Rosemary Aitken (24 page)

Lettie was arranging Miss Caroline’s hair – for what seemed like the umpteenth time that day – and now her mistress was looking in the glass and saying discontentedly, ‘I’m still not certain that I don’t prefer it down. I’m afraid the chignon makes me look severe. What do you think, Lettie?’

And Lettie, who knew that her opinion would matter not a jot, tried not to look impatient and answered dutifully, ‘Ah, but the chignon is very
à la mode
. And they will be sounding the gong for luncheon very soon. You don’t want to be . . .’ She stopped. There seemed to be a sudden fracas happening downstairs.

Miss Caroline had heard the noises, too. ‘Whatever’s that? That’s not a visitor, that’s a workman’s voice! One of the estate workers perhaps, who’s had too much to drink and burst into the house? Lettie, go and have a look and see what’s happening.’

Lettie was curious herself. There was not much excitement in a well-run house like this, and the promise of a scandal gave her a secret thrill – besides, it would be something to tell Effie, next time that they met. She hurried to the balcony that overlooked the stairs and leaned over the banister to get a better view. What she saw below her made her exclaim aloud.

‘Fayther! What the dickens are you doing, coming here! And in your carter’s clothes, as well!’ She could not believe her eyes. ‘And let Mr Wilson go. You can’t go treating the Major’s butler in that way, holding him up and shaking him like a sack of beans. You’ll lose me my position. What are you thinking of!’ She was already running down the stairs.

Fayther had let Wilson go when he caught sight of her and the butler was muttering and straightening his clothes – she would never be able to think of him as dignified again. But this was no smiling matter. Major Knight himself had burst out of the study now, and was sounding absolutely furious. ‘Now look here, my man, I don’t know who you think you are, but you can’t come stalking in . . .’

Fayther whirled around to face him. ‘Can’t I? Well, it seems you’re wrong because I damty have. This is a family matter, an emergency. I am Ernie Pearson, that there is my daughter, and I want to talk to her.’

Lettie closed her eyes in horror. She knew what this must be about – though she hadn’t said a word to anybody yet. She tried to rescue a little dignity. ‘But Fayther! Can’t it wait until I’m free? You can see that I’m in the middle of my chores. Miss Caroline—’

He cut her off. ‘I don’t give a tinker’s fiddle for Miss Caroline. And as for your position, what difference does it make? If you’re so blessed fond of working here, you should have thought of that before and not got yourself in this disgrace.’ He reached up to where she had halted on the stair, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her roughly down the last few steps to him.

‘Now, look here my good fellow!’ The Major had put on his blustering tone of voice. ‘You can’t just force your way into this house and demand to talk to my servants when it pleases you. Wilson, escort this fellow to the servants’ stairs and see that he leaves the premises at once. And you, sir, will go quietly – or shall I ring for help? Some of my outside staff are hefty chaps and as it happens there’s a policeman in the house . . .’ He had gone over to the bell-pull and had one hand on it.

This threat had an immediate effect. Fayther quietened down and stopped his hollering, but all the same he didn’t let her go. ‘Oh, I’ll go and welcome – but Lettie comes with me.’ If anything he tightened his grip upon her arm.

‘Fayther!’ Lettie almost squealed. ‘Let me go! You’re hurting! And I can’t just go with you. I’m supposed to be on duty . . .’

Fayther gave a bitter laugh. ‘On duty, is it? I’ll give you “on duty” when I get you home.’ He had been drinking, she could smell it on his breath, and ale had made him reckless, like it always did. He turned to Major Knight. ‘She hasn’t told you then? I didn’t think she would have. Well, I’ll save her the trouble. She won’t be coming back. She’s going to be married, aren’t you, dirty little cow? I’ve just had Bert Symons come and tell me so – though he wanted money to go through with it, young scoundrel that he is! I nearly had to bruise my knuckles knocking sense into the boy.’

‘Lettie? What’s the matter?’ That was Miss Caroline, coming from her room to look down from the balcony herself, with her afternoon dress still all unbuttoned down the back. ‘Don’t you know I’m waiting?’

Fayther looked up at her. It must have been the drink, because he said – as though she were of no account at all – ‘Well, you’ll be waiting a long time then, ’cause she’s coming home with me. I’m going to keep her under lock and key until we get a special licence through. You’ll have to learn to dress yourself, miss, like the rest of us.’

‘Papa? What is going on here?’ Miss Caroline was shocked, as well she might have been. Nobody ever spoke to her like that.

The Major cleared his throat. ‘It seems that Lettie is leaving us, my dear. This is her father and he’s come to take her home and, if I understand aright, then it is just as well. It seems she’s got herself in terrible disgrace, so I could not possibly have kept her on, in any case.’ He looked at Lettie. ‘Well, girl, you have caused us all embarrassment, at a moment when we have a luncheon guest as well, to say nothing of leaving my daughter in the lurch without a maid. I hope that you are proud of what you’ve done?’

Lettie made an effort to protest. ‘It isn’t my fault that Fayther came bursting in like this. I didn’t know . . .’

The Major cut her off. ‘From what I understand, it is entirely your fault. If I found my daughter – god forbid – in the same predicament, no doubt I’d feel equally incensed. Now I am not a harsh man; I shall see that you are paid what you are owed this week, despite the fact that you have forfeited your post – but you may take your notice as of now. You need not even go upstairs to fetch your things. I will have them sent over – just give Wilson the address. Wilson, see these people out and let the kitchen know that lunch will be delayed until one-fifteen. Caroline, go back and ring the parlour maid to help you dress. I’ll put an advertisement into the press today for someone permanent.’

And he turned back to the study, went in and closed the door.

There was a silence, broken by Miss Caroline who called down tearfully, ‘Now look what you’ve done, you selfish, thoughtless girl! Left me without a proper maid – and at a time like this! When I am going to sit by Alex Dawes at lunch! And just when I’d got used to you, and trained you properly! Now what on earth am I supposed to do?’ She turned on her heel and flounced angrily away – though because of the buttons her exit was a little less impressive from the rear.

Wilson did his best to take control of things. ‘Then Mr Pearson, is it? If you’d care to come this way? The servants’ entrance is downstairs at the back.’

‘It’s not the servants’ entrance this time, it’s the exit,’ Fayther said. ‘And the last time you go through it either way, my girl!’ He still had hold of her and bundled her along. ‘And after all the trouble that your stepmother went to, pulling strings to see you got the job! Well, I hope you’re pleased with what you’ve brought us to! Having to bribe the grocer’s boy to marry you and threaten him with all sorts if he didn’t get a special licence before your trouble starts to show – I suppose he took advantage, though he swears you led him on.’

Lettie said nothing; she was too full of tears, though there was a good deal more angry shouting to be endured as she was hustled home. But as her stepmother told her firmly, as she locked her in the box-room without anything for tea, Lettie Pearson was a lucky girl. It could have been the workhouse for her and the child, but it hadn’t come to that.

Bert had obviously changed his mind again and would have wormed his way out of this wedding if he could, but – however cross he was – good old Fayther had stood up for her, so she would still be married and it would be all right.

Alex was in the study, completely at a loss. The sounds from the hallway had subsided now but there was no sign of his host returning, even so.

He thought of pouring another brandy as he’d been invited to but the decanter was almost empty and he did not like to take the little that was left. Instead he found himself walking around the room pretending to be interested in the photographs. There were a great many portraits showing Major Knight when young – looking quite dapper in his uniform – and pictures of him dressed for various physical pursuits (cricket and riding in particular), a few shots of him posing with the big game he had shot, and one extraordinary photo showing him in shorts, looking knock-kneed and scrawny in a tug-of-war.

Alex was embarrassed by the knees. He moved away towards the other wall where there were more formal photographs of groups. He found the Baden-Powell one, and lots of others showing men lined up in serried ranks both with horses and without them. Perhaps his father would be in one of them? He ran his eye along the lists of names: Bellwether, Hinton, Selwyn, Royston, Knight . . . He paused. Royston. Why did that ring a bell? Surely he had heard it somewhere, recently?

He looked more closely at the individual in the photograph – a rather dashing fellow with a curled moustache and handsome side-whiskers, whose thick hair was combed backwards in a fetching wave like Bronco Billy in the poster outside the picture house. He was still staring at it when Major Knight came in.

‘Storm in a teacup about one of the maids,’ the Major said. ‘I’ve given her her marching orders, so that’s disposed of that. Sorry to have to abandon you like that. Found someone in your family?’ he added heartily, coming over to look at the photograph as well.

Alex shook his head. ‘It’s this fellow Royston I was looking at. It’s not a common name and someone was enquiring for a Royston recently at the police station. Called him Captain Royston; could this be the one?’

‘I suppose it’s possible.’ Knight had turned away, taken a bottle from a drawer and was refilling the decanter as he spoke. ‘Though he was a London man; don’t know why they would be looking for him here. Lieutenant when I knew him, but no doubt he rose. Brave as a tiger – though headstrong as a charging elephant when he chose to be.’

‘But you did know him?’ Alex asked, aware that this was sounding like an interview. ‘He was in the Devonshires?’

‘Only on secondment, as I remember it.’ Knight came across again and peered at the photograph again. ‘That was taken outside Paardeburg. Dickie Royston was seconded as my aide de camp – my usual fellow had taken a bullet in the foot. He was moved on shortly after; I don’t know what happened to him then.’ He paused and frowned, waving the decanter vaguely in the air. ‘Though come to think of it – didn’t I hear he was cashiered? Can’t remember at this distance. Brigade would tell you, if you wrote to them. Why do you want to know?’

Alex took refuge in a vague official stance. ‘Concerns a missing person, that’s all I can say. Police business – confidential as I’m sure you’ll understand. But this man may be relevant. Cashiered, did you say? In which case he would not be entitled to use a rank at all. What would that have been for? Cowardice? Desertion?’

Knight had gone back to the table and refilled his glass. ‘Shouldn’t think so for a minute. Not his style at all. Conduct unbecoming in an officer, I expect you’ll find. Attacking a superior, perhaps – I can imagine him doing that when he was in his cups. Can’t remember now.’ He barked a laugh. ‘Stealing the regimental silver, I wouldn’t be surprised, and selling it to put the money on a horse.’

‘That fits with what we know about the missing man,’ Alex said, too eagerly. He was trying to remember Jenkins’ account of his interview with Broadbent – and wishing heartily that he had paid a little more attention at the time. ‘We were told
he liked a flutter.’

Knight swallowed his brandy in a single draught. ‘More than a flutter, in Dickie Royston’s case. Bet on anything – two drops of water on a window pane if there was nothing else. And he never seemed to learn. Even when he lost (which he generally did) he was always convinced that the next one was “cert” and if he didn’t have the stake money he’d try to borrow it – and with his looks and charm it is surprising how often he got away with it.’ He put down the glass. ‘Tried to touch me for a shilling once – wanted to bet on which of two red ants would cross the compound first.’

‘When you were his superior?’ Alex was amazed. He tried to visualize himself asking ‘Old Broughton’ for a loan to gamble with, but his imagination failed.

Another snort of laughter. ‘That’s the sort of feckless fellow Dickie Royston was. Of course I didn’t come across with it – and just as well, he would have lost the lot. All part of his love of taking risks I suppose. Mentioned in dispatches several times. I was sorry when I heard that he had been cashiered, but I was not surprised. He was always rushing in where wiser men would pause. Haven’t thought about the chap for years. As to what became of him, I have no idea at all.’ He was locking up the decanter in its wooden frame again and Alex realized that the subject was being closed as well.

He made a last attempt. ‘But I can tell my superiors what you’ve just said to me? It may turn out to be significant.’

‘Oh you’re welcome to tell them anything you like – I only wish that I could help you more and I wish you better luck with your enquiries elsewhere. Might do your promotion prospects a little bit of good.’ He favoured Alex with a mighty wink. ‘And now it is time to join the ladies, what? But not a word to them about all this, of course.’

And Alex was obliged to sit beside Miss Caroline at lunch, making small talk and enduring the Major’s private smiles, while the unexpected information he had gleaned burned like an impatient fire in his brain. In the end he could not bear it any more. He excused himself from going out riding after all (on the pretence that there was a threat of coming rain) and – to the evident disappointment of his hosts – hurried back to tell Sergeant Vigo and Jenkins what he knew.

Walter got his crutches and a proper curse they were. He hadn’t imagined it would be so difficult. The doctor had fitted a much lighter splint by now, but his foot and leg were still swathed in bandages and he had been warned that his bad ankle would not yet bear his weight, so he was reduced to virtually hopping everywhere, supported by his arms.