Gracie was also extremely busy that morning, not essentially on Charlotte’s affairs. The dresses she had brought were in little need of attention, and those which had been lent her needed only a slight press here or there with a flatiron. There was personal linen to launder, but that was all. She collected it and took it downstairs and through the corridors of the servants’ wing out to the laundry house.
She found Doll already there, looking unhappily at the dull surface of a flatiron and muttering under her breath.
“How is poor Mrs. Greville?” Gracie asked sympathetically.
Doll glanced at her. “Poor soul,” she said with a sigh. “Doesn’t know whether she’s coming or going at the moment. But I daresay it’ll get worse before it gets better. Have you seen the beeswax and bath brick?”
“What?”
“Beeswax and bath brick,” Doll repeated. “There’s plenty o’ salt right there. Need to clean this iron before I put it anywhere near a white camisole.” She held up the iron critically. The other one on the stove was getting hot.
“Mr. Pitt’s very clever,” Gracie assured her, seeking to comfort her. “’E’ll find out everythin’ there is ter know, an’ then ’e’ll work out ’oo done it, an’ take ’im in.”
Doll looked at her quickly, her eyes shadowed. Her hand was tight on the iron.
“Can’t need to know everything,” she said, beginning to move again, taking the other iron off the stove and putting it on the white petticoat and beginning to work, leaning her weight on it and swinging it gently backwards, smoothing the fabric.
“Yer’d be surprised wot ’as meanin’,” Gracie told her. “Ter someone clever enough ter see it an’ understand. ’E’ll catch ’ooever it is, don’ worry.”
Doll gave a little shiver and her eyes were far away. Her hand on the iron clenched hard and stopped moving.
“Yer don’ need ter look so scared.” Gracie moved a step towards her. “ ’E’s very fair. ’E’d never ’urt them wot don’ deserve it, nor tell tales wot don’ need ter be told.”
Doll swallowed. “Course not. I never thought …” She looked down suddenly and moved the iron. The scorch mark was brown on the linen. She took a deep breath and tears filled her eyes.
Gracie snatched the iron up and put it aside on the hearth.
“There must be a way fer takin’ that out,” she said with more assurance than she felt. “There’s a way fer everythin’, if yer jus’ know it.”
“Mr. Wheeler said as Mr. Pitt rode over to Oakfield House yesterday!” Doll stared at Gracie. “Why? What’s he want there? It was someone here who killed him.”
“I know that,” Gracie agreed. “ ’Ow do yer get scorch marks out? What’s the best way? We better do that afore it’s too late.”
“Onion juice, fuller’s earth, white soap and vinegar,” Doll replied absently. “They’re bound to have some made up. Look in that jar.” She pointed to one on the shelf next to the blue, behind Gracie’s head. It was between the bran, rice for congee, borax, soap, beeswax and ordinary tallow candle, used for removing inkspots.
Gracie took it down with two hands and passed it over. It was heavy. Scorches must be quite a common occurrence. But there was something in Doll’s unhappiness which was more than ordinary. Gracie felt a need to understand it, not only for the sake of Doll, whom she liked, but because it might be important. Murder was not always as simple as people thought, especially if they were people who had not as much experience as Gracie had.
However, she was foiled in her intent by one of the laundry maids’ coming in to iron table linen for dinner that evening, and the conversation suddenly became about the senior groom, and what he had said to Maisie, and what Tillie had said about that, and why the bootboy had repeated it anyway.
* * *
At mid-morning Pitt changed clothes. Gracie polished his boots for him. Tellman was otherwise occupied, and anyway he did not really make a good enough job of it, the great useless article! Gracie would not have Pitt leave the hall less well-dressed than any other gentleman there. He took an overcoat and a very smart hat, borrowed from Mr. Radley, and was driven to the railway station to catch the ten forty-eight up to London. She knew it was not a journey he could possibly enjoy. He was going to see the assistant commissioner, who would likely be very upset that Mr. Greville had been murdered after all. She wished there were something comforting she could say to him, but anything she thought of only sounded empty or not her place to say.
And Miss Charlotte was not around to see him off, which she ought to have been. She was busy with that Miss Moynihan who had taken such a temper. If country house parties were usually like this, it was a wonder anybody would go to one.
She decided to throw out the old flowers in the dressing room vase. They were droopy, probably from the fire. She would fill in a little time by going to find the gardener and see if she might pick some fresh ones. Anything would do, even leaves, as long as they were green and crisp-looking.
She obtained permission to choose something, not more than a dozen, mind, from the cold greenhouse. It was just the occasion to put on the new overcoat Charlotte had bought for her. It was even the right size. She went upstairs and found it, and was making her way through the kitchen garden in the general direction indicated when she saw Finn Hennessey. She recognized him immediately, even though he had his back to her. He was watching a ginger-and-white cat walking along the top of the high garden wall towards the branches of the apple tree. From its low, silent tread, she thought it had seen a bird.
She straightened herself a little more, held her chin high, and almost unconsciously swayed her hips a trifle. She must attract his attention without seeming to wish to. She was not very good at playing games; she did not have sufficient practice. She had noticed how skilled the other ladies’ maids were. They could flirt so well it came to them like nature. But then they had nothing of real seriousness to do. They couldn’t solve a crime if the answer were under their noses. Lot of silly little creatures, sometimes, giggling at nothing.
She was level with Finn Hennessey. She would have to walk past him and say nothing. She ached inside with the frustration of it, but she would not let herself down by playing games any child could see through.
The cat leaped from the tree, an arc of some ten feet. Its claws scraped the bark, sliding another two feet, but it eventually held fast, and it scrambled onto the branch just as the bird flew away.
“Oh!” she gasped involuntarily, afraid it would fall.
Finn swung around. His face lit up with a smile.
“Hello, Gracie Phipps. Looking for herbs, are you?”
“No, Mr. Hennessey, I came for some flowers. The ones we got are lookin’ faded so I put ’em out. I don’ mind what I get, so long as it’s fresh. Sooner ’ave leaves than flowers what’s droopin’.”
“I’ll carry them for you,” he offered, moving over to walk beside her.
She laughed. “I’m only gettin’ a few. Gardener said I could ’ave a dozen out o’ the cold ’ouse. But you can carry ’em for me if you like.”
“I’d like,” he accepted, smiling back.
They walked side by side along the path, through the gate and the high box hedge, and on towards the cold greenhouses, the gray light reflecting on the glass panes irregularly as it caught them at different angles. The earth was dark and wet, well-manured and ready for planting in the spring. There were cobwebs gleaming in the clipped branches of the hedge, and a gardener’s boy was cutting the dead stalks of perennials and putting them into a barrow about twenty yards away. It was chilly, and she was glad not only of the smartness of the coat but of its warmth.
“Smells like winter coming,” Finn said with pleasure. “Wood fires, that’s something I love, bonfires with old leaves on, and blue smoke in the frosty air, crackle of twigs, breathe out and it hangs white in front of you.” He looked sideways at her, keeping step exactly. “How ’bout an early morning, when the sky’s all pale blue and the light’s as clear as the beginning o’ the world, red berries in the hedge, air so crisp it prickles in your nose, tangle of bare branches against the light, and time to walk as long as you like?”