Dear Laura (13 page)

No one spoke, staring at the strong fingers which closed
vice-like
over the thumb.

‘I’
VE
taken quite a fancy to you, Miss Nagle,’ Lintott said, sitting in Theodore’s study chair. ‘I can tell a pair of keen bright eyes when I see them. What’s more, I wager there’s a certain soldier in Her Majesty’s Service that likes ’em too. Is he a private, my dear?’

‘A sergeant, sir,’ said the nanny, wary after his confrontation in the kitchen. ‘Sergeant Malone, sir.’

‘Ardent men, the Irish. Quick-tempered. Big man, is he?’

‘Not so very tall, sir, but stout and well-made.’

‘A strong arm and a warm heart, eh? What are you keeping him waiting for, my dear?’

‘Well, sir, I’m a-saving up. My wages is thirty-five pounds a year and all found.’

‘Oho! The sergeant’s a bit of a free-spender, is he? Likes his friends about him?’

‘He enjoys his glass,’ Alice Nagle admitted, ‘but it will be different when he’s a married man, sir.’

‘You’ll see to that, won’t you, Miss Nagle?’ Shrewdly.

She looked up, wondering whether he implied criticism, but his face was bland.

‘A pair of sparkling eyes. A cosy fireside,’ Lintott mused. ‘Why should he stray? And, speaking of eyes, nothing gets past those bonnie blue ones, does it?’

Alice Nagle’s orbs were neither blue nor bonny, being small and grey, but she tossed her head with pleasure, and admitted he was right.

‘That’s what I thought. While we’re sitting together so comfortably, Miss Nagle, would you mind copying out these words?’

She read the paper he handed to her and reddened.

‘Not very nice, is it?’ he asked. ‘That’s not the real anonymous letter, my dear. It’s a copy of number three – which says just about everything it shouldn’t. Print out what’s written there, will you?’

Tongue between teeth she did so, and handed it to him. He barely glanced at it, laying it to one side.

‘Now what you tell me, and what I’m going to ask you, are both in confidence, so you needn’t fear – and you mustn’t say. I shall find out if you’ve been gossiping behind my back!’

She wormed her hands together on the white apron.

‘There’s been enough gossip to set London a-fire,’ Lintott continued. ‘I’m not concerned with that. But conjecture is another pigeon. Do you know the difference between truth and conjecture?’

‘I think so, sir.’

‘I hope so. The truth is what you know, and conjecture is what you think may be the truth. We’ll have a go at the
conjecture
, seeing you miss nothing. Did your late master
commit
suicide, in your opinion? I shall want good reasons, mind, for what you say.’

‘No, sir, he did not.’

‘Do you think he was murdered then?’ She hesitated. ‘Come now,
you
don’t know and
I
don’t know. Do you think he might have been?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Who did it, then? And how?’

‘The mistress, or Mr Titus, or both together. They were a deal too familiar. I’ve been in service here since Master Edmund was born, and I’ve seen a thing or two. I’d be surprised if all the children were my late master’s

‘That’s gossip,’ said Lintott coolly. ‘Keep to the point. Why should they do away with Mr Crozier?’

‘Well, sir, it’s plain enough.
He
was short of money and
she
wanted her freedom to carry on as she pleased.’

‘I see. How do you suppose they administered a bottleful of capsules?’

She had been hoping he would ask her so that she could confound him.

‘They quarrelled that evening somethink awful, and the master was took poorly and went to bed.’

At the end of their road and tether, whispering together in the drawing-room. Laura calculating in white composure: Titus easily influenced and impulsive. The port decanter,
suddenly
glowing with terrible promise, taken upstairs and used as both palliative and deadly carrier. The pills crushed and administered, glass by glass …

‘Have you any idea, Miss Nagle,’ said Lintott idly, ‘what a gritty drink that might have been?’

‘There’s ways and means,’ she cried, brushing away the
suggestion
. ‘They could have said it was medicine. The master would take anythink that was medicine.’

‘What made you think of port wine, I wonder?’

‘Why, Harriet heard them talking of it, and she said that the mistress sent her away as if she didn’t want her by. And the decanter and glass was there the very morning he died, by the bed.’

Lintott’s eyes were pinpoints.

‘Did you keep it as evidence?’

She cried, frustrated, ‘Nobody thought at the time. Harriet never said no think until it was all over. The decanter had been took back, and the glass washed by then, but that was when I thought of foul play, sir. That’s when.’

‘I see. Well, that’s the conjecture part. Now for the truth. Have you ever seen Mrs Crozier and Mr Titus together in a compromising situation? In her room? No. Exchanging a kiss, perhaps – ah! you know all about that, my dear! Under that parasol of yours with the brave sergeant, eh?’ Wagging his
forefinger
at her in pretended rebuke.

She smiled uncomfortably, and admitted she had seen
nothing
of the sort.

‘But you can tell when people are over fond of one another.
I’ve been in that drawing-room, when they was waiting for Mr Theodore, and the air was full of it.’

‘The only trouble is, my dear, that a judge don’t accept air as evidence. A lovely lady, Mrs Crozier, very much admired I believe?’

‘She was always spoiled and ailing!’ Miss Nagle’s colour was high. An old grievance and an old envy beset her. ‘Who watched over the master, well or ill, might I ask? It was me, sir, from the beginning. He asked for me whenever he was took poorly. “Send for Nanny!” he used to say. “She’s a
good
nurse!”’

‘Then he got what he wanted, didn’t he?’ said Lintott,
unimpressed.
‘And he was ill enough, Lord knows, to tire any wife out.’

‘She could never be bothered with him, sir. Dr Padgett was taken in by her, too,’ said Miss Nagle, who had never taken in any man at all. ‘Giving her tablets and powders and sending her to Brighton for a month at a time, and Cheltenham Spa and that. I’ve no patience.’

‘Who looked after Mr Crozier then, while she was away? You, Miss Nagle?’

Queening the household, chastizing the children, indulging every sneeze from that miniature deity, undermining what little influence Laura still had.

‘You don’t like your mistress, do you, my dear? You don’t think much of Mr Titus, come to that. But it’s your mistress that you don’t like.’

She was still, knowing she had said too much.

‘It’s not my place to like or dislike. I know my place, sir. I do my duty.’

He returned to worry the main issue.

‘Well, we’ll say that Mrs Crozier and Mr Titus felt warmly towards each other – since I trust a woman’s instinct in such matters. But there’s no harm in that, is there?’

She twisted her hands and pondered.

Finally, she said, ‘I found a letter in her wastepaper basket, a few months since, torn to pieces. A love-letter. From him.’

‘I didn’t know that a nanny was called upon to empty
waste-paper
baskets?’

‘I happened to notice her tearing it across and across, when I come in, and I know his hand. Well, I should do, after fourteen year. So I took a look afore Kate got in.’

His voice was lazy, his eyes alert.

‘If it was torn to pieces how did you manage to read it?’

Her hands were a rough knot.

‘I – put it together again.’

‘And then threw it away, I’ll be bound. Well, that’s not
evidence
either, my dear. I’ll take your word for it, but a court wouldn’t.’ She did not answer. ‘Or did you keep it, after you’d pasted it on to a sheet of paper, perhaps? Put it in a safe place?’

She justified herself with anger.

‘The master was good to me and I respected him. He knew my worth – she never did. If he suspected somethink between her and Mr Titus, and wanted proof, I had it for him. If he wanted to send her packing, I had that letter.’

‘Send her packing where?’

Miss Nagle gestured somewhere vague and far off.

‘She’s got an uncle in Bristol. She could have gone there, couldn’t she?’

‘Which would have left you in charge of his children, and nursing himself? And Mr Crozier, separated from one wife and unable to take another, would have relied on you. You have a taste for power, my dear, haven’t you? Quite a taste for
backstairs
politics. Does anyone else know about this letter? The other servants?’

She shook her head firmly.

‘Not even the courageous sergeant – and he’s a braver man than he knows! – not even the admirable Malone?’

‘I believe I may have mentioned it to him once, casual like,’ she whispered. ‘But he promised not to say.’

He smiled at the cornice over her bowed head, and smoothed his chin.

‘Fetch it for me, will you, my love?’ he asked gently.

Titus had been indiscreet. Little could surprise Lintott, but his eyebrows testified to the aptness of the phrases.

‘Very warm indeed,’ he said at last, ‘but not conclusive. She tore it up. A love-letter from her husband’s brother. Hardly her fault? And she got rid of it, would have got rid of it but for a pair of sparkling eyes. Not conclusive. Have you anything else for me? – I’ll keep this, my dear, it’s safer with me.’

‘She’s always a-writing in her diary, but she keeps it locked up and hides the key.’

‘Then this is all we have. Very well, my dear. You’ve done right by your master if not by your mistress, at any rate. I think that will be all, for now. Oh, Miss Nagle,’ regarding her closely, ‘if you do come across anything, let me know. Keys get mislaid. Drawers are unlocked. Diaries left lying about. I think you understand my meaning. Mind!’ he cautioned her, as she
nodded
and curtseyed, ‘I’ll have no prying. But as long as you help me, my dear, I’ll help you. You never know, you might be glad of a bit of help from me someday.’

‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’

His eyes returned from the closing door to Titus’s letter. As a postscript the lover had drawn on the greater resources of the late Robert Browning. His writing drove across the paper: passion clouding judgement.

See
the
creature
stalking
While
we
speak!
Hush
and
hide
the
talking,
Cheek
on
cheek!

‘That’s a pretty way of putting it,’ said Inspector Lintott to himself. ‘Uncommon pretty!’

*

The tussle for power had begun fourteen years before.

‘I should like the baby with me, Nanny,’ said Laura, as Miss Nagle seized and swaddled him.

The new nurse, engaged by Theodore, though only two or three years older than her mistress, already brandished the qualities for which she had been chosen. Begin as you mean to go on, she always said to herself. She had started from the first day.

‘He’ll only disturb you, ma’am, and the doctor says you must have your rest. Besides, as you’re feeding him …’

The feeding was another tug-of-war. Nanny wanted the baby to herself, and on a bottle.

‘But you are in the adjoining room, Nanny, and can hear him if he cries.’

Laura’s voice was fretful. The linen corset beneath her breasts stretched down to her thighs, and its four linen straps were tightened daily to restore her figure. She could move very little, dependent on those about her for every need, and the sensation of being merely a helpless body increased her wretchedness.

‘Now, ma’am, we can’t have you worrying yourself into a fever. If you do that,’ Miss Nagle threatened, ‘you’ll lose your milk.’

‘I want my baby where I can see him,’ said Laura, and as the Nanny waited implacably she cried, ‘I
will
have him! I will, I will.’

Two tears rolled down her cheeks.

‘What did I say, ma’am? You’ll fret yourself into a
temperature
if you go on so.’

Miss Nagle laid Edmund in the crook of Laura’s arm and sought an ally.

‘Hysterical?’ said Theodore. ‘Well, what do you propose?’

They had recognized each other as dictators, and himself as lord of the ascendant. She thought him a proper man.

‘Mrs Crozier takes too much upon herself, sir, instead of letting me do my duty. And the poor lady is too weak to know what’s best for her and Master Edmund. Spoiling,’ said Miss Nagle, with a glint, ‘never formed Character.’

The baby was shunted through an obstacle race of artificial foods until, fortunately for himself and Laura, he found one which suited. By the time his mother crept downstairs to lie on the sofa he had been irrevocably cloistered behind the nursery walls.

Lindsey, less hardy than his brother, suffered more, and Laura suffered for him. Only with Blanche did she find a little freedom, for Blanche, being a girl, seemed of less account to both Theodore and Miss Nagle. Once, Laura spoke to her husband about the nanny’s dominance.

‘Her qualifications were excellent,’ he pronounced, ‘
otherwise
I should not have engaged her. I am satisfied that she
knows her business. My son requires firmness and discipline – and you appear to hold small regard for either. Besides, you have them to yourself for an hour after tea. They go for rides in the carriage with you. They wriggle and chatter at
breakfast,
and that is another point – Laura, you really must control them better. I must not be disturbed. I will not be disturbed over my newspaper.’

*

‘If you’ll excuse me saying so, sir, you seem on the poorly side this morning.’

‘It is nothing, Nanny, and I have too many responsibilities to care for myself as much as, perhaps, I should.’