Page 9 of The Missing Maid
Giving herself an inner pat on the back for clearing a tricky obstacle, Harry nodded. ‘Yes, Mama,’ she said meekly and turned her attention to Winston, who was snuffling insistently at her hand in search of further treats. Now all she had to do was winkle the details of Mildred’s disappearance from PhyllidaFinchem without arousing suspicion, while dodging her two sons. How hard could that be?
The Finchem residence on Farm Street was a white-fronted, four-storey Georgian town house with a grey slate roof and black iron railings separating it from the street. Harry made her way there straight from work on Friday afternoon, and if anyone at the bank had noticed her slightly fancier outfit, they had not mentioned it. Then again, she’d encountered no one but the doormen – Bobby and his brass trolley had been conspicuous by their absence – and they had simply tipped their hats in the same way they always did. Checking the address once more, Harry rang the bell just before four-thirty.
Her mother had been as good as her word and had written asking when Harry might call. Lady Finchem had responded with pleasing alacrity, and so Harry found herself enjoying the dubious thrill of undertaking her first foray into detective work. When the glossy front door opened, it revealed a sombre butler in an immaculate black tailcoat. Harry was not surprised by his formal attire and imperious manner; from what her mother had said, Phyllida Finchem set great store by appearances.
‘Lady Finchem is expecting you,’ the butler said when Harry gave her name. He took her hat and coat with a slight bow. ‘This way, please.’
The marbled hallway was larger than Harry had expected and dominated by an Axminster-carpeted staircase that rose majestically to the upper floors. The butler led her beneath a showy gilt chandelier towards a door on the left and ushered her into a drawing room. ‘Miss Harriet White,’ he intoned.
A tall, grey-haired lady rose from the Queen Anne armchair she occupied. ‘Miss White, such a pleasure to meet you,’ she said, advancing towards Harry. ‘We’ll take tea in here, Dobbins. Thank you.’
Bowing, the man backed out of the room. Lady Finchem waved at the sister of the chair she’d been occupying. ‘Won’t you take a seat?’
Harry did as she suggested, taking the opportunity to study the room. If she hadn’t already known from her mother and the sought-after address that the Finchems were wealthy, the contents of this room alone would have confirmed it. From the elegant furnishings to the gold-flocked wallpaper and antique vases that adorned the broad mantelpiece over the large fireplace, everything about it screamed money. The pearls Lady Finchem wore around her neck were worth a small fortune and Harry felt a flicker of disquiet; if the jewellery Mildred was alleged to have stolen was of similar quality then it was no surprise she had been dismissed.
Pieces of the puzzle were starting to drop into place and Harry didn’t like the picture they were creating. With no good character references from her previous employer, it was highly unlikely Mildred would be able to obtain another maid’s position and certainly nothing with a family like this. But the details of that were what Harry was here to uncover. ‘Thank you for the invitation, Lady Finchem,’ she said, perching on the chair opposite the older woman with a bright smile. ‘I do so appreciate you taking the time.’
‘Not at all. We must all do what we can to help those less fortunate than ourselves. I am always happy to assist Baroness Abinger with her charitable efforts. Such a formidable woman.’
‘Quite,’ Harry said. She adopted an earnest expression. ‘But as you say, we must do what we can, especially when there is so much unemployment. My grandmother is most especiallyanxious to aid women and children, those who find themselves in poverty through no fault of their own.’
Lady Finchem inclined her head. ‘A worthy cause. The men may help themselves but we women must band together.’
Her voice rang with compassion but the words themselves sounded hollow. Harry couldn’t imagine Lady Finchem visiting a poverty-stricken village with food and clothing the way her grandmother did. ‘We must,’ she said. ‘Why, only last week there was a sad case of a young woman who?—’
She was interrupted by the sound of a throat being discreetly cleared at the door. Dobbins appeared, followed by a young maid carrying a tea tray. The butler gestured her forward and the girl, who Harry guessed to be no more than sixteen, approached the table nearest to Lady Finchem. Her face was pinched and anxious beneath the frilly white cap. The cups rattled in their saucers and Harry saw her hands were shaking as she slid the tray onto the table. The noise made Dobbins frown but the tray was delivered safely and the maid stepped back with a relief that was almost tangible. Lady Finchem inclined her head. ‘Thank you, Polly. That will be all, Dobbins. I shall pour out today.’
As Harry watched the maid and the butler leave, she decided to abandon her attempt to drag the conversation around to fallen women and seized on a more immediate opportunity. ‘Reliable domestics are so hard to find,’ she said, sighing. ‘But you seem to have matters well in hand.’
‘Dobbins is an absolute godsend,’ Lady Finchem replied. ‘But good maids are difficult to come by. Polly can be a nervous creature but she appreciates how fortunate she is, at least. It seems many young girls are afraid of hard work these days – I’ve lost count of how many I’ve had to let go for abject laziness.’
So much for banding together, Harry thought wryly. ‘I sympathise,’ she said, and tried to recall some of her Aunt Valeria’s complaints about household staff. ‘So few know how tolay a fire, for one thing. And the sulkiness when one pulls them up – no humility or gratitude that you’ve taken them in. I blame the cinema – it puts ideas in their heads.’
A faint frown creased Lady Finchem’s forehead and, for a moment, Harry wondered if she had adopted the role of put-upon employer rather too enthusiastically. But the other woman nodded. ‘Exactly so. But as you observed, I am happy to say we have no such troubles currently.’ She waved a genteel hand at the tray. ‘Tea? Would you prefer milk or lemon?’
‘Milk, please, if you’d be so kind,’ Harry said, as her hostess began to pour, sending bergamot-scented steam rising into the air. ‘We had to let one girl go when the silver teaspoons started to go missing – it transpired she had half a canteen of cutlery in her room. Can you imagine?’
A thin-lipped smile crossed Lady Finchem’s face. ‘Most certainly. We had a similar situation here, although the girl brazenly refused to admit she’d done anything wrong.’
Harry raised her eyebrows. ‘Teaspoons?’
‘Not teaspoons,’ Lady Finchem allowed. ‘A sapphire bracelet.’
‘Good heavens!’ Harry declared, doing her best to look scandalised. ‘Did you have her arrested?’
The other woman sighed. ‘We thought it best to avoid police involvement.’ She handed Harry a cup and saucer with a prim tilt of her head. ‘My husband’s position, you understand.’
‘Of course,’ Harry said, gratified that her initial hunch had been on the money. ‘But even so…’
‘The bracelet was recovered,’ Lady Finchem said. ‘No loss was incurred. The girl was simply let go.’
Harry took a sip of tea. ‘And there was no doubt of her guilt, I presume.’
‘None,’ Lady Finchem replied decisively. ‘The bracelet was found under her pillow, in one of the attic rooms.’
Rooms she probably shared, Harry thought, if the servants’ quarters at Abinger Hall were anything to go by. ‘What happened to her?’
‘I really have no idea. She packed her things and left, wailing and protesting her innocence the entire time. Dobbins had to escort her to the end of the street.’ The older woman gave a delicate shudder. ‘It really was a most distasteful scene.’
