“What?” Tellman stared at him.
“You’re supposed to be a valet,” Pitt repeated tensely. “Walk like one. Take your hands out of your pockets.”
Tellman swore under his breath, but he obeyed.
“This is a waste of time,” he said bitterly. “We should be back in London finding out who killed poor Denbigh. That’s something that really matters. Nobody’s ever going to sort this lot out. They hate each other, and always will. Even the bleedin’ servants won’t talk civilly to each other.”
He swiveled to look at Pitt, his brow puckered. “Did you know servants are even more particular about rank and status than their masters?” He let out his breath in a sigh. “Everyone’s got their job, and they’d let the whole house grind to a stop sooner than let one man do another man’s duty, even if it’s as trifling as carrying a coal bucket a few yards. Footmen won’t lift a damn thing if it’s the housemaid’s job. Stand and watch the poor girl struggle with it, they will. There’s so many of them I don’t know how they ever keep it all straight.” His lean face was tight-lipped with contempt. “We all eat in the servants’ hall, but the first ten carry their pudding into the housekeeper’s sitting room. I hope you appreciate, Superintendent, that you are considered the lowest-ranking gentleman here, so I have to follow after the other valets, in strict order of precedence.” It was said with a mixture of venom and contempt.
“I can see it bothers you.” Pitt carefully put his hands in his pockets. “Just remember what we are here for. You may be a poor valet, but what matters is that you are a good policeman.”
Tellman swore again.
They were walking around the outside of the building, observing the approaches, the cover afforded by outbuildings and shrubbery.
“Is all that locked at night?” Tellman jerked his head towards the facade with its rows of windows. “Not that it’d make a lot o’ difference. A good star-glazier’d cut the glass and be inside in a moment.”
“That’s why the gamekeeper is around all night with the dogs,” Pitt replied. “And we have the local police watching the roads and keeping an eye on the fields as well. The Ashworth Hall staff know their land far better than any outsider will.”
“Spoken to the gardeners?” Tellman asked.
“Yes, and the footmen and coachmen, grooms and bootboy, in case anyone shows up at the back door.”
“Can’t think of anything else to do,” Tellman agreed. He looked sideways at Pitt. “D’you think there’s any chance they’ll agree on anything anyway?”
“I don’t know. But I have some respect for Ainsley Greville. He seems to have them talking civilly, which after this morning is a very considerable achievement.”
Tellman frowned. “What happened this morning? Your Gracie came downstairs and said there was a terrible screaming going on, but she wouldn’t say what it was about. She’s a curious one, that.” He looked away, studying the gravel they were now walking over, their feet crunching noisily. “One minute as soft as warm butter, the next like you’d stuck your hand in a bed o’ nettles, all pride and vinegar. Can’t make her out. But she’s got spirit, and for a servant, she’s quite good.”
“Don’t mistake Gracie,” Pitt said with some asperity, as well as a certain amusement. He knew Tellman’s opinion of being in service. “She’s very clever indeed, in her own way. Got far more practical sense than you have, and at least as much judgment of people.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Tellman protested. “She says she can read and write, but—”
“So she can!”
“But she’s still only a bit of a girl.”
Pitt did not bother to argue. He started up a flight of stone-flagged stairs.
“So what was the screaming?” Tellman pursued, catching up.
“Miss Moynihan found her brother in bed with Mrs. McGinley,” Pitt replied.
“What?” Tellman missed his footing and all but fell over. “What did you say?”
Pitt repeated it.
Tellman swore yet again.
They ate luncheon of cold poached salmon, pheasant in aspic, game pie or jugged hare, fresh vegetables and young potatoes. The butler came in discreetly and in a low voice announced to Emily that a Miss Justine Baring had arrived, and should he show her in or ask her to wait in the withdrawing room and offer her refreshment there.
“Oh, please ask her to join us here,” Emily said quickly, glancing around the table only to make sure that they had all heard.
Piers’s face brightened and he rose to his feet.
Eudora stiffened expectantly.
Everyone else turned towards the door out of interest or politeness.
The young woman who came in when the butler returned was of average height and very slender, too much so for many people’s taste. She had none of the luxurious curves that were fashionable, as had Kezia, for example, now sitting at table white-faced and still obviously bitterly angry. In this young woman it was her face which was arresting. She was as dark as Iona, but of a completely different cast of feature. There was nothing of the Celtic romance about her; rather, she looked Mediterranean, exotic. Her brow was smooth, her hairline a perfect arc, her eyes long-lashed and exquisite, her cheekbones high, her lips delicate. It was only when she turned sideways one noticed that her nose was very long and distinctly curved. It was the single feature of her face which was quite wrong, and it made her unique and full of character.
“Welcome to Ashworth Hall, Miss Baring,” Emily said warmly. “Would you care to join us for luncheon, or have you already eaten? Dessert perhaps? Or at least a glass of wine?”
