Of course the subject was discussed below stairs. One could not possibly have a murder in the house and expect people not to speak of it, most particularly when they were all suspected-and one of them had to be guilty.
Mrs. Boden refused even to think about it, or to permit anyone else to.
“Not in my kitchen,'' she said briskly, whisking half a dozen eggs so sharply they all but flew out of the bowl. 'I'll not have gossip in here. You've got more than enough to do without wasting your time in silly chatter. Sal-you do them potatoes by the time I've finished this, or I'll know the reason why! May! May! What about the floor, then? I won't have a dirty floor in here.'
Phillips stalked from one room to another, grand and grim. Mrs. Boden said the poor man had taken it very hard that such a thing should happen in his household. Since it was obviously not one of the family, to which no one replied, obviously it must be one of the servants-which automatically meant someone he had hired.
Mrs. Willis's icy look stopped any speculation she overheard. It was indecent and complete nonsense. The police were quite incompetent, or they would know perfectly well it couldn't be anyone in the house. To discuss such a thing would only frighten the younger girls and was quite irresponsible. Anyone overheard being so foolish would be disciplined appropriately.
Of course this stopped no one who was minded to indulge in a little gossip, which was all the maids, to the endless patronizing comments of the male staff, who had quite as much to say but were less candid about it. It reached a peak at tea time in the servants' hall.
'I think it was Mr. Thirsk, when 'e was drunk,' Sal said with a toss of her head. 'I know 'e takes port from the cellar, an' no good sayin”e doesn't!'
'Lot o' nonsense,' Lizzie dismissed with scorn. 'He's ever such a gentleman. And what would he do such a thing for, may I ask?'
'Sometimes I wonder where you grew up.' Gladys glanced over her shoulder to make sure Mrs. Boden was nowhere in earshot. She leaned forward over the table, her cup of tea at her elbow. 'Don't you know anything?'
'She works downstairs!'' Mary hissed back at her.''Downstairs people never know half what upstairs people do.'
'Go on then,' Rose challenged. 'Who do you think did it?'
'Mrs. Sandeman, in a fit o' jealous rage,' Mary replied with conviction. 'You should see some o' the outfits she wears-and d'you know where Harold says he takes her sometimes?'
They all stopped eating or drinking in breathless anticipation of the answer.
'Well?' Maggie demanded.
'You're too young.' Mary shook her head.
'Oh, go on,' Maggie pleaded. 'Tell us!'
'She doesn't know 'erself,' Sal said with a grin. 'She's 'avinus on.'
'I do so!' Mary retorted. 'He takes her to streets where decent women don't go-down by the Haymarket.'
'What-over some admirer?' Gladys savored the possibility. 'Go on! Really?'
'You got a better idea, then?' Mary asked.
Willie the bootboy appeared from the kitchen doorway, where he had been keeping cavey in case Mrs. Boden should appear.
“Well I think it was Mr. Kellard!'' he said with a backward glance over his shoulder. “May I have that piece o' cake? I'm starvin”ungry.'
“That's only because you don't like 'im.' Mary pushed the cake towards him, and he took it and bit into it ravenously.
'Pig,' Sal said without rancor.
'I think it was Mrs. Moidore,' May the scullery maid said suddenly.
'Why?' Gladys demanded with offended dignity. Romola was her charge, and she was personally offended by the suggestion.
'Go on with you!' Mary dismissed it. 'YouVe never even seen Mrs. Moidore!'
'I 'ave too,' May retorted. 'She came down 'ere when young Miss Julia was sick that time! A good mother, she is. I reckon she's too good to be true-all that peaches-an'-cream skin and 'andsome face. She done married Mr. Cyprian for 'is money.'
' 'E don't 'ave any,' William said with his mouth full. ' 'E's always borrowin' off folks. Least that's what Percival says.'
'Then Percival's speakin' out of turn,' Annie criticized. 'Not that I'm saying Mrs. Moidore didn't do it. But I reckon it was more likely Mrs. Kellard. Sisters can hate something 'orrible.'
'What about?' Maggie asked. 'Why should Mrs. Kellard hate poor Miss Octavia?''
“Well Percival said Mr. Kellard fancied Miss Octavia something rotten,' Annie explained. 'Not that I take any notice of what Percival says. He's got a wicked tongue, that one.'
At that moment Mrs. Boden came in.
“Enough gossiping,'' she said sharply.”And don't you talk with your mouth full, Annie Latimer. Get on about your business. Sal. There's carrots you 'aven't scraped yet, and cabbage for tonight's dinner. You 'aven't time to sit chatterin' over cups o'tea.'
The last suggestion was the only one Hester thought suitable to report to Monk when he called and insisted on interviewing all the staff again, including the new nurse, even though it was pointed out to him that she had not been present at the time of the crime.
'Forget the kitchen gossip. What is your own opinion?' he asked her, his voice low so no servants passing beyond the housekeeper's sitting room door might overhear them. She frowned and hesitated, trying to find words to convey the extraordinary feeling of embarrassment and unease she had experienced in the library as Araminta swept out.
'Hester?'
'I am not sure,' she said slowly. 'Mr. Kellard was frightened, that I have no doubt of, but I could not even guess whether it was guilt over having murdered Octavia or simply
having made some improper advance towards her-or even just fear because it was quite apparent that his wife took a certain pleasure in the whole possibility that he might be suspected quite gravely-even accused. She was-' She thought again before using the word, it was too melodramatic, then could find none more appropriate. 'She was torturing him. Of course,' she hurried on, 'I do not know how she would react if you were to charge him. She might simply be doing this as some punishment for a private quarrel, and she may defend him to the death from outsiders.''
'Do you think she believes him guilty?' He stood against the mantel shelf, hands in his pockets, face puckered with concentration.
She had thought hard about this ever since the incident, and her reply was ready on her lips.
'She is not afraid of him, of that I am certain. But there is a deep emotion there which has a bitterness to it, and I think he is more afraid of her-but I don't know if that has anything to do with Octavia's death or is simply that she has the power to hurt him.'
She took a deep breath. 'It must be extremely difficult for him, living in his father-in-law's house and in a very real way being under his jurisdiction and constantly obliged to please him or face very considerable unpleasantness. And Sir Basil does seem to rule with a heavy hand, from what I have seen.' She sat sideways on the arm of one of the chairs, an attitude which would have sent Mrs. Willis into a rage, both for its unladylike pose and for the harm she was sure it would do to the chair.
'I have not seen much of Mr. Thirsk or Mrs. Sandeman yet. She leads quite a busy life, and perhaps I am maligning her, but I am sure she drinks. I have seen enough of it in the war to recognize the signs, even in highly unlikely people. I saw her yesterday morning with a fearful headache which, from the pattern of her recovery, was not any ordinary illness. But I may be hasty; I only met her on the landing as I was going in to Lady Moidore.'
He smiled very slightly. 'And what do you think of Lady Moidore?'
Every vestige of humor vanished from her face. 'I think she is very frightened. She knows or believes something which
is so appalling that she dare not confront it, yet neither can she put it from her mind-'
“That it was Myles Kellard who killed Octavia?'' he asked, stepping forward a pace. 'Hester-be careful!' He
