Silence in Hanover Close - Anne Perry [63]
By the time they were finished Emily was tired and dirty. Her hair had fallen out of its pins, and Mrs. Crawford caught her on the stairs and told her that she looked a disgrace, she had better smarten herself up if she wished to remain. Emily was on the point of retaliating that if Mrs. Crawford had done a hand’s turn herself she would also look a little untidy when she caught sight of Veronica. Pale and tight-faced, she was walking quickly away from Loretta, and the butler with the morning newspapers freshly ironed, going across the hall towards the dining room.
“Yes, Mrs. Crawford,” Emily said obediently, remembering why she was there. She was so thirsty she could taste feathers in her mouth and her back was stiff from bending and lifting. But she would not be defeated by a housekeeper! This was the only place to discover who had killed Robert York and why—and who had pushed poor Dulcie out of the window to her death.
Already she had learned more about the characters of the two women than she could have in a month of social visiting. It was Loretta, not Veronica, who slept in shell pink satin sheets with pillowcases embroidered in self-colored silks. Either Veronica was happy with linen, or she had not been offered anything else. It was Loretta who had the expensive oil of musk perfumes in crystal and Lalique bottles with silver filigree stoppers. Veronica was more beautiful by nature’s gift, with her slender height and grace and those haunting eyes; but it was Loretta who was the more elegantly feminine. She bothered with the details of care, the perfume in the handkerchief and in the petticoats to waft to the nostrils as she moved, or passed, the taffeta to rustle and whisper as she walked, the many pairs of boots and slippers to match every gown and be shown in a glimpse under her skirts. Had Veronica not thought of these things, or did their subtlety elude her? Was there some reason for this difference that Emily did not yet understand?
There was obviously a strong emotional bond between the two women, although its exact nature still eluded Emily. Loretta seemed protective, guarding the younger and seemingly weaker woman after the grief of her widowhood, yet at the same time her patience was thin and she was highly critical. And Veronica resented her mother-in-law while appearing to depend upon her a great deal.
When they changed for luncheon after the morning’s outing, Emily was busy taking care of wet coats and soiled skirts, humping them back and forth to be dried out, brushed off, sponged and pressed—and she had both to do since Edith was missing again. She overheard a sharp exchange as Veronica’s voice rose and Loretta’s remained calm and cold in what was seemingly a warning. Emily tried to overhear, but just as she was about to bend to the keyhole the upstairs maid came by and she was obliged to continue with her duties.
Luncheon in the servants hall was called dinner, and Emily was caught out in misnaming it and received a curious look from the cook.
“Think you’re upstairs, do you, my fine lady?” the housekeeper said tartly. “Well, there’ll be no giving yourself airs down here, and you’d best remember it! You’re just the same as the rest of the girls; in fact, you’re not as good until you prove yourself!”
“Oh, maybe some gentleman acquaintance of Miss Veronica’ll take a fancy to ’er an’ she’ll become a duchess!” Nora pulled a face. “ ’Ceptin’ you need to be a parlormaid to meet dukes, and you ’aven’t got the looks for it. You aren’t tall enough, for a start. An’ you ’aven’t got the colorin’ either. Peaked, you are!”
“I don’t suppose there are enough dukes to go around anyway,” Emily snapped back. “Since even parlormaids have to wait till all the ladies are suited!”
“Well, I’ve a sight more chance than you ’ave!” Nora retorted. “At least I know my job; I don’t