Ashworth Hall - Anne Perry [77]
“Mr. Pitt’s very clever,” Gracie assured her, seeking to comfort her. “’E’ll find out everythin’ there is ter know, an’ then ’e’ll work out ’oo done it, an’ take ’im in.”
Doll looked at her quickly, her eyes shadowed. Her hand was tight on the iron.
“Can’t need to know everything,” she said, beginning to move again, taking the other iron off the stove and putting it on the white petticoat and beginning to work, leaning her weight on it and swinging it gently backwards, smoothing the fabric.
“Yer’d be surprised wot ’as meanin’,” Gracie told her. “Ter someone clever enough ter see it an’ understand. ’E’ll catch ’ooever it is, don’ worry.”
Doll gave a little shiver and her eyes were far away. Her hand on the iron clenched hard and stopped moving.
“Yer don’ need ter look so scared.” Gracie moved a step towards her. “ ’E’s very fair. ’E’d never ’urt them wot don’ deserve it, nor tell tales wot don’ need ter be told.”
Doll swallowed. “Course not. I never thought …” She looked down suddenly and moved the iron. The scorch mark was brown on the linen. She took a deep breath and tears filled her eyes.
Gracie snatched the iron up and put it aside on the hearth.
“There must be a way fer takin’ that out,” she said with more assurance than she felt. “There’s a way fer everythin’, if yer jus’ know it.”
“Mr. Wheeler said as Mr. Pitt rode over to Oakfield House yesterday!” Doll stared at Gracie. “Why? What’s he want there? It was someone here who killed him.”
“I know that,” Gracie agreed. “ ’Ow do yer get scorch marks out? What’s the best way? We better do that afore it’s too late.”
“Onion juice, fuller’s earth, white soap and vinegar,” Doll replied absently. “They’re bound to have some made up. Look in that jar.” She pointed to one on the shelf next to the blue, behind Gracie’s head. It was between the bran, rice for congee, borax, soap, beeswax and ordinary tallow candle, used for removing inkspots.
Gracie took it down with two hands and passed it over. It was heavy. Scorches must be quite a common occurrence. But there was something in Doll’s unhappiness which was more than ordinary. Gracie felt a need to understand it, not only for the sake of Doll, whom she liked, but because it might be important. Murder was not always as simple as people thought, especially if they were people who had not as much experience as Gracie had.
However, she was foiled in her intent by one of the laundry maids’ coming in to iron table linen for dinner that evening, and the conversation suddenly became about the senior groom, and what he had said to Maisie, and what Tillie had said about that, and why the bootboy had repeated it anyway.
* * *
At mid-morning Pitt changed clothes. Gracie polished his boots for him. Tellman was otherwise occupied, and anyway he did not really make a good enough job of it, the great useless article! Gracie would not have Pitt leave the hall less well-dressed than any other gentleman there. He took an overcoat and a very smart hat, borrowed from Mr. Radley, and was driven to the railway station to catch the ten forty-eight up to London. She knew it was not a journey he could possibly enjoy. He was going to see the assistant commissioner, who would likely be very upset that Mr. Greville had been murdered after all. She wished there were something comforting she could say to him, but anything she thought of only sounded empty or not her place to say.
And Miss Charlotte was not around to see him off, which she ought to have been. She was busy with that Miss Moynihan who had taken such a temper. If country house parties were usually like this, it was a wonder anybody would go to one.
She decided to throw out the old flowers in the dressing room vase. They were droopy, probably from the fire. She would fill in a little time by going to find the gardener and see if she might pick some fresh ones. Anything would do, even leaves, as long as they were green and crisp-looking.
She obtained permission to choose something, not more than a dozen, mind, from the cold greenhouse. It was just