A Corpse in Shining Armour (27 page)

‘I’m sure she does. But Tabby…’

‘I told her to sit down with the others. The housemaids were all right to her at first. They don’t often get people coming
down from London, so they were asking her all about the fashions and so on, but she didn’t seem to know as much as they thought
she should. Then they started teasing her about the way she spoke and calling her a cockney, and one of them took exception
to her table manners because she helped herself to a slice of ham without being asked. It was mostly fat and they’d turned
their noses up at it anyway, but when she just grabbed for it…’

‘Oh dear.’

Her table manners needed work, I knew that. I should never have exposed her to the snobberies of a servants’ hall.

‘And I know it wasn’t right of our girl to make grunting noises at her, like a pig. But, with respect, it wasn’t right of
your girl. either, to do what she did.’

‘Which was?’

‘Rubbed the slice of ham in her face.’

‘What happened then?’

‘Your girl ran out and slammed the door. I told our girls they shouldn’t have behaved like they did, and that was that. I
thought she’d go up to bed when she got over her temper and I’d speak to you in the morning. Only this morning, she wasn’t
here.’

‘Had she slept in her bed?’

‘No. We’d given her a bed of her own, in the room with Ruth and Dora. They say she didn’t come to bed all night.’

‘Who was the one who made grunting sounds at her?’

‘Dora.’

‘Well, it wasn’t surprising she didn’t want to sleep in the same room as her, was it?’

I was trying hard not to take out my anger on the housekeeper. It wasn’t her fault. If anybody’s, it was mine for not thinking
harder before transplanting Tabby from her home ground. In her place, I doubted if I’d have behaved any better.

‘Mrs Bream, I’m very sorry if she upset your girls. The important thing now is to find her. What time was she last seen?’

‘It was after eight o’clock when we sat down to our supper, and I’d say half an hour more before she ran out.’

‘Into the thunderstorm?’

‘Yes.’

‘And nobody saw her after that?’

‘No.’

‘What time are the doors locked?’

‘I lock the kitchen door from the inside before I go up to bed, when cook’s finished. Cook was putting the oatmeal in to soak
for the morning, and she and I were talking, so I couldn’t rightly say.’

‘Whenabouts?’

‘Half past ten, perhaps a bit later.’

‘And the front door?’

‘I saw Mr Whiteley locking that as I was going upstairs.’

‘And nobody checked whether Tabby had come back?’

‘No, ma’am. We thought she’d have come back in and gone straight up to bed.’

‘And Ruth and Dora didn’t say she was missing until morning?’

‘No, ma’am.’

I thought the two of them had probably lain awake giggling for a while, thinking of the cockney girl getting scared and wet
outside. I’d have liked to bang their heads together. If it hadn’t been for the storm, I shouldn’t have been so worried. Tabby
had probably slept rough for most of her life and was quite capable of surviving a short summer night in an outhouse. But
she wasn’t used to the country and might never have experienced thunder and lightning in the open. She could have flown into
panic, run anywhere, with the river only a few hundred yards away.

‘I’m going out to look for her,’ I said. ‘Would you please find Mr Whiteley and ask him if any of the gardeners have seen
her. You might search the rooms in the house, in case she’s come back in and is hiding.’

She nodded but looked uncertain. I had no right to give orders in somebody else’s house, but it was not the time to be concerned
with etiquette.

I went straight out to the back of the house and stood by the kitchen door, trying to put myself into Tabby’s mind. She might
instinctively make for somewhere that looked like her familiar shed in Abel Yard. The old dairy was still firmly padlocked,
with nothing visible through the window but a scatter of wood-shavings. The two doors next to it weren’t locked and opened
on to a wood shed and a coal store. Either could have given her a night’s shelter, but if she had been there, she’d left no
sign. As I was closing the coal shed, a maid in black and white opened the kitchen door then ducked quickly back inside when
she saw me. Dora, I supposed. I’d have liked to tell her what I thought of her, but it would have been a waste of time.

I stood with my back to the house, wondering what might have caught Tabby’s eye by lightning flashes. The obvious possibility
was a tall lean-to greenhouse alongside the wall of the kitchen garden. When I pushed the door open I found myself in heat
that was already almost tropical at this early hour of the morning, breathing the yeasty smell of warm earth rising like a
gas from freshly watered earth. Dark green melon vines rampaged up strings and hung down in swags, with dozens of ripening
melons, each supported by its own miniature string hammock. Further on, velvety red-and-gold peaches gleamed between orderly
rows of leaves, so perfectly ripe that even in my worry I found my mouth watering. I might have risked offending by picking
one if I hadn’t glimpsed through the leaves an elderly gardener, peering closely at a nectarine tree with a brass spraying
machine in his hand. He pressed the spray button and a nicotine-smelling mist set me coughing.

‘Dratted greenfly,’ he muttered.

‘Have you seen a girl?’

‘Made out I didn’t do them proper. I told him, if you can find a greenfly after I’ve been through them with the spray, I’ll
eat it, I will. He wasn’t having it though.’

‘A young girl, quite small.’

He shook his head and went on muttering. I left him to his work and walked out to look at a group of brick lean-to sheds,
surrounded by orderly stacks of flower pots, nets and boxes. A glance through the window of the first one showed lines of
wooden shelves for storing fruit and vegetables, mostly empty now, big metal bins, hessian sacks of root vegetables, stacks
of baskets, but no sign of Tabby.

‘What are you looking for, miss?’

The voice was angry. A dignified man in suit and waistcoat with gold watch chain, obviously the head gardener, arrived at
a fast walk. I introduced myself and explained I was looking for my maid.

‘Well, you won’t find her in there.’

I insisted on going in to look under sacks, but he was right. When he saw I was genuinely worried he helped me search the
other sheds, but was certain that no girl, however small, could have spent a night in his domain without his knowing about
it. He’d been out inspecting the garden at first light, in case the storm had damaged anything, and found not a stick out
of place. I thanked him and went back to the house, sure now that Tabby hadn’t spent the night in any of the obvious places.
Mr Whiteley was in the hall, talking to the housekeeper. I interrupted them.

‘Have you found her?’

He looked apprehensive at seeing me.

‘No, Miss Lane. Your maid isn’t anywhere in the house. Might she have returned to your cottage?’

It was quite a sensible suggestion. Tabby might have sheltered somewhere from the storm, then, rather than go back to the
house where she’d been mocked, found her way home as soon as it was light.

‘I’ll go and see,’ I said. ‘Please give my apologies to Lady Brinkburn and say I’ll be back later.’

I decided to go to the cottage along the river bank. It was the shortest way, even though it would be muddy after the rain,
but that wasn’t the main reason. The picture I couldn’t get out of my head was of Tabby running out of the house, so humiliated
and angry that she didn’t care where she was going, rushing through the storm to the river bank, catching her foot and falling.
Her life on the London streets couldn’t possibly have taught her to swim. I walked across the lawn at the front of the house,
turning back once to look up at Sophia’s window. Her curtains were still closed, as I’d left them. The path led me down to
the landing stage, where the rowing boat that had brought me there was tied. I walked to the end of the jetty. Only a pair
of swans on the water, nothing else. They were paddling hard to stay in place against a current that was running fast after
the storm. There was about a foot of rainwater in the bottom of the boat.

‘It will need baling out before it goes anywhere.’

I jumped round. Robert Carmichael was standing at the landward end of the jetty. He was wearing light indoor clothes, with
no hat or overcoat, hair disordered and shoes clotted with mud. I was sure he hadn’t followed me across the lawn, so must
have been walking on the river bank.

‘Have you seen my maid?’ I said.

He shook his head and came along the jetty towards me. He looked tired, deep lines across his forehead and circles round his
eyes as if he hadn’t slept.

‘Were you looking up at Lady Brinkburn’s room early this morning?’ I said.

The question came out before I had time to think about it. He stopped, looking startled.

‘Looking up from where?’

‘From the lawn. She says she saw somebody. She thinks it was the same person who came into her room the night before.’

He sighed.

‘She’s terribly scared, isn’t she?’ I said.

He nodded, looking at the swans. They’d given up their attempt to fight the current and were letting themselves be carried
downriver, very stately, as if that’s what they had intended all along. He was standing close to me, his sleeve almost touching
mine.

‘It was good of you to stay with her, Miss Lane.’

‘I want to help her, if I can. She was asleep when I left. She says you’re concerned that she’s taking too much laudanum.’

I said it experimentally, wondering if he’d feel it as an intrusion. He looked away from the swans and up at me.

‘I am worried, yes. I suppose she took her usual draught last night?’

‘About three-quarters of a glass. She said she wouldn’t sleep without it. The storm had brought back memories.’

Something in his eyes changed. He was alarmed now, as well as concerned.

‘Did she talk about them?’

‘Yes.’

He held my look, knowing I was waiting for him to ask. He was the one at risk of intruding now. It took him a long time to
make the decision.

‘Miss Lane, I hope this doesn’t sound as if I’m expecting you to break a confidence. Believe me, I have a good reason for
asking. Did she talk about…’ A long hesitation. ‘Did she talk about an event on her honeymoon tour?’

His hesitation had given me time to make my decision. Above all, I believed he loved Sophia and wanted to protect her. Soon,
all of society would know that she’d changed her story. He had a right to know first, and in any case she hadn’t sworn me
to secrecy.

‘You know about that night by Lake Como, the other storm?’ I said.

He nodded and looked away.

‘She told me last night that nobody came to her. She slept, she woke up, that was all.’

‘Ah.’

One of the deepest sighs of relief I’d ever heard. His whole body seemed to relax completely. For a moment his hand rested
heavily on my shoulder as if to prevent him from falling. Then he gathered himself together and took a step back, apologising.

‘Forgive me. Did she say anything else about that night?’

‘No. I was clumsy. I asked her a question that must have hurt her very much.’

‘What?’

‘I asked her what that entry in her journal next morning meant,’ I said. ‘The one about her husband telling her something
terrible.’

I couldn’t read the expression on his face. His eyes were like black stones.

‘And did she answer you?’

‘No, she was too upset. I shouldn’t have asked it.’ A long pause, then he said: ‘No, you shouldn’t.’ His voice was cold, almost
brutal. I felt as if I’d been invited in somewhere then had the door shut in my face.

‘I must go and find Tabby,’ I said.

I walked along the jetty, back to the grass, and turned along the river-bank path towards the cottage. I supposed he was still
there on the landing stage, but I didn’t look back.

When I got to the cottage, Mrs Todd had just arrived to do her morning’s cleaning. Any hope that Tabby might have found refuge
with her vanished in our first few words. When I asked if she might be with Violet, Mrs Todd sniffed and said she had no idea.
I practically ran to the village and, from Violet’s bleary-eyed look, must have roused her from her bed. She came to the door
with her bodice unbuttoned and the baby on her hip.

‘I couldn’t sleep for the storm. I can’t abide lightning.’

She hadn’t seen Tabby since the day before yesterday and had no idea where she might be. I said if Tabby did turn up, she
should tell her to go to the cottage and wait for me, but had no great hopes of it. I was beginning to think that Tabby might
be trying to get back to London. Its back streets and yards were the nearest thing she had to a home, and the speed of our
coach journey had probably given her no idea of how far away it was, twenty-five miles or so. I imagined her small, resolute
figure trudging the dusty road.

I walked up to the coach station at the Bear but nobody had seen a girl of her description. She certainly hadn’t tried to
board any of the London-bound coaches, but then she had no money. I tipped the head ostler and asked him to tell all the drivers
to look out for her and, if they found her, bring her back. From his attitude, he thought it was an ordinary case of an absconding
maid and I didn’t waste time trying to persuade him otherwise.

On the way back, I stood for some time on the old bridge, looking down at the fast-flowing river. A dark bundle turning in
the current set my heart thumping, but when it came nearer it turned out to be a mass of twigs and reeds. After that, I wasted
an hour or two making inquiries around the village and outlying cottages. All I achieved were various promises to watch out
for her and a false hope about a girl stranger seen on a footpath, who turned out to be a child visiting an aunt and nothing
like Tabby.