“Albert’s put your box there; you unpack it, and when Miss Veronica rings”—she pointed to the bell Emily had not noticed before—“you’ll go down and attend to her dressing for dinner. She’s out now, or I’d have taken you to her.”
“Yes, Mrs. Crawford.”
And the next minute she was alone. It was ghastly. All she had was a box of clothes, a narrow bed as hard as a bench, three blankets to keep warm, no fire, no water except what she fetched for herself to put in that basin, and no light but for one candle in a chipped enamel holder; and she was at the beck and call of a woman she had never met. Jack was right: she must have lost her wits! If only he had forbidden her, if only Aunt Vespasia had begged her not to do it!
But Jack was not worried about her loneliness, the bare floor, the cold bed, the chamber pot, the strip wash in one basin of water, or the obedience to a bell. He was afraid because someone had committed murder in this house— twice—and Emily was an intruder who had come to try and catch the murderer.
She sat down on the bed, her legs shaking. The springs creaked. She was cold and her throat ached with the effort not to weep. “I am here to find a murderer,” she said to herself quietly. “Robert York was murdered—Dulcie was pushed out of a window because she saw the woman in cerise and told Thomas. There is something terrible in this house, and I am going to find out what it is. Thousands of girls, tens of thousands all over the country live like this. If they can do it, so can I. I am not a coward. I do not run away just because things are frightening, and certainly not because they are unpleasant. They are not going to beat me before I’ve even begun!”
At half past five the bell rang, and after straightening her cap in front of the piece of mirror on the mantel shelf and retying her apron, Emily went down to meet Veronica York, carrying the candle.
On the landing she knocked on the bedroom door and was told to go in. She did not glance at the room; she had seen it before, and curiosity would not do. And indeed, her real interest was in Veronica herself.
“Yes ma’am?”
Veronica was sitting on the dressing stool in a white robe tied at the waist, her black hair falling loose like satin ribbons down her back. Her face was pale but the bones were beautiful, her eyes large and dark as peat water. At the moment her fragile skin was a little blue around the slender nose and across her high cheeks, and she was definitely too thin for current fashion. She would need a bustle to plump out those narrow hips, and swathes to make her bosom look fuller. But Emily had to admit she was a beautiful woman, with the qualities of delicacy and character that haunt the mind far longer than mere regularity of feature. There was passion in her face, and intelligence.
“I’m Amelia, ma’am. Mrs. York employed me this afternoon.”
Suddenly Veronica smiled and all her color returned; it was like illumination in a gray room.
“Yes, I know. I hope you’ll like it here, Amelia. Are you comfortable?”
“Yes thank you, ma’am,” Emily lied bravely. What she had been given was all a maid could expect. “Will you be dressing for dinner, ma’am?”
“Yes please. The blue gown; I think Edith put it in the first cupboard.”
“Yes ma’am.” Emily went through to the dressing room and brought back a royal blue velvet and taffeta gown, cut low, with balloon sleeves. It took her a few moments to find the right petticoats and lay them out.
“Yes, that’s right, thank you,” Veronica agreed.
“Would you like your hair done before your gown, ma’am?” It was the way Emily herself dressed—it was so easy to drop a hair or a pin, a smudge of powder or a perfume stain.
“Yes.” Veronica sat still while Emily took the brush, then polished the long shining hair with a silk scarf. It was lovely, thick and dark as a moonless sea. Had Jack looked at it with such admiration? She forced that idea away. This was no time to tease herself with jealousies.
“You will find we are a little behind,” Veronica said, interrupting her thoughts. Emily saw her shoulders stiffen and the muscles pull across the back of her neck. “I am afraid my previous maid had—a terrible accident.”
Emily’s hand with the comb stopped in the air. “Oh.” She had decided to affect ignorance. None of the servants had told her, and the sort of person she was pretending to be would never have read about the “accident.” “I’m sorry, ma’am. That must have been distressing for you. Was she hurt badly?”
The answer was very quiet. “I’m afraid she was killed. She fell out of the window. Don’t worry, it wasn’t the room you are in.”
Emily saw Veronica’s eyes on her in the mirror. Deliberately she put on an expression of surprise and sympathy, knowing she must be careful not to overact.
“Oh, that’s terrible, ma’am! The poor creature. Well, I’ll be very careful. I don’t like heights anyway, never did.” She began coiling Veronica’s hair and pinning it, sweeping it away from her temples. At any other time she would have enjoyed the task, but now she was nervous. She must look skilled, they had to believe this was her profession. “How did it happen, ma’am?” It would be only natural to ask.
Veronica shivered. “I don’t know. No one does. Nobody saw it happen.”
“Did it happen at night then?”
“No, it was in the evening. We were all at dinner.”
“How awful for you,” Emily said with what she hoped sounded more like compassion than curiosity. “I hope you didn’t have guests, ma’am.”
“Yes we did, but fortunately they left before we discovered what had happened.”
Emily did not probe any further. She would be able to find out from one of the other servants who the guests had been, although she was prepared to wager one had been Julian Danver.
“What a terrible time you’ve had.” She curled the last strand of hair and put in the pins. “Is that comfortable, ma’am?”
Veronica turned her head one way and then the other in front of the glass. “You’ve done that very well, Amelia. It’s not how I usually wear it, but I think it’s an improvement.”
