The Wages of Sin Page 8

  We: he clearly identified himself with the Family in a way I couldn’t now, even if I ever would.

  Leak after leak went on my list. A rumble from his stomach reminded me that it was well past the hour of the servants’ morning break.

  ‘Shall we take a breather now?’ I asked with a laugh.

  To my delight he laughed too. ‘Bless you, gaffer, I might as well work on till dinner – it only wants an hour.’

  ‘And by then your clothes might be dry,’ I added with a grin, as we headed for the stairs and the nursery wing.

  By the time we had reached the guest wing, my stomach was joining his in protest. By mutual consent we suspended our task, heading to the servants’ hall for a veritable trencherman’s feast of roast lamb. There was no doubting the suppressed giggles and sniggers as George sat down; when I took a seat near him, the silence that fell upon the gathering was tense and awkward. It was only as Mrs Arden and Mrs Faulkner rose, catching my eye, that I recalled that the others could not speak until the senior servants had adjourned to the Room for their dessert.

  I touched George amicably on the shoulder as I left. ‘We’ll resume at one fifteen, shall we, where we left off?’

  He stood, touching his forelock. ‘One fifteen it is, gaffer.’

  ‘I should think your own clothes will be dry by then, George,’ Mrs Arden said, over her shoulder, as she curtsied to me to precede her.

  There was a plate of fruit for our dessert, and a bowl of early strawberries from one of the succession houses, which also, incidentally, cried out for George’s attention. Clearly there was far too much for one man to do, even if we added two or three skilled men to his apprentice, but I was aware, as his lordship was not, of the limitations of my budget.

  ‘Mr Rowsley?’ Mrs Faulkner was gesturing at the fruit.

  ‘I do beg your pardon. It has been a dispiriting morning, ladies. I cannot conceive why much of the work was not done years ago. I hate seeing neglect in a great house like this.’ Might I persuade his lordship to sell some of the attic’s contents? But that was a matter I ought not to discuss with even trusted companions like this. In any case, they probably had more pressing matters to discuss. ‘Strawberries, if you please. Pray, tell me: is there anything to report more to the point than dry rot in window frames?’

  The women exchanged glances. Passing a jug of cream, Mrs Arden spoke first: ‘To my mind there is no doubt that Maggie’s situation was suspected by a number of girls – I believe you felt the same, Mrs Faulkner? – but even now they are reluctant to break what I presume is a vow of silence, especially after that sermon yesterday morning.’

  Mrs Faulkner pondered. ‘Do you think there is more than what I might call a sisterly bond? I wondered if one or two were actively afraid to speak out – they were looking over their shoulders as they whispered their replies, as if they were afraid they might be overheard, with dire consequences. Shall I ring for coffee? I suspect we are all a little behindhand with our work today.’

  ‘Afraid? Not just esprit de corps?’ I asked. Mrs Arden’s blank face told me I had made a gaffe. ‘The junior servants sticking together against people like you two ladies with the power instantly to dismiss them?’

  ‘No. Absolute fear,’ Mrs Faulkner said decisively. ‘You could almost smell it.’

  ‘Does this mean that the man involved was – important? Someone – I can hardly believe I am saying this – someone like Mr Bowman?’

  There was a scratch at the door. The latest tweenie arrived with the coffee tray. Bobbing almost frantically, she backed out.

  Getting up awkwardly enough to suggest that her back was indeed still troubling her, Mrs Faulkner checked that the door was fully closed. ‘Mr Bowman may never be entirely sober but he would never trouble a child of that age. He’s more likely to kill the man who did. He sees himself as a father to them all, young men and young women alike, you understand: remote, perhaps bullying, but a father nonetheless.’

  I dared not voice my thoughts, that one of his lordship’s guests might be responsible. I dared not voice another thought even to myself.

  ‘By the way,’ Mrs Faulkner continued, still on her feet, ‘I have to confess I did not make my way to the gatehouse this morning.’

  ‘No sensible soul would!’ her friend exclaimed. ‘There’s no good to be gained turning up like a drowned rat. She’d just wonder what you were there for!’

  ‘Exactly. And I wanted to imply the visit was casual, and build up to what I fear will be an interrogation.’ She passed the cups of coffee – some of her ladyship’s special blend – before she sat down. ‘Did you get any information from George?’ she asked, so casually I knew my answer would disappoint her.

  ‘I am biding my time. All our conversation this morning was about the poor state of the roof and much of the woodwork. I thought he would be readier to talk when he was comfortable in his own clothes, and, of course, after his dinner-time beer.’

  ‘That’s another matter Mr Pounceman wants to stick his nose in – the beer allowance,’ Mrs Arden snorted. ‘He says water is good enough. Which I suppose it is, if it’s good water. Ours is so hard – you’ve no idea the effort it takes to get good lather. Ask the laundry maids. You wonder if he’ll dare tell his lordship that water is better than his burgundy.’

  ‘Not when he’s coming to supper with the county set, that’s for sure,’ her friend laughed.

  I hesitated. The idea of making beer part of anyone’s wages worried me. There were people who might want to follow Pounceman’s precepts, but the pressure of their fellow servants, sitting round the communal table, must be very hard to withstand. ‘I would like to be a fly on the wall if he did!’ I said truthfully. ‘Now, I fear I will keep George waiting, and in truth there is much to be done. We will be ready for our cup of tea this afternoon, without doubt.’

  The list of essential repairs got longer by the minute. We were now in the family wing, much extended to give loftier rooms for honoured guests and his lordship. In line with custom, her ladyship had given up her room, and now occupied the dowager’s suite further down the main corridor. Though the décor was the best in the whole house, her former quarters would be redecorated ready for the day when his lordship brought home a new wife.

  George gave a dry laugh. ‘When I was a lad it was my job to oil all the locks and hinges in the bedchamber corridors so people could go about their business each night without anyone knowing. Creaky floorboards too – I became an expert on them. So’s my apprentice. Not that he needs to be. It’s all changed now, hasn’t it, gaffer? The Family and their friends are supposed to behave themselves the same of the rest of us. People are so damned pious – begging your pardon, sir!’

  I laughed. ‘You sound regretful.’

  He sucked his teeth. ‘There’s good and bad to be said for it. Back when I was a lad, a wench in young Maggie’s state wouldn’t have had to run away. She’d have been looked after, proper. Yes, she’d have been sent away to another estate, but she’d have been cared for there, and the babe brought up decent. If it was a lad and a Family by-blow, then it would be educated and found a position. Apprenticed, if there was any doubt.’

  ‘And what if the baby was a girl?’

  ‘Same thing, really – a respectable position would be found. Then the mother – well, she might marry a local worker, or just be given a ring and become Mrs Something or Other and found a post in another great house. None of this “Never darken my door” business!’

  ‘“Darken my door business”?’ I repeated sharply.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, gaffer. I’m just drawing a conclusion. A girl isn’t going to flit off like that if she was going to be properly looked after, is she?’

  ‘So, assuming you’re right, and I’m not arguing, who would show the young woman the door?’

  He paused. ‘Many places, it’d be the housekeeper or the cook, wouldn’t it? Or even the steward. But I can’t see any of you three doing that. Can you?’ He looked me straigh
t in the eye, suddenly if only briefly treating me as an equal. ‘Now, I have to say I don’t like the look of that frame, do you?’ he continued with an awkward cough.

  I had to admit I didn’t, and made a note. So who would have dismissed young Maggie? Or did she indeed believe, when she left, that she was going to meet her lover?

  His lordship’s room was occupied by three or four maids, ostensibly beating curtains and wiping paint but actually giggling behind their hands. The laughter stopped immediately, and eyes were lowered as they curtsied. Off the main chamber was a dressing room, big enough to accommodate a full-size bed, but currently empty but for the usual cupboards and wardrobes, all in the latest style, and several free-standing mirrors. One of the cupboards was not properly closed. Had the contents of that been the cause of their hilarity? With George beside me I could hardly investigate.

  ‘That door in the corner connects to his late lordship’s dressing room,’ George said.

  ‘Can you imagine if one of them was turned into a modern bathroom?’ I murmured. ‘It would save all that tedious business of hip baths and washstands and chamber pots.’

  He stood stock still. ‘But what would the maids do with their time?’

  We had checked three or four more rooms further down the corridor before I raised the question of Maggie again. ‘There must be rumours around the House and the estate about who got Maggie with child, George. I’d rather they reached me, you know, before they got to young Harry Kenton’s ears. I’d say he’d be quick with his hands, if he was crossed.’

  George sucked his teeth, digging a thumbnail into a suspect sill before he spoke. ‘More dry rot there, gaffer.’ He looked around the room. ‘You may not like to hear this.’

  ‘Is it I they accuse?’ I tried to sound more disbelieving than furious.

  ‘Not exactly, gaffer. But they do say you must know. Or someone in the House must know. Mr Bowman, or Mrs Faulkner. Specially her, because – you know – of the … evidence …’ He turned bright red. ‘When my wife was a wench in service, it was part of the housekeeper’s job to check, you know, every month, that she was having … So the housekeeper would be the first to know if …’ He coughed. ‘If there was no blood, like.’

  For the life of me I could not imagine Mrs Faulkner indulging in the ritual monthly humiliation. I returned to what he had said earlier. ‘And they think whoever it is – and I can assure you it is not me – should have done more to protect her?’

  He looked at me shrewdly once again. ‘You would have, wouldn’t you, gaffer? But tell me, why has Mr Bowman flit off? He’d hear the footmen whispering and sniggering if it was one of them.’

  With her ladyship and his lordship both suddenly called away, there was no reason for Bowman to be in residence. But I did not care to follow out loud where that thought was leading me; after what Mrs Faulkner had said, it was certainly not to imagining the butler as a seducer. ‘Mr Bowman returns tomorrow. I give you my word I will speak to him then. Meanwhile, what about this room?’ I tried the handle. And again. I looked dis-believingly at George.

  Although most of the rooms had locks, very few had keys in the doors – after all, the House was always full of people ready to detect an interloper. We had simply walked into those we had checked so far, the locks and hinges beautifully oiled. This door refused to budge. Frowning, he fished in his pocket and produced a bunch of keys, some simply skeletons. With some confidence he tried one of them. Then another and another.

  ‘Looks like we’ll have to get in through the next-door room. It’s kept for particular friends of the Family,’ he said, leading the way. That door opened easily, but the connecting door was as tightly fastened as the one to the corridor. ‘Do you want me to force it?’ he asked. ‘It’ll show, of course.’

  ‘Any more subtle way of opening it?’

  ‘I can unscrew the lock. But even that might be noticed.’ He looked at me anxiously: if it were discovered, and he truly offended his lordship, would I be able to help him?

  I responded to his unspoken question with a slow shake of my head. ‘It would be hard to justify unless we had evidence of anything needing urgent repair. Let’s think about it, George. Now to the next. There should just be time.’

  There would have been, but for an urgent summons. Farmer Twiss’s milking parlour was losing its roof. George looked at me. ‘I’d best lend a hand if you’ll excuse me, gaffer.’

  ‘Excuse you? I’m leading the way!’

  IX

  I can hear them arguing, Nurse and Mamselle.

  ‘I am employed,’ Mamselle is saying, her voice rising and rising in anger, ‘to teach the Family’s children, not some workhouse guttersnipe.’

  Nurse is stern. ‘No one said anything about teaching, Mamselle. She just asked about those letters and I said I’d ask you, as a favour, like.’

  ‘Well, I tell you no – no favours!’

  So Mamselle doesn’t know what the letters mean, either.

  TEN

  It was a weary band of men, trooping back to the estate after we had not only covered the roof with tarpaulins, but shored up the end wall, which had been in danger of collapse. We were all soaked to the skin, and I was acutely aware that very few men would have the luxury of a hot bath and a change of clothes. It seemed I was to have both, and a good meal too. Mrs Faulkner had sent a note down to my house, telling me that she had the copper heating water for me, and a bedroom prepared for me to bath and change, if I cared to bring my evening clothes in a portmanteau.

  Like George earlier in the day, I left wet prints all through the passageways. A junior footman led the way up the back stairs, but I was gratified to be ushered into a guest bedchamber, complete with a roaring fire and a steaming hip bath. The footman, surely no more than sixteen, was solemn and silent as a valet, carefully unpacking and laying out my suit and removing the soaking garments I discarded. I was happy to turn down his offer to assist me as I dressed for dinner, but nonetheless he waited for me in the corridor to escort me back downstairs, where I received, to my embarrassment, a hero’s welcome and a glass of champagne.

  ‘Mr Rowsley,’ Mrs Faulkner said slowly, laying down her knife and fork at the end of a perfect meal, ‘Mrs Arden and I have been thinking. It might seem … strange … that the Family and Mr Bowman all shoot off at the same time. And do not forget my quite spurious errand for her ladyship,’ she added quietly.

  ‘And my trip to solve a trivial problem, of course.’

  She nodded. ‘Just because servants are told never to question their masters doesn’t mean they cannot speculate amongst themselves. As we are doing now. Mr Rowsley, what are your thoughts?’

  I clicked my fingers in irritation. ‘How could I forget? A few days ago, before the general exodus, I heard voices raised in what sounded like anger. But the noise was distorted by the rotunda – I couldn’t tell where the sound was coming from or who was speaking. And one night, passing the shrubbery on my way home, I heard another exchange – this time it was clearly between a young man and a young woman. When I heard what might have been a slap, I called out. But whoever was there melted into the darkness.’ I spread my hands apologetically. ‘I’m sorry. This doesn’t add anything to your … your speculation. But I agree with you that there have been a number of coincidences. I don’t know the Family well enough to say whether their behaviour is typical of them – though I can assure you that one or two of the employers I have served have been breathtakingly high-handed, changing their minds with complete indifference to others’ commitments.’

  Mrs Arden laughed. ‘Oh, indeed. I recall the day one lord told us to take our annual holidays the very next day – and then, just as we were ready to leave, changed his mind. Just like that. And you must recall Lady Miller, Mrs Faulkner …’

  Much as I would have liked to accompany Mrs Faulkner to the gatehouse, I knew it would make her delicate task worse. In any case, I had enough work to do, from riding round the estate to authorize essential work caused by yeste
rday’s weather to suggesting to George that he should pull together a band of skilled men to help him in the repairs to the House. Ideally I’d have told him to use estate workers, but we were so overstretched by the storm and by his lordship’s improvements – which could not indeed be stopped at this stage or even more money would be wasted – that we simply did not have enough hands at our disposal. Disconcerted by the sudden mental image of giant thumbs and fingers attached to tiny bodies, I corrected myself: we did not have enough skilled carpenters to call on.

  ‘Wellington or Shrewsbury, I thought. Maybe Ironbridge, though I don’t know there’d be many chippies there,’ he said. ‘Factories, mostly, that way.’

  ‘Where you have factories, you have workers’ houses. And where you have new houses you have all sorts of artisans.’

  ‘And not one of them good enough to work on the House, surely, gaffer. Jerry-sneak workmen, all of them!’

  ‘Fair enough. You know better than I. But I’d like you to talk to folk wherever you go.’

  He opened his mouth to argue, but shut it again firmly. Then he looked at me sideways. ‘And am I to be asking questions of them? About a certain young person?’

  ‘I see no harm in combining two errands, do you, George? Mother Blount may have seen another girl in distress, not Maggie at all. Let’s face it, innkeepers and publicans are likely to tell you the truth than me if I went poking my nose in – especially if you said, maybe, that a friend’s daughter had gone astray.’

  Nodding slowly, he shot out a strong, scarred hand. ‘You’re a good man.’ He rather spoiled the compliment by adding, ‘Whatever they say.’

  The behaviour of the maids in his lordship’s dressing room had intrigued me. So, when I had a moment, I made my way up again. Occasionally – and not just for show – I made use of my pad and pencil, adding items to the list we had made yesterday.

  A cursory opening and shutting of drawers and cupboards revealed nothing other than clothing. Until I found the cupboard which had been left open but was now closed – even locked. My key ring soon provided the answer – and soon I discovered the reason for the sniggers. The shelves were lined with books that were clearly pornographic. It was fortunate that most of the girls were farmers’ daughters, who would know about animals’ natural functions, even if they did not associate them being mixed with human inclinations. I locked the cupboard again. What were the implications of my find, other than that his lordship had pleasures I associated with some of my less likeable colleagues at school and then university? It was information I did not care to share – and certainly not with Mrs Faulkner and Mrs Arden. Possibly not even with Mr Bowman, who was returning later today. I had a sudden frisson of far from pleasurable anticipation: it was clearly my duty to accost him beforehand and ask if he had heard any rumours about Maggie’s condition. There might be other questions: if he had, had he acted on them?