“Yes ma’am. It seems Edith is poorly again.”
Emily met Loretta’s eyes in the glass, and there was a dry humor in them, startling and unexpected; it indicated a sharpness of perception that was unnerving.
“She’ll be completely better tomorrow,” Loretta said with conviction. “I promise you.”
Edith was indeed up with the lark the next morning, but she was in a vile temper. Whatever had been said to her, she blamed Emily for it and held a bitter grudge. She followed Emily around, overseeing her work—especially the ironing, which she knew was her weakest point—criticizing the slightest error, until Emily lost her temper and told her she was a fat, idle, mischief-making slut, and if she put half as much effort into doing her own job as she did into meddling in other people’s, then no one else would need to cover for her.
Edith threw a bucket of cold water at her. Emily’s first thought was to retaliate by hitting Edith as hard as she could across her stupid face. But that would undoubtedly get her dismissed, and then she would discover nothing. She took the opposite course and stood in the middle of the laundry room floor, shivering and dripping. Joan, who had heard Edith shriek in fury, appeared in the doorway and saw Edith with the empty bucket in her hand and Emily’s pathetic state.
Emily thought for a moment what she must look like, how furious her mother would be and how absurd the whole situation was, and was terrified she would burst into giggles. To smother the slight hysteria she felt rising inside her she pulled her apron up to cover her face and stifled her laughter in its ample folds.
Joan disappeared, and two minutes later the butler came in, his face pink, his sideburns bristling.
“Edith! Whatever’s come over you, girl? You can stay here till Mrs. York wants you, and iron all the rest of the sheets.”
“That’s not my job!” Edith protested with outrage.
“Hold your tongue, and do as you’re told! And there’ll be no dinner for you today, or tomorrow either, if you give me any impertinence!” He turned to Emily gently and put his arm round her, holding her far more firmly than necessary. “Come now, get out of those wet things and then Mary’ll get you a hot cup of tea. You haven’t been hurt. You’ll be all right soon. Come, come. Stop crying, you’ll make yourself ill.”
Emily did not know if she could; her laughter was too close to tears to stop easily. After the loneliness, the cold, the tension and the strangeness it was a relief to let go and pour her feelings out. She felt Redditch’s arm around her, warm, surprisingly strong. It was really quite pleasant and she relaxed into it—then the appalling thought struck her that he might well misread her compliance. She had already noticed he seemed to like her a great deal, and had championed her more than once. That would be all she needed to lose control of this altogether!
She sniffed fiercely, commanded herself to behave, dropped her apron from her eyes and straightened up.
“Thank you, Mr. Redditch. You are quite right; it is nothing but shock because the water was cold.” She must not forget she was supposed to be a maid. She could hardly afford arrogance, or the kind of distance a lady might affect. “Thank you. You’re very kind.”
His arm fell away reluctantly. “Are you sure?”
“Oh, yes—yes, thank you!” She moved away slowly, keeping her eyes averted. This was preposterous! She was thinking of him as a man, not a butler! Or on second thought, he was a man! All men were men! Perhaps it was Society that was preposterous?
“Thank you, Mr. Redditch,” she said again. “Yes, I’ll go and get changed. I’m frozen, and a hot cup of tea would be lovely.” She turned and all but ran out of the room and along the corridor to the stairs.
By the time she came down into the kitchen again everyone had heard of the affair, and she was met with wide-eyed stares, whispers, and a snigger or two.
“Ignore them!” Mary said softly, bringing her a steaming cup and sitting down beside her. Her voice dropped till it was barely audible. “Did you really call her names? What did you say?”
Emily took the tea carefully, her hands still shaking. “I told her she was a fat, lazy slut,” she whispered back. “But don’t repeat that: Mrs. Crawford would have me out! I expect Edith’s been here for years and Mrs. Crawford’s always known her.”
“No, she hasn’t.” Mary moved a little closer. “She’s only bin ’ere two year, and Mrs. Crawford fer three.”
“Everyone seems new,” Emily said artlessly. “Why? It’s a good place; lovely house, fair wages, and Miss Veronica’s not hard.”
“Dunno. I suppose it must be the murder. I didn’t ’ear no one say as they would leave; all the same, everyone did.”
“That’s silly.” Emily kept her voice down, but she was excited. Perhaps she was on the verge of some real detecting. “Did they think the murderer would kill someone else—oh!” She affected amazement and horror, swinging round on her wooden seat to look at Mary directly. “You don’t think Dulcie was murdered, do you?”
Mary’s eyes, blue as the rings on the kitchen china, stared at her in disbelief. Then gradually the possibility took hold, and Emily was afraid she had gone too far. A second maid in hysterics in one day would certainly get her thrown out without any excuses. Even Redditch could not save her. She could have bitten her tongue for being so hasty.
“You mean pushed ’er outa the window?” Mary’s voice was almost inaudible. But she was made of sterner stuff than Edith; she did not hold with hysterics. They usually made people cross, and men hated them. And her mind was quite sharp; she could read, and had a pile of penny dreadfuls under her pillow upstairs. She knew all about crime. “Well, Dulcie was ’ere when poor Mr. Robert was killed,” she said with a tiny nod. “Mebbe she saw summink.”
“So were you, weren’t you?” Emily sipped her tea gratefully. “Well, you’d better be careful. Don’t speak to anyone about anything that happened then! Did you see anything?”
Mary was apparently unaware of the contradiction in Emily’s instructions. “No, I never did,” she said regretfully. “Important people never come into the kitchen, and I ’ardly never got out of it. I was only scullery maid then.”
“You didn’t see any strange people upstairs ever? People who shouldn’t have been?”
“No, I never.”
