Death at Dawn - Caro Peacock [42]
‘Please sit down, Miss Lock,’ the older woman said.
A plain chair had been placed facing them. I took a few steps across the Turkey carpet and sat down, aware that every move I made was reflected in large mirrors on the walls to left and right. Behind me as well, for all I knew. It made me feel like a specimen in a scientist’s bell jar. The younger woman – Lady Mandeville, presumably – had a dainty pie-crust table at her elbow with my letter of application and character reference on it.
‘I see you have worked abroad.’
Her voice sounded tired. She picked up the character reference and stared at it, as if having trouble in focusing. It trembled in her hand.
‘It all seems … satisfactory enough, I should say.’
The older woman, whom I assumed to be Mrs Beedle, fired a question at me.
‘What’s nine times thirteen?’
‘One hundred and seventeen, ma’am.’
She nodded. It was Lady Mandeville’s turn, but she seemed to find it difficult to gather her thoughts.
‘You are accustomed to teaching boys?’
An edge of uneasiness in her voice, as if playing a part she had not learned entirely. But why should she be uneasy, mistress in her own grand house?
‘Yes, ma’am. I had charge of Master Fitzgeorge from six to nine years old.’
‘What is the Fifth Commandment?’ Mrs Beedle again.
‘Honour thy father and thy mother, ma’am.’
We went on like that for some time; Lady Mandeville, with that same distracted air, asking questions about my past that I found it easy enough to deal with after Miss Bodenham’s coaching. Her mother was another matter. It wasn’t so much the questions themselves, although they covered everything from the Old Testament prophets to the rivers of America. Her eyes were what made me uneasy. They were dark and shrewd and took in every detail of my appearance from bonnet ribbon to scuffed shoes. When I was answering Lady Mandeville’s questions, I was aware of those eyes on me, as if Mrs Beedle saw through me for the impostor I was.
‘Did your previous employer expect you to darn the children’s stockings?’
Something amiss there. The harmless domestic question came from Mrs Beedle, when I’d expected something more scholastic. With those eyes on me, I faltered for the first time in the interview. Miss Bodenham hadn’t foreseen this and I didn’t know what the answer should be.
‘I … I always tried to do whatever …’
‘Did Mrs McAlison expect you to darn their stockings?’
She’d even remembered the name of my fictitious employer. I felt my face turning red.
‘No, ma’am.’
Mrs Beedle nodded, though whether in approval or because her suspicions had been confirmed, I had no notion. Lady Mandeville murmured something about Betty always seeing to that sort of thing. The two women looked at each other.
‘Well?’ said Lady Mandeville, fingers pressed to either side of her forehead, as if for an aching head.
‘Wait outside, please,’ Mrs Beedle said to me.
I went into the corridor leading to the front door, staying just far enough away to prove I wasn’t eavesdropping. A door opened at the far end of the corridor. It must have led to the servants’ quarters because the footman appeared and held it open for a maid with an armful of dust covers. The two of them were whispering and giggling together, obviously good friends. I caught what the maid was saying.
‘Just wish they’d make up their blooming minds, that’s all. Get it all uncovered, then have to cover it up again. When are they off back down there?’
‘First thing tomorrow she is, and the old lady. Supposed to be the day after, only a letter came from over the water this morning and her ladyship was running around like