“That’s not my job!” Edith protested with outrage.
“Hold your tongue, and do as you’re told! And there’ll be no dinner for you today, or tomorrow either, if you give me any impertinence!” He turned to Emily gently and put his arm round her, holding her far more firmly than necessary. “Come now, get out of those wet things and then Mary’ll get you a hot cup of tea. You haven’t been hurt. You’ll be all right soon. Come, come. Stop crying, you’ll make yourself ill.”
Emily did not know if she could; her laughter was too close to tears to stop easily. After the loneliness, the cold, the tension and the strangeness it was a relief to let go and pour her feelings out. She felt Redditch’s arm around her, warm, surprisingly strong. It was really quite pleasant and she relaxed into it—then the appalling thought struck her that he might well misread her compliance. She had already noticed he seemed to like her a great deal, and had championed her more than once. That would be all she needed to lose control of this altogether!
She sniffed fiercely, commanded herself to behave, dropped her apron from her eyes and straightened up.
“Thank you, Mr. Redditch. You are quite right; it is nothing but shock because the water was cold.” She must not forget she was supposed to be a maid. She could hardly afford arrogance, or the kind of distance a lady might affect. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”
His arm fell away reluctantly. “Are you sure?”
“Oh, yes—yes, thank you!” She moved away slowly, keeping her eyes averted. This was preposterous! She was thinking of him as a man, not a butler! Or on second thought, he was a man! All men were men! Perhaps it was Society that was preposterous?
“Thank you, Mr. Redditch,” she said again. “Yes, I’ll go and get changed. I’m frozen, and a hot cup of tea would be lovely.” She turned and all but ran out of the room and along the corridor to the stairs.
By the time she came down into the kitchen again everyone had heard of the affair, and she was met with wide-eyed stares, whispers, and a snigger or two.
“Ignore them!” Mary said softly, bringing her a steaming cup and sitting down beside her. Her voice dropped till it was barely audible. “Did you really call her names? What did you say?”
Emily took the tea carefully, her hands still shaking. “I told her she was a fat, lazy slut,” she whispered back. “But don’t repeat that: Mrs. Crawford would have me out! I expect Edith’s been here for years and Mrs. Crawford’s always known her.”
“No, she hasn’t.” Mary moved a little closer. “She’s only bin ’ere two year, and Mrs. Crawford fer three.”
“Everyone seems new,” Emily said artlessly. “Why? It’s a good place; lovely house, fair wages, and Miss Veronica’s not hard.”
“Dunno. I suppose it must be the murder. I didn’t ’ear no one say as they would leave; all the same, everyone did.”
“That’s silly.” Emily kept her voice down, but she was excited. Perhaps she was on the verge of some real detecting. “Did they think the murderer would kill someone else—oh!” She affected amazement and horror, swinging round on her wooden seat to look at Mary directly. “You don’t think Dulcie was murdered, do you?”
Mary’s eyes, blue as the rings on the kitchen china, stared at her in disbelief. Then gradually the possibility took hold, and Emily was afraid she had gone too far. A second maid in hysterics in one day would certainly get her thrown out without any excuses. Even Redditch could not save her. She could have bitten her tongue for being so hasty.
“You mean pushed ’er outa the window?” Mary’s voice was almost inaudible. But she was made of sterner stuff than Edith; she did not hold with hysterics. They usually made people cross, and men hated them. And her mind was quite sharp; she could read, and had a pile of penny dreadfuls under her pillow upstairs. She knew all about crime. “Well, Dulcie was ’ere when poor Mr. Robert was killed,” she said with a tiny nod. “Mebbe she saw summink.”
“So were you, weren’t you?” Emily sipped her tea gratefully. “Well, you’d better be careful. Don’t speak to anyone about anything that happened then! Did you see anything?”
Mary was apparently unaware of the contradiction in Emily’s instructions. “No, I never did,” she said regretfully. “Important people never come into the kitchen, and I ’ardly never got out of it. I was only scullery maid then.”
“You didn’t see any strange people upstairs ever? People who shouldn’t have been?”
“No, I never.”
“What was Mr. Robert like? The others must have talked.”
Mary’s brow puckered in thought. “Well, Dulcie said ’e was very partic’lar, never untidy like, an’ always polite—least, as polite as Quality ever is. But then old Mr. York is always polite, too, although ’e’s terrible untidy. Leaves ’is things all over the place, and forgets summink awful! I know ’e was out a lot. James as was footman then, ’e was always sayin’ Mr. Robert was out again, but that was Mr. Robert’s job. ’E was summink very important in the Foreign Service.”
“What happened to James?”
“Mrs. York got rid of ’im. Said as since Mr. Robert was dead there wasn’t no need. Sent ’im off the very next day, she did, on account of Lord somebody-or-other was lookin’ for a valet, and she spoke for ’im.”
“Mrs. Loretta?”
“Oh yes o’ course. Poor Miss Veronica weren’t in no state to do anything. Terrible grieved, she were; in an awful state, poor soul. Mr. Robert were ’er ’ole world. Adored ’im, she did. Not that Mrs. Loretta weren’t terrible upset, too, o’ course. White as a ghost, Dulcie said.” Mary leaned so close her hair tickled Emily’s cheek. “Dulcie told the she ’eard ’er crying summink wicked in the night, but she didn’t dare go in, ’cause she couldn’t do nuffink! People ’as to cry; it’s natural.”
“Of course it is.” Suddenly Emily felt like an intruder. What on earth was she doing here in some unfortunate woman’s house, deceiving everyone, pretending to be a maid? No wonder Pitt was furious! He probably despised her as well.
“Come on,” Mrs. Melrose interrupted briskly, breaking her train of thought. “Drink up your tea, Amelia. Mary’s got work to do, even if you ’aven’t! An’ I’d watch your tongue, if I were you, my girl. Don’t do to be too smart! Edith’s a lazy baggage, an’ you got away with it this time—but you made enemies! Now drink that up an’ get along with you!”
It was excellent advice and Emily thanked her for it meekly and obeyed with an alacrity that surprised them both.
The next two days were uncomfortable. Edith was nursing a resentment which she did not dare exercise, but it was the bitterer for that, and Emily knew she was only biding her time. Mrs. Crawford felt she had somehow been bested, and constantly found tiny faults with Emily, which provoked Redditch into criticizing the housekeeper until everyone was on edge. The laundry room became her only sanctuary, since once again Edith had contrived to get out of the ironing. She had bruised her wrist and the flatiron was too heavy for her. Mrs. Crawford let her get away with that, but she could not overrule Redditch on the matter of dinner, and two delicious midday meals went by without Edith’s presence. Mrs. Melrose seemed to have made a special effort. As was customary, the servants shared the fine wine in the family cellars. In the evening, after supper, they drank hot cocoa and played games in which Edith did not join.
Emily’s only immediate problem was how to fend off Redditch’s friendship without hurting his feelings and thus forfeiting his protection. She had never had to be so diplomatic in her life, and it was a considerable strain. She sought refuge in unnaturally diligent attendance upon Veronica. That was how she came to be in the boudoir in the middle of the afternoon when Nora announced that a Mr. Radley had called, and would Miss Veronica see him?
Emily suddenly felt flushed; the book she had been reading aloud slid off her lap onto the floor. All this had begun as an adventure, but she was not sure she wanted Jack to actually see her as a maid. Her hair was back in a style far less flattering than usual, and there was no color in her face—as a servant it was not allowed unless it was natural, of course—and because she was inside all the time, sleeping in that cold bed, up too early, there were shadows under her eyes, and she was sure she was thinner. Perhaps she did look like a tuppenny rabbit! Veronica was thin, but in her gorgeous clothes she merely looked delicate, not bloodless.