Snobbery With Violence - M. C. Beaton [40]
He found Kerridge in his room.
“Been called off?” he asked.
“The marquess must have powerful connections. But it happened just as I thought it would. I’ve got a friend in the pathology lab. Miss Gore-Desmond had taken a massive dose of arsenic. Couldn’t possibly have been a mistake with cosmetics. So a murder is being hushed up. You must be pleased.”
“On the contrary. I am staying on for a few days. If I find out anything, I’ll let you know.”
“The coroner will bring a verdict of accidental death. I will be constrained to say I found no evidence of foul play. Then I will leave directly afterwards and return to booking and charging the lower classes who cannot pull strings.”
“Makes you a bit bitter, does it?”
“You have no idea. But if you could find anything to pin this murder on any of them, I’d be very grateful. Here is my card.”
“A word of warning,” said Harry. “Do not spout off your radical views to all and sundry. You are lucky that Lady Rose is an intelligent woman. What if word of your views got back to your superiors?”
“I’ll be careful,” said Kerridge. “To tell the truth, I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was the poverty of this village. The inn’s all right, but have you seen the houses? Little more than hovels.”
“He’s a bad landlord,” said Harry with a sigh. “Maybe something can be done about it.”
Daisy prepared Margaret for bed. Rose had said she could put herself to bed. She brushed down her hair and reached for the cotton-wool pads and wash to clean the make-up from Margaret’s face, thinking it odd that a debutante should wear makeup at all, even though it had been skilfully applied.
“That will be all, Daisy,” ordered Margaret. “You may leave. I will not be requiring your services again. Lady Trumpington has kindly offered me the services of her lady’s maid, who is more experienced than you.”
Daisy went out into the corridor and began to look for hiding places. She found a chest for storing linen in one of the embrasures in the corridor and managed to squeeze down behind it.
She heard the stable clock chime midnight. She heard the last of the guests going up to bed. By one o’clock her eyes were beginning to droop and she fought to keep awake.
She struggled with sleep until the clock chimed two, and was about to give up when she heard a furtive footstep at the end of the corridor.
Daisy was frightened to raise her head above the chest, but looking up, she saw a large shadow racing ahead of someone carrying a candle. Then there came a soft knock on Margaret’s door.
Daisy slowly raised her head above the chest, just in time to see the Marquess of Hedley disappearing into Margaret’s room. She waited until the door had closed behind her. Feeling stiff and cramped, she eased herself out from behind the chest.
She crept over to the door and listened. She could hear the murmur of voices and then Margaret’s laugh, but could not make out any words.
Afraid of being caught, Daisy decided to beat a retreat.
She was bursting with news and felt she could not bear to wait until the morning. Daisy shook Rose awake, hissing, “You’ll never believe it.”
Rose struggled up against the pillows. “What has happened? Another death?”
Daisy perched on the bed, her eyes alight with excitement. “Lord Hedley went in to Miss Bryce-Cuddlestone’s bedchamber at two in the morning!”
“Perhaps she was ill?”
“Garn!”
“Daisy! You must remember to behave like a proper lady’s maid!”
Daisy was tired. “Look, my lady, a proper lady’s maid don’t have to spend the night listening at doors. Like being a proper detective means finding out things for yourself.”
Rose’s eyes blazed with anger. And then she sank back against the pillows with a sigh. Daisy had made her feel guilty. Daisy had made her feel that she was merely playing at being a detective while delegating the hard work to someone else.
And why should she expect Daisy to behave like a conventional servant when the very reason she liked the girl was because of the fact that she was not conventional