Ashworth Hall - Anne Perry [54]
But at least Doyle’s presence relieved her of the immediate need to spare time offering comfort to someone in such shock or distress. Instead she must try to keep some calm and order among the household staff. Whatever she did, in no time everyone would know there had been murder committed in the house, and there would be hysterics, weeping, fainting and quarreling, and inevitably, at least one person would want to give notice and not be allowed to because no one could leave the hall until the investigation was over.
It would be better to tell them herself and at least be given credit for courtesy and honesty. Jack was occupied with the wreckage of the conference, and anyway, the servants were really her responsibility. She had inherited Ashworth Hall and its staff, and the income to run it, from her first husband, and it was held in trust for her son. The staff all treated Jack with respect, but they still looked to her ultimately, from habit.
She went downstairs and told the butler that she would like to speak to the senior staff in the housekeeper’s room immediately. They assembled with due haste and solemnity.
“You all know that Mr. Ainsley Greville died in the bath late yesterday evening.” She did not use any of the common euphemisms for death, as she did when speaking to most people. It would be absurd to say that someone who had been murdered had “passed over” or “gone beyond the veil.”
“Yes, m’lady,” Mrs. Hunnaker said gravely. She still used Emily’s title, even though she no longer possessed it because she had remarried. “Very sad indeed, I’m sure. Will that mean the guests will be leaving?”
“Not yet,” Emily replied. “I am sorry, but I cannot say how much longer they will be with us. It depends on circumstances—and upon Mr. Pitt, to some extent.” She took a deep breath and looked at their polite, attentive faces with a sinking heart. “As most of you know, I daresay, Mr. Pitt is with the police. I am afraid Mr. Greville did not meet his death by accident, as we had first supposed. He was murdered—”
Mrs. Hunnaker blanched and reached for the back of one of the chairs to support herself.
Dilkes gasped, struggled for something to say, and failed to find it.
Jack’s valet shook his head. “That’ll be why Mr. Pitt was asking about where everyone was. And that Tellman, going around looking at all the windows.”
“Nobody never broke in?” the cook said, her voice rising in near panic already. “Gawd ’elp us all!”
“No!” Emily said sharply. “No one broke in.” Then she realized that the alternative was worse, and wished she had not been quite so vehement. “No,” she repeated. “It is a political assassination. It is all to do with the Irish Question. It has nothing to do with us. Mr. Pitt will deal with it. We must just behave as usual—”
“Behave as usual?” the cook said indignantly. “We could all be murdered in our beds! Beggin’ your—”
“Baths,” the housekeeper corrected punctiliously. “And we don’t take baths, Mrs. Williams. We wash in a basin, like most folks. You can’t fall out of a basin.”
“Well, I’m not having Irishmen in my kitchen or our hall!” the cook said. “And that’s flat!”
Emily was not often caught in two minds where servants were concerned. Once let them see you could be manipulated and you could never govern the house again. She had learned that long ago. But if Mrs. Williams refused to cook now, she would be in a desperate situation. Jack’s political career could suffer if his household was considered unreliable. She felt that the fact they had excellent reason would be of no importance whatever.
“They have no occasion to be in your kitchen, Mrs. Williams,” she