Page 10 of The Missing Maid
Harry could picture Mildred’s distress all too clearly, and it brought to mind the quiet despair that hung over the girl’s family. She forced herself to smile sympathetically at her current hostess. ‘How tiresome it sounds. And you never heard of her again?’
Lady Finchem hesitated. ‘Not directly. I understand concerns were raised by the girl’s family, some weeks later. Dobbins and my housekeeper suffered a visit from the police, enquiring as to her whereabouts.’ She sniffed. ‘Obviously they were unable to help.’
The information tallied with what Harry had learned from the Longstaffs but she doubted Lady Finchem’s staff had tried very hard to help the police with their enquiries. Regardless of that, nothing she had heard so far brought her any closer to establishing what had happened to Mildred once she had left Farm Street. The idea of such a young woman alone and distraught on the streets of London made Harry queasy. She frowned. ‘Did she have any friends that you knew of?’
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees and instantly, Harry knew she had asked the wrong question. Lady Finchem drew herself up. ‘My dear Miss White, I don’t concern myself with the affairs of housemaids,’ she said. ‘Especially not those who steal.’
‘Of course not,’ Harry said quickly, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks. ‘Forgive me, but you described it so vividly that Ifound myself quite caught up in the scene. Was she a seasoned criminal, do you think?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ Lady Finchem said firmly. ‘I have more important matters with which to concern myself. Now, about Baroness Abinger’s charitable work – what is it you require from me?’
Judging there was nothing more to be gleaned, Harry outlined a charity dinner her grandmother was arranging, but behind her cool façade, her mind was whirring. If Mildred was innocent, who had hidden the sapphire bracelet in the attic room? But Lady Finchem’s determined lack of interest in Mildred’s plight inflamed another, more pressing question in Harry’s mind: it sounded as though the girl had been in a vulnerable condition when Dobbins had banished her. Where might she have run? Directly north lay Marylebone, and beyond it Middlesex. To the east was Oxford Circus, littered with traps for an unwary young woman. South was Green Park, which was a pleasant enough space during the day but who knew how different it might be after dark? And to the west was Hyde Park – bigger and perhaps even more dangerous at night than its sister space. The only credible sighting of a woman matching Mildred’s description had come from Hyde Park. Could that be where her feet had led her in the dazed first minutes after being ejected from the house?
Recalling her assurance that she would not embarrass herself in Lady Finchem’s company, Harry forced herself to focus on what the older woman was saying. The conversation gravitated to society small talk, during which Harry listened much and contributed little. She breathed an inward sigh of relief as the teapot ran dry and her audience with Lady Finchem came to a close. Her hostess’s sense of entitlement and conceit grated on Harry’s nerves and suddenly she couldn’t wait to escape the drawing room. Promising her grandmother would be in touchin due course, Harry allowed Dobbins to escort her back to the marbled hallway, where he presented her with her blue hat and coat. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and glanced airily around. ‘Tell me, how many maids do you employ here?’
His neatly groomed eyebrows twitched at the unexpected question but he was far too professional to show his surprise. ‘Three, Miss White. One in the scullery and two for general duties.’
Harry summoned up what she hoped was a vacuous smile. ‘Wherever do you find them? I’m in need of a maid at home but all the applicants have been wretched so far.’
Dobbins did not smile back. ‘I believe the housekeeper consults Mrs Haverford when she has need of domestic staff.’
‘Mrs Haverford,’ Harry repeated as she ran the name through a mental list of her mother’s acquaintances and came up with nothing. ‘Who is that?’
‘A person of excellent taste and reputation,’ Dobbins said. ‘She runs an extremely select employment agency catering to the finest families.’
‘Oh, I see,’ Harry said, widening her eyes as though she had never heard of such a thing. ‘Where can I find her?’
‘Her offices are on Portland Square.’
The crispness of his tone suggested further details would not be forthcoming. But it didn’t matter – Harry had got what she wanted. Peering into an extravagant gilt mirror that gave the chandelier a run for its money in the ostentation stakes, she adjusted her hat and fastened it with a pin. ‘Thank you, Dobbins. I’ll visit first thing on Monday morning.’
Expressionless, he opened the front door and waited for Harry to take her cue. ‘Good evening, Miss White.’
Dusk had fallen but the electric street lamps glowed as Harry stepped past the iron railings to the pavement. At the kerb, she paused to glance up at the Finchem house, past the broadbay windows that graced the upper floors to the small attic casements. Had Mildred Longstaff stood tearfully in this exact spot before being marched away? The thought made Harry fizz with indignation. But just as she was about to turn on her heel and cross the road, a curtain twitched in one of the windows above the glossy front door and she got a jumbled impression of movement. Unless she was very much mistaken, someone was watching her leave.
5
It had been Harry’s plan to go straight home but Dobbins’ mention of Mrs Haverford had roused her interest and, instead, she found herself heading once more for the London Library in St James’s Square, where she scoured several recent copies ofThe Timesuntil she found what she was looking for.
Mrs Haverford’s Bureau of Excellence
Purveyors of Discreet and Dedicated Domestic Staff
Satisfaction Assured
Enquire at 66 Great Portland Street, LonW
Telephone – Marylebone 1854
The advertisement was a bold, eye-catching square in the middle of the densely printed columns ofSituations VacantandPositions Wanted. Harry could see its appeal – why give oneself eye strain by poring over the minuscule newsprint, go to the trouble of contacting one or several candidates and taking a chance on their honesty or suitability when a single call to Mrs Haverford would resolve the matter? Undoubtedly, her services came at a premium but that wouldn’t be a problem amongthe wealthy. Hadn’t Dobbins confirmed as much? Perhaps Mrs Haverford had been involved in placing Mildred with the Finchem household, Harry mused as she made a note of the address and telephone number. It was a place to start, at least.
She began her weekend by taking a Saturday morning stroll around Hyde Park. An instructive five minutes with a map had shown her the most likely entrances Mildred might have used had she wandered there upon leaving Farm Street. Mr Blunt’s letter did not give much detail but did reveal he had encountered the arguing man and woman just north of the lake. As Harry tried to retrace Mildred’s steps, she found herself passing a small house set back from the path. It was a single-storey sandstone building with a well-tended garden surrounded by black iron railings. Two chimneys smoked from the tiled roof and the sign beside the front door readSerpentine Lodge, the address Mr Blunt had given in his letter.
Biting her lip, Harry weighed her options. She could write to the park keeper, asking for a meeting. But where would he send his reply? It didn’t seem wise to declare herself secretary to an imaginary detective among the wider public, or offer up the bank as a correspondence address; she could not imagine Mr Blunt would take her seriously if she did. But Harry didn’t want to give her own address, either, which would reveal her identity should anyone come looking and endanger both her job and her reputation. And yet here she was, practically on the doorstep of a potential witness. She couldn’t just walk away – could she?
The door of the lodge was opened by a round, pleasant-faced woman of about thirty. ‘Hello,’ she said, looking Harry up and down with undisguised curiosity. ‘Can I help?’
‘I hope so,’ Harry said. ‘I’m looking for Mr Blunt, the park keeper. Is this the right address?’
