Murder at Mullings--A 1930s country house murder mystery (15 page)

‘Thank you, Molly, please make it strong with lots of sugar. And bring a hot water bottle.' Florence glanced towards Grumidge, who was standing in the doorway of the butler's pantry where she imagined he had the rest of the indoor staff congregated. He came towards her, sombre but composed as always.

‘Breaking the news to Miss Johnson will be difficult for you and deeply painful for her to hear, so do not feel rushed, Mrs Norris. If His Lordship requests an interview with us whilst you are with her, I will send word to you.'

Florence nodded. ‘Miss Bradley came for the puppy to be fed and Mrs McDonald will be seeing to that now.'

On her way up the stairs she heard Grumidge speaking with encouraging warmth to Molly. Florence was ashamed of having set Miss Johnson aside in her mind during the last half hour or so, but even so, her mind darted back to Mrs Tressler and Miss Bradley. They had both had solid reasons for coming into the kitchen, but had there been alternative motives in play? The desire to confide, or size up the moods of herself and Mrs McDonald?

The old lady's bedroom was midway along the hallway, two down from Lady Stodmarsh's room, beyond which was the one occupied by His Lordship. Florence opened Miss Johnson's door to see her lying listlessly under the bedclothes, only the meagre iron-gray hair providing any suggestion of colour to her pallid countenance. The ensuing conversation was every bit as distressing as Florence had feared. Miss Johnson did not break down, she was far too weak for that, but her face contorted and she started to shiver and then tremble. Florence sat on the edge of the bed, placed a hand on the two twitching ones, and continued to speak soothingly until Molly appeared with tea and the hot water bottle.

‘Would you mind staying on with her for a while?' she whispered to the girl. ‘I'm going to telephone Doctor Chester. Perhaps he'll give her something.'

Molly nodded.

On her return to the back stairs, Florence halted on hearing Mr William's voice coming from his wife's bedroom. Compared to his frequent roar, it was not much above a growl, but was so charged with rage as to make it audible to someone with less keen hearing than Florence. She knew she should have crept on, but she couldn't … didn't. The words were too startling.

‘So are you happy at last, having killed my mother?'

‘We'll talk about it later, when I don't have a headache.' That was Mrs William, whose deep voice possessed carrying power without needing to be raised. No hint of outrage, merely a matter-of-fact statement.

‘Headache! I wish to hell I'd given it to you!'

‘You did, dear.'

‘I meant with a sledge hammer, you blasted fool! I knew what you were about the moment you followed her upstairs.'

‘You're right, William. And please don't work yourself up further when I say it makes a change. I did want a confidential chat with your mother. I thought the moment right for it, but I was wrong. She was clearly preoccupied. Therefore, all I did was apologize for the evening having gone so badly, then left.'

‘So you say! I still have it you killed her!'

‘As you wish, dear. I don't understand, not having much of a brain – as you've told me often enough – why you should object if I did. You were never particularly fond of her. I've sometimes thought the only tears you would shed if not only she but your father and Ned were put underground would be crocodile ones.'

‘That's outrageous!' Mr William was heard to splutter.

His wife's response came soothingly. ‘Had you been born the older son you might have been quite good-tempered.'

‘Don't pretend with only me here, Gertrude, you've always wanted to be mistress of this house.'

‘Only since Madge Bradley has been here. She annoys me, as she does Ned, with her endless desire to please. Or, as I see it, her usurping ways. Had I any say she'd have been gone.'

‘Hang it, I should have left
you
at the altar!'

‘Yes, William. We have never been happy, but now I must continue to resign myself.'

Florence dragged herself away from the bedroom door. She wondered about that
now
as she sped silently forward. Had Gertrude Stodmarsh used it in relation to her mother-in-law's death? If so, why had that in any way altered matters? As she headed down the back stairs, Mr William's accusation still rang in Florence's ears. Surely he hadn't meant it literally about her killing his mother; it had to be that the shock of some … revelation, perhaps, had done so. Or was that wishful thinking, because it did not fit with the mosaic Florence had pieced together?

The following hour passed rapidly with not a moment to spare for introspection. She told Grumidge how she had found Miss Johnson. He agreed with her that the doctor should be fetched and saw no reason to bother His Lordship, or any other member of the family, by consulting with him beforehand, as Master Ned had instructed that seeing to her wellbeing was important to him. Doctor Chester arrived five minutes before Lord Stodmarsh requested Florence and Grumidge join him in his book-lined study.

‘My wife held you both in the highest estimation.' His eyes lingered fractionally on Florence's face.

‘We, along with all the other members of the staff, could not have hoped for a finer mistress.' It was Grumidge's voice that cracked. Florence wanted to say, ‘I loved her.' Bereft of other words, she nodded.

‘Thank you.' His Lordship's purpose in summoning them was to iterate that he relied with the utmost confidence on their keeping the house running as smoothly as possible. He would inform them of any alterations in the daily routine and their involvement in the funeral arrangements. Florence was just mentioning that Doctor Chester was with Miss Johnson in hope of easing her through the shock, when Ned entered the study.

‘Jolly good, Florie.' He aimed an approving look at her. ‘I told you, didn't I, Grandfather, she would see to Johnson's care.'

‘So you did and it's much appreciated, Mrs Norris. Please let me know what Chester has to say.'

‘Of course.'

‘My wife and she were devoted to each other.' His Lordship attempted a smile. ‘Lady Stodmarsh frequently said Johnson would have slain dragons for her.'

Alas, thought Florence, she hadn't been around, not actively so, when protection was most necessary. Would it have made a difference? Would she have perceived the need to do battle in time?

It was back to their responsibilities for her and Grumidge. They encountered Doctor Chester in the hall on his way out of the house.

‘Good to catch the two of you,' he spoke with his customary good-tempered briskness, ‘although I left word with Mrs McDonald that I'd given the old lady a sedative, which can be repeated every eight hours. She should sleep much of the time, but I do advise someone remaining with her. She's a sensible girl, that Molly, but another would do. I don't wish to bother Lord Stodmarsh further. Such a great loss – they were a devoted couple. Good day, if it can be called that.' With that he headed out through the front door.

‘I think,' Florence said to Grumidge as they headed back to the staff quarters, ‘that it would be best to let Molly return to her regular duties and for Annie Long to sit with Miss Johnson. Given that she's such a nervy type in general, and as Mrs McDonald doesn't think there'll be much work out of her today, I believe that would be putting Annie to the best use.'

‘It's your decision, of course, Mrs Norris, but what if she panics at some outcry from Miss Johnson, for instance, and upsets her still further?'

‘There is that possibility,' Florence returned Grumidge's keen-eyed look, ‘but I'll check to make sure that Doctor Chester's sedative appears to be working, and Miss Johnson is sleeping peacefully, when I take Annie up there. I'll tell her that as soon as she sees a hint of waking she is to leave the room immediately and fetch me. She has her weakness, but she is an obedient girl. I'm prepared to count on her not letting us down.'

‘Then you have my support, not that you need it, on this. And as you say, Molly will be very much needed elsewhere.'

It crossed Florence's mind, even with everything else she had on it, that Mrs McDonald might not have been imagining things when she'd said there seemed to be a growing fondness between the butler and the head housemaid. She then thought about her other reason for wanting a private conversation with Annie Long.

When the staff sat down to their breakfast, after the meal above stairs had been served, Florence as usual sat in the chair at the opposite end of the table from the one normally occupied by Grumidge. Today he had chosen to settle for tea and toast in his office. Mrs McDonald took his place, saying, ‘I'll be more than glad of the extra roominess provided by having no one to right or left. Though if I haven't lost a stone and a half within the last few hours it's a wonder!' Her sigh was followed by an inspection of the row of faces on either side of the table, which included, in addition to the maids, the young footman named Len, the chauffeur, and one of the under gardeners. ‘But there's not a whit of good in fading away, is there, Mrs Norris?'

‘No,' agreed Florence, noting that Annie was quivering, ‘we each need every ounce of strength we can muster.'

Platters of sausages, bacon, fried bread and grilled tomatoes were being passed around. Despite the savoury wisps of steam, the only two to fill their plates were Len, who though a beanpole of six foot always tucked in well, and Jeanie, the other kitchen maid, who was not usually a big eater. Pretty and pert, she tended to enjoy bringing eyes her way, especially Len's and those of the good-looking under gardener. ‘I know it's terribly sad and all that about the mistress,' she said, ‘but it's not like any of us has lost our mum, is it? Yes, she was nice, but when it comes down to it, we work for the family; they're not our nearest and dearest. Suit yourselves; I'm not walking around all bloomin' day with a long face.' To prove the point, Jeanie pinched a slice of fried bread from Len's plate and followed this up with a wink.

Molly shook her head.

‘That's enough, Jeanie,' said Florence mildly.

‘Not to be rude, Mrs Norris, but I don't see why. In this day and age we've all the right to our opinions.'

‘Not in my kitchen, you don't, Miss Cheeky!' Mrs McDonald shot back.

Emboldened by a grin from the under gardener, Jeanie tossed her head. ‘What us girls in service need to bring us out of the Dark Ages is unions looking out for us. Still, it won't bother me none getting the sack; though it'd be cutting off noses before the funeral.'

Florence chose to ignore her, rather than embolden her further. It would be better to take her aside later for an instructive chat. No point in wasting breath when Jeanie had the impetus of playing to an audience. Also, she might not be as callous as she sounded. People reacted differently to death, and putting on a mask of bravado would be typical of Jeanie, who hated being thought of as soft. What she always had in her favour was that, like Annie, she was a hard worker. Florence was pretty sure on looking down the table that Mrs McDonald had worked her thoughts round in the same direction as her own.

It was Annie who spoke now, barely above a whisper. ‘Lady Stodmarsh wasn't really old. My great-gran lived to be ninety-three.'

‘Boastful, aren't we?' Jeanie giggled maliciously.

‘Just talking kindly, which doesn't come easy for some,' returned Molly.

Jeanie looked expectantly at Len. ‘It would only be boastful,' he said with blatantly assumed meekness, ‘if Annie was to say that her great-gran reached her
grand
old age without an ache or pain in her life, and if she hadn't copped it when cycling up a mountain racing for England she'd still be with us.'

‘Oh, let's not get silly! At least give her corns,' Jeanie chirped back.

Annie's eyes blurred and her voice cracked. ‘She did have 'em. She suffered something cruel with her feet.'

‘Just goes to show, death can strike from head to toe.' Before the under gardener had finished smirking, Florence rose from her chair and walked around the table to help Annie out of hers.

‘Would you like me to lead the rest in prayer while you're gone?' Mrs McDonald asked solemnly. ‘'Cos I daren't think what the vicar would be thinking if he was here to hear such catty talk. Though I'm sure we can count on him arriving to comfort the bereaved before the day's out.'

This was one thing of which Florence had no doubts. The Reverend Pimcrisp, an occasional guest at Mullings, had always appeared to hold Lord and Lady Stodmarsh in less dubious regard than he did his other parishioners. She did not think this was accounted for by their position in Dovecote Hatch. Even so, given his lugubrious view that ninety-nine out of a hundred were destined for the pit because of some slip-up noted and underlined by a heavenly scribe, Mr Pimcrisp would inevitably sprinkle some pessimism as to Lady Stodmarsh's chances along with his crumbs of solace.

In the housekeeper's room, Florence drew out a chair for Annie and settled her in it before turning the one at the desk around to face her and sitting down herself. From her pocket she produced an unused handkerchief. ‘Wipe your eyes, dear, and take some slow, deep breaths.'

Annie did as bidden. She made a pathetic picture with her anaemic face blotched and her lank hair escaping from its pins, but the quivering lessened after a couple of minutes and the sobs reduced to the occasional sniff. Florence felt fairly secure in proceeding.

‘It's perfectly understandable you should break down, Annie, what with the bad news and Jeanie being so unkind just now. I promise to deal with her.'

‘Oh, please don't go after her, Mrs Norris.' Annie clutched the damp hanky in her lap with thin, reddened hands. ‘She didn't mean no harm, 'tis just her way, and I wouldn't want no falling out. Sometimes I wish I'd a bit of her spunk. Can't blame her and the others – 'cept Molly, she's different – for thinking me weak as water. 'Tis me own fault. 'Tisn't like I'm the only one got a shock this morning.'