Page 94 of The Housekeeper's Secret

‘It was a wedding, so of course there was a lot of imbibing going on. I don’t judge anyone for that, but as you know I don’t partake of alcohol myself, ever, and I never have. Abstinence is the foundation of my faith—it’s… fundamental to my whole being. Lady Hyde had made it clear that I was at the wedding as a guest, not a servant, and had very kindly made sure there was a non-intoxicating fruit cup for me. It was something of a speciality of the hotel, I was told, and though I found it a little bitter for my taste, I appreciated her consideration.’

Kate’s mind jumped ahead. She knew what was coming next, without Miss Dunn’s faltering explanation, because she knew Frederick Henderson.

‘I began to feel a little woozy halfway through the wedding breakfast. It was rather warm, and I…’ Her face started to crumple, but she took a sharp breath in and carried on, her tone laced with bitterness like the fruit cup Henderson had laced with alcohol. ‘Well, by the time Mr Ross appeared I was feeling very light-headed indeed. Not quite in command of myself, you might say. I was so surprised to see him there, and I conveyed that astonishment to Mr Henderson, who—as far as I recall—took a great interest. A very great interest indeed.’

Kate was shivering. Now that the initial shock was wearing off, the whole thing had an air of wearying predictability. She could picture all too easily how it had happened: Henderson, the master manipulator, always watching out for weakness to pounce on and exploit.

‘I tried to tell you when we got back from London, at the wedding dance, but there was no opportunity.’ Miss Dunn sounded weary. ‘And then I wondered if I was being selfish, burdening you with it. I wondered if I was just trying to ease my own conscience by confessing. As time went on, I allowed myself to hope that Mr Henderson might have turned out to be more honourable than I gave him credit for.’ She gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘Of course, that hope was entirely misplaced. He was waiting for his moment, wasn’t he?’

Kate stood up, pacing across to the door and back, though it took only three steps to cover the floor. Her thoughts were bouncing around madly, like the glass ball in one of the roulette wheels on which Alec used to lose so much money. This is what she had feared, for years, and yet she hadn’t made a single contingency plan.

She thought of the body in the harbour, beaten beyond recognition, and put her hands to her own cheeks. ‘He’ll kill me if he finds me,’ she sobbed. ‘What shall I do?’

Miss Dunn’s gaze was steady.

‘Exactly as I say.’

Chapter 32

Joseph crouched in the darkness under the basement stairs, his knees drawn up against his chest. He had moved the pile of wicker hampers out a little way, so he could hide behind them, but he needn’t have gone to the trouble. No one was looking for him. No one had noticed he was missing. He was invisible. A nothing.

He groped for the bottle at his side and lifted it to his lips, wincing as the spirit scorched his throat. Mr Goddard had stopped him from having cider upstairs like everyone else, but he’d remembered Mrs Gatley’s bottle of brandy, left out after being used to set the Christmas pudding alight. It tasted worse than cough medicine, but it had slowed his racing mind and made his body feel like it wasn’t quite his own, which was (he decided) a good thing.

It hadn’t stopped the sound of the baby crying inside his head though. The wet smack of fist on flesh.

Upstairs the band had finished playing and the ball was over. The merriment had moved downstairs to the servants’ hall, where Mrs Gatley was trying to teach George Twigg the polka and the band were eating leftover sandwiches before making the journey back to wherever they’d come from. Huddled in the cobwebbed dark, Joseph listened to the laughter. Every time Mrs Gatley’s raucous cackle rang out he tensed, though it sounded quite different to the baby, really. Nothing like that urgent, quavering cry.

Earlier he had gone to his bed by the silver cupboard and taken out the old candle box from beneath it, where he kept his sixpences. He didn’t count them before shoving them into his pocket—the sum he had amassed was a source of shame, not pride. He was going to give them back to Mr Henderson. Tonight. He was going to tell him that he didn’t want any part in his special duties no more and he’d rather earn his money the regular way. And he could get someone else to wear the Indian lad’s uniform for Sir Randolph’s gentleman’s parties.

Currents of frozen air gusted along the passageway as the band members went back and forth to their motorcar, loading up their things, passing a few feet from Joseph’s hiding place. Part of him wanted someone to notice him, so he straightened his legs till his feet were sticking out past the hampers, but when he realised that his cheeks were wet and his nose was running, he withdrew them again.

Anger began to uncurl inside him, like an animal waking up and stretching.

Out in the corridor, a bell started to jangle, greeted by a chorus of jeers from the servants’ hall. There was a scraping of chairs, a clatter of feet. ‘Lady Hyde’s room!’ he heard Susan call. ‘Not our business. Where’s Miss Dunn?’

‘Haven’t seen ’er. Nor Mrs Furniss.’

‘Well, I’m not going…’

‘Someone better had…’

Joseph put the bottle to his mouth and tipped his head back, but only a scant drop trickled onto his tongue. His arm suddenly felt incredibly heavy, and he let it fall, so the bottle cracked down onto the tiles and rolled away.

The bell rang again, joining with the clamour of the baby’s cry in his head.

He fumbled in his pockets and pulled out the coins. Some of them slipped through his fingers and rolled away too. He scrambled to pick them up, but as he groped in the dirt, he knew he was wasting his time; it was all for nothing anyway.

He could return the money to Henderson, but it wouldn’t bring Jem back.

‘I’ve spoken to the violinist chap—he’s the driver. He says there’s not much room, but they’ll take you as far as Sheffield and drop you at the station. Find somewhere to sit tight for a few hours, and you can get the milk train to London.’

Kate had followed Miss Dunn in silence through the nursery wing and down the stairs. Now, in the darkness of the stairwell, they spoke in whispers.

‘What reason did you give?’

‘Just what we agreed. A telegram arrived earlier saying that your mother is ill. It must have been delayed already because of the weather and you don’t want to waste any more time getting to her.’

Kate nodded, fighting uncertainty. The plan was all Miss Dunn’s, but she couldn’t find fault with it, nor see any alternative. In so many ways, it was similar to the one she had come up with herself on the night she had left Bristol nearly ten years previously. Seizing the moment, not allowing doubts and what-ifs to throw her off course. Forcing herself out into the unknown.

---