after all,” he said.

“Good of you to come, all the same,” said the marquess, clapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t rush off. As I said before, stay and enjoy the house party.”

“You are too kind.”

“There’s Lady Rose looking for you, you lucky dog.” The
marquess grinned and strolled off towards his carriage.

Rose came up to Harry and told him about what Quinn had said. “At least we know she’s all right,” said Harry when Rose had finished. “But no wonder Kerridge gets so furious. What a shameful business. Quinn was not even called as a witness.”

“So your job is over. Y>u don’t need to help to hide anything,” said Rose. “All the facts have been buried as deep as poor Miss Gore-Desmond is shortly going to be.”

“I have been asked to stay on as a guest and I am determined to get to the bottom of this mystery.”

“I will help you,” said Rose eagerly. “We are the only ones here, apart from Lord Hedley. I can start to talk about the inquest at luncheon and see what they all say during conversation.”

“If there is any conversation about this death, it will be all about how it is not really necessary to wear mourning.”

“If only the body could be exhumed.”

“But the beauty of arsenic,” said Harry, “is that it clears out of the organs very quickly.”

“It stays in the nails and hair,” said Rose.

It always irritated Harry when Rose proved again that she knew more about a subject than he did.

“You look very attractive in black,” he said, smiling down at her.

“I beg your pardon! Oh, you feel obliged to flirt like the other men in the party. You do not have to waste time on such frivolities with me.”

“Are you being deliberately infuriating, or are you just gauche?”

Rose bridled. “I think you should keep your mind on essentials. Miss Gore-Desmond may have been murdered.”

“You would make a good nanny. Stop giving me orders. It is time we went back.”

Luncheon was a jolly affair for all but Rose and Harry. Everyone seemed brightened up by the fact that accidental death had been confirmed. What goes on in their heads, wondered Rose. Look at Margaret, elegant and serene. How could she? Perhaps it was time to unsettle them all. She turned to Sir Gerald Burke on her right and said, “I met Miss Gore-Desmond’s maid, Quinn, at the inquest. She told me her mistress had never used arsenic cosmetically to clear her skin.”

“It’s not very fashionable these days,” he said. “She probably kept it a secret.”

“I didn’t think one could have secrets from one’s lady’s maid.”

“Oh, one can, I gather, with professional, well-trained lady’s maids. If you will forgive me for saying so, I notice that you are a trifle over-familiar with yours.”

“I do not believe servants should be treated as pieces of machinery. They have hearts and souls and feelings, just like us.”

“Nonsense. They do not have the sensitive finer feelings of their betters. They are made of coarser fibre.”

“Surely that is nonsense.”

Sir Gerald stared at her a moment and then turned away to speak to Deborah Peterson.

Rose decided to try her luck with Clive Fraser on her right. “I went to the inquest this morning,” she began.

“How horrid for you,” he said, his handsome face creased in sympathy. “No place for a lady. Still, good verdict.”

“I met Quinn, Miss Gore-Desmond’s lady’s maid. She said her mistress had never used arsenic.”

“Jolly good. Loyal servant, what.”

“But I think she was telling the truth.”

His eyes stared at her as if trying to solve a complex problem. Then he shook his head and said, “The weather’s turned a bit sharp. Jolly castle, this. Like the ones in
Young England.
Only thing I ever read were the stories in those magazines. Knights and ladies. You must think me sentimental, but I’m a softhearted chap.”