went and got your headache. Have a word with her on your own, and afterward you and me can decide if anything she has to say about Mr. Gallagher’s disappearance is important. As for now, I’m off to ring Milk Jugg and ask him to find out whether her ladyship forgot to untie the first knot, so to speak.”
“You brave soul! I’ll keep my fingers crossed that he doesn’t bang down the phone.”
“Look for Mrs. Cake in the room next to the butler’s pantry. That’s where she sits most of the time, resting her foot and doing a bit of mending.”
“Should she be hobbling downstairs each morning?”
“I suppose she feels she’d better. The things some women do for fear of losing their jobs!” Mrs. Malloy sighed heavily. I assured her that under similar circumstances I would hire an around-the-clock nurse for her who looked like Cary Grant and sang like Elvis, and we went our separate ways: she to the library, where she could telephone in privacy, and I down the passageway to the left of the kitchen. No sign of anyone else about. No footsteps hurrying to catch up with me. No anguished male voice begging me to turn around and fall into his arms. It was a relief, I told myself staunchly. Ben could at least have left a note on the pillow. No, scrap that thought! Pillows, like mantelpieces, are rarely the deposits for good news. They are for missives that begin:
It was pleasant to remind myself that I was none of those things as I entered a cozy parlor. Maybe it was the quarry-tiled floor and deep windowsill that made me feel more at home than I had yet done since coming to Cragstone. There was a feeling here that reminded me of my kitchen. Instead of copper pots and pans hanging from a rack above the cooker, there were equally well-polished kettles and platters on shelves around the walls. I stood in the doorway drinking in the atmosphere as if it were a life-restoring elixir. The most comforting sight of all was the woman seated in a worn easy chair with her feet on a hassock, the left one was bandaged to the ankle. She was stout and cheerful-looking, with a rough red face and gray hair permed to last.
“Good morning,” she said. “I expect you’re that nice young gentleman’s wife. Such a relief, him taking over the cooking, especially with the caterers letting Mr. and Mrs. Hopkins down for Thursday.”
“Yes, I’m Ellie Haskell. I do hope your ankle is better.”
“On the mend. You sound a bit choked up. Coming down with a cold?”
“I don’t think so.” But was it something to consider? It could be my excuse for holing up in my bedroom. I could claim that the headache had been the precursor. Thank goodness I had gone straight to bed! How wretched I would feel if anyone, especially Ben-with the Hopkinses so dependent upon his help-were to catch what might even turn out to be the flu! And-I didn’t grind my teeth because it might have frightened Mrs. Cake-what anguish for my once-devoted husband if I should pass from this world without ever telling him I forgave him and that venomous woman… I returned to what senses I had left. Death was out. Ariel had said she couldn’t take any more of it. And, most important of all, there were my own children to consider.
“I’ve been wanting to meet you, Mrs. Cake.”
“Sit yourself down in that chair opposite mine. It’s right pleased I am to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Haskell.”
“Thank you.” I did as directed. “Ariel speaks of you fondly.”
“The little lost lass is what I call her.” The voice was kindness itself. “She doesn’t know what she wants and takes it out on Mrs. Hopkins; then around they go with the dad in the middle. And now they’ve had that poor old vicar drop dead in the conservatory, adding fuel to the fire.” She picked up a pillow slip from the table next to her chair and began stitching up a seam.
I didn’t pretend not to know what she was getting at. “You’re talking about Mrs. Hopkins’s idea that Lady Fiona murdered her husband.”
“I wouldn’t have brought it up if your friend Mrs. Malloy hadn’t broached the matter in our talks. It’s upsetting, and not just for Ariel and her dad. Mavis has got wind of Mrs. Hopkins’s suspicions. She’s not usually a gabber, but she hasn’t taken to Mrs. Hopkins, and if there was to be a real blowup she might do some repeating of what she’s heard in this house. I’d hate for Lady Fiona to be upset.”
“You like her?”
“Yes, I do. She’s odd, there’s no getting round that. She and Mr. Gallagher made quite a pair that way. Eccentric wouldn’t be putting it too strongly. I suppose that’s why they got along.”
“They were happy?”
“Very, I would say. And I’ve worked for them these twenty years or more.” Mrs. Cake rethreaded her needle and started on another seam. “They weren’t the sort to show their feelings, not in a public way. But it was clear they meant the world to each other. Surprising, you might say, because from what I’ve heard theirs didn’t start off as a great romance. But they each knew how the other thought, and in my book that’s a good foundation for the sort of love that grows and lasts.”
“Mrs. Malloy and I have been told this wasn’t the first time that Mr. Gallagher left home on the spur of the moment.”
“She said you got that from her sister, Miss Tabby. There’s a woman you can tell has had her heart broken.” Mrs. Cake shook her head sadly. “Same old story-married man-but new every time it hits home. A pity if she lets the past stop her from making things permanent with the good man she’s now found.”
I didn’t advance the information that the previous love interest had been Mr. Rochester from
“There!” Mrs. Cake slapped herself on the wrist. “What a one I am for spilling the beans! But at least I haven’t said his name. I’m a talker right enough, but that doesn’t mean I can’t keep the occasional secret. As I’ve said to Ariel, my lips are always sealed when I’m told straight out to keep mum.”
I wanted to say she had that in common with my husband; instead, I brought her back to Mr. Gallagher by asking how frequent had been his disappearances.
“I’d say he’s taken off half a dozen times since I’ve been here,” responded Mrs. Cake. “Some bee would land on his bonnet and away he’d flit to a place in the back of beyond with a name only the native inhabitants can pronounce. Even Lady Fiona wouldn’t know where he’d gone until a letter or postcard would arrive.”
“Didn’t she get upset?”
“You’ve met her, Mrs. Haskell. She floats through life; most things slide right off her shoulders.”
“She never got angry with him for not bothering to let her know he was going away?”
“It does seem odd to the likes of you and me.” Mrs. Cake smiled comfortably. “But we’re talking about two people living on a totally different plane from the rest of us. All her ladyship ever said to me was that Mr. Gallagher couldn’t bear goodbyes. And my guess is that came from being brought up by Nanny Pierce. I wouldn’t be surprised if every time he said he was going out, either by himself or with friends, she got upset and he ended up staying home. Far too possessive, that woman! I’m not surprised her great nephew has stayed clear of her over the years. She explains that by saying he married a woman that’s not up to snuff, but who knows? Anything less than him being Lord Mayor of London wouldn’t count for much. Having her great-niece come to live with her should make her happy. But Nanny blows hot and cold with her too.”
“Really?” Was there any hope of Val being booted out in the next ten minutes?
“One minute it’s all working out wonderfully, and the next you hear a long list of complaints from Nanny. Something has been misplaced, she’s left on her own too much: that sort of thing. I really don’t know how her ladyship managed with having her underfoot for so long. Finally, it was Mr. Gallagher who put his foot down and said it would be best if Nanny was moved to the Dower House. There was a scene I couldn’t help hearing. She was shouting and carrying on like you wouldn’t believe.”
“When was that?”
“Just a couple of days before he left.” Mrs. Cake, having finished with the pillow slip, picked up a linen table runner to work on.
“So she had a reprieve on going to the Dower House?”
“That’s right. She didn’t move in there until this house was sold.”
“How did Miss Pierce react to Mr. Gallagher’s most recent departure?”
“As always, she blamed Lady Fiona for his need to get away, this time because of the upset-that had to be all her doing. But-and I could be wrong-I sensed some relief on Nanny’s part. And looking at it from her side, the timing couldn’t have been better. It gave her the opportunity to put that row behind her, perhaps forget it even happened. There’s no doubt her memory is failing some; she’s old. I should be kinder in my thoughts.” Mrs. Cake stopped
