been landscaped by Capability Brown, stood an Elizabethan mansion, once the home of an ancient family and now recently converted into a country house hotel. Dalling Hall was reputed by the locals to be haunted, and the new owners had taken up the story with enthusiasm. But for the sake of nervous souls they had removed sightings of the old lady in a long grey dress from the staircase of the hall to the tiny old church across the park, where the Dalling family had worshipped for generations.
Lois Meade had worked as a cleaner in the hall when it was in a transitional stage, still lived in by a single family. Those people had bought the estate from the Dallings, hoping to get grants to restore the crumbling mansion, but had failed, and sold it on to a hotel consortium with plenty of money to put it back to its former glory. Lois had left the job when the family moved out, but a couple of weeks ago had received a telephone call from the manager of the hotel, saying he’d heard about New Brooms, needed some extra cleaners, and was she up and running yet? She’d not wanted to turn him down, and so decided to say yes, do the job herself for a while, and see how things went.
This Tuesday morning, a Tuesday she was to remember, she parked well out of sight of the main building. All the other cars were BMWs, or Bentleys or Rollers. “Don’t worry,” she’d said to the manager, “I won’t lower the tone.” She went in through the staff entrance, and asked to see the other cleaners to establish a useful timetable. This done, she took her own things and climbed the stairs. She would start on the bedrooms – only three couples staying – and work her way downwards.
It was good to be cleaning again, she decided. It gave you time to think, and she had some thinking to do. So far, she had only two definites on her team. Bridie Reading had phoned with a new and positive voice, and said she’d be keen, if Lois thought she could do it. Gary Needham was the other definite. The more she thought about him, the more she hoped she’d done the right thing in hiring him. It was risky, but she could see there’d be clients where a man going in to clean would be useful. He had charm, too, and she had to admit that she had undoubtedly succumbed.
Then there was Sheila Stratford, back from her sister’s, and ready for interview on Lois’s way home from the hall. With any luck, she’d be OK, and then Lois could go on down the list. She could even start Sheila and Gary on at the surgery straight away, if all went well. A couple of weeks previously, the doctor had looked at Jamie’s sprained ankle, and had chatted approvingly about New Brooms. He’d said immediately that he’d be her first customer, having just lost his regular woman.
Lois looked out of the window of the bridal suite and admired the view. You could be married at Dalling Hall, have your reception here, and honeymoon in this luxurious set of rooms, at a price. Gently rolling grassy slopes were dotted with sheep, and off to the right a wide lake, sparkling in the March sun, succoured at least forty wild duck, put there by the management and ready for execution by sporting guns in due course. Daffodils filled the garden, right up to the ditch that Lois had incredulously heard referred to by the previous owners as ‘the ha-ha’. Not far away, the ancient church, set on a small mound with a doll-size moat around it, seemed to Lois to complete a carefully composed picture.
How many ladies of the Dalling family had stood here and looked across the park as she did now? Lois tried to imagine what it would be like, but failed. Her own life had been bounded by small spaces and small concerns, the minutiae of daily existence and struggle to survive. She knew perfectly well that compared with some, she and her family were lucky, especially since they had moved into Doctor Rix’s old house. But hard work and frantic saving of every possible penny had enabled them to achieve this. The ladies of the Dalling dynasty must have taken it for granted, this huge house, the parkland and farmland that was theirs for as far as the eye could see, and beyond. Maids at their beck and call, and seamstresses putting in hours and hours of skilled work with flying fingers.
“Mrs Meade?” The sudden voice made Lois jump, and she turned round quickly.
“Goodness,” she said, “I was miles away. Hello, Hazel, what are you doing here?”
Hazel Reading smiled. “Looking for you, as it happens,” she said. “Hope you don’t mind, but the barman is a friend of mine, and he told me where to find you. I usually do a couple of hours in the bar here on the days they have weddings, so they know me.”
“Well, I have to get on,” said Lois, wondering what this was all about, and hoping it wasn’t a message from Bridie that she dare not deliver herself and had sent her daughter instead. “Is Mum all right?” she added. She supposed Hazel wouldn’t be looking so cheerful if there was something wrong.
“Fine,” said Hazel. She pulled her short jersey down to cover a bare midriff. A handsome girl, thought Lois, but seems years older than her age. She had a dark, gypsy look about her, and reminded Lois strongly of the young Bridie.
“No, it was about your cleaning business, Mrs Meade,” continued Hazel. “I know Mum’s working for you, and I had this idea that you might give me a job too? I’m good at housework and that, and can work fast. You learn that in a pub, when everybody’s shouting at you at once. It’s good experience for all kinds of things. Even Prue Betts can do it now, and she was hopeless at first.”
“Prue Betts?” said Lois, remembering the name from one of Derek’s jobs in Waltonby. “Isn’t her father the schoolmaster?”
Hazel nodded. “He don’t much like her working at the pub. Bit of a scene the other night, when that old Major Todd-Nelson took her home.”
Lois had heard of him, too. Bit of an old fraud, Derek had said. What was he doing with young girls like Prue? “Was he a nuisance?” she said.
“No, Prue says there weren’t nothing in it.” Hazel was dismissive. “He tried it on with me once or twice, but I soon put a stop to that. He’s not a bad bloke. It’s just one of the hazards of bein’ behind the bar!”
“So what happened about Prue?” Lois was curious. It would not be so many years before Josie would be wanting to serve and flirt from behind the safety of a pub bar, and Lois wanted to be ready for her.
“Her dad bawled out the major, and Prue, but it didn’t come to nothing more. My dad hates the major…says he should be told to leave the village and that. But he don’t do no harm, I reckon. My dad always goes over the top… ‘Give the bugger a good thrashin’ – you know the way he goes on.”
Lois did indeed know, and reflected that one of these days Richard Reading’s good thrashings would bring him well-deserved retribution. “Well, Hazel, I must get on.”
She picked up her tools, but Hazel stood blocking the doorway. “What d’you think about the cleaning, then? Give me a try?”
Lois hesitated. Bridie had said nothing about this, and it occurred to Lois that she probably had not been told. Anyway, now was not the time or place, and she said as much to Hazel. “I’ll come round this evening, about seven. I need to see your mother, and we can talk about it then. Now,” she repeated firmly, “I must get on, so I’ll say cheerio.” She picked up her cleaning things, walked out past an irritated Hazel, and made for the bedroom at the end of the corridor, where two wedding guests had left it looking as though a hurricane had blown through. Her mind was still on Prue Betts, the major, and the thought that Hazel Reading seemed to know a great deal about many things. She might well be as good as she said, and just the sort of employee Lois was after. Especially bearing in mind the shadowy presence of Detective Inspector Hunter Cowgill, who had been so interested in Lois’s plans.
¦
Lois left the hall, and realized she was too early for her appointment with potential cleaner Sheila Stratford. She slowed down and looked across at the lake. She could park the car and go for a wander to look at the ducks. Or not, she thought, looking down at her thin shoes, which were fine for housework but useless for walking through wet grass and mud. There was the church. Maybe, if it was open, she could have a peek inside. She’d often wondered what it was like, so small and stuck in the middle of nowhere. There were services there on some Sundays; she’d seen that on notices pinned up in the hall reception. It’d probably be locked, but worth a look. She drove as far as she could get by car, then parked and walked up the last hundred yards of weedy path. A small bridge, only three or four metres long and bounded by iron railings, spanned the mock moat, and Lois came to the low, arched door, bleached by time and weather. She lifted a worn iron latch, and the door swung open heavily. A musty smell repelled her for a second or two, and then she walked forward, nearly falling headlong down a couple of steps that led down into the damp, dark interior.
Lois regained her balance, and waited until her eyes adjusted to the sombre light. It was very quiet. The first thing she noticed was the absence of chairs or pews in the main body of the church. Then, at the back, in what she supposed were the servants quarters, she saw three rows of age-blackened oak pews. So that’s where the menials sat. In the centre of the church and all round its sides were Dalling family memorials, large, highly decorated and
