Snobbery With Violence - M. C. Beaton [48]
“I mean that they will get it out of Freddy and Tristram that they planned to haunt you. Who else would decide to give them a scare but you? And why are you screeching murder? If it was murder, then someone may want to silence you.”
“Piffle,” said Rose. “You are only angry because you did not think of it yourself.”
It took them three hours to reach the Gore-Desmonds’ country mansion. None of them had breakfasted, and all were feeling cold and angry.
“I am famished,” complained Rose as the car moved up the drive.
“Then you should have said so and we could have stopped somewhere,” snapped Harry. “Let’s get this over with.”
The house was still and quiet, with all the blinds drawn down and the curtains closed.
“How are we going to get a chance to talk to Quinn?” hissed Rose.
“I’ll think of something,” said Harry.
A butler opened the door before he had a chance to ring the bell. Harry handed him his card and asked if Mr. and Mrs. Gore-Desmond could spare them a little time.
“I am afraid the master and mistress have gone into town to supervise the last of the funeral arrangements.,’
“And when will they be back?”
“I do not know, sir. Perhaps later today.”
“We have come quite a distance. Perhaps we might have a word with Quinn?—unless she has accompanied her mistress?”
The butler turned away and they followed him into one of those side rooms in country houses which are used for receiving farm tenants and the other hoi polloi.
Daisy and Becket found their way to the servants’ quarters in the hope of food.
The room was lit by a single oil lamp. It was full of overstuffed furniture, a large battered oak desk, and paraphernalia of fishing tackle, game bags, walking-sticks and rubber boots.
Quinn entered, dressed from head to toe in black.
“You did not accompany your mistress today?” asked Rose.
“No, my lady. My mistress has seen fit to engage another lady’s maid instead of employing me as she promised. I hope to shortly have employ with a respectable family who might have a better idea of how family servants should be treated.”
“Please sit down,” said Harry, helping her into an armchair. “We have heard that you were not pleased with Miss Gore-Desmond’s behaviour.”
Quinn suddenly rose to her feet, went to the door and jerked it open. The butler was standing there. “Go away and stop listening at doors,” shouted Quinn. She returned and sat down.
“I was not pleased with Miss Gore-Desmond’s behaviour, no. A lady’s maid is judged by the behaviour and dress of her mistress.”
“What precisely did you consider wrong in Miss Gore-Desmond’s behaviour?”
“It is not my place to say, sir.”
“But you haven’t got a place now,” Rose pointed out. “Surely this family is not deserving of your loyalty.”
“That’s as may be, my lady. But there are some things that should not be spoken of.”
Rose felt like shaking her. But Harry, who was sitting close to her, took Quinn’s hand and said gently, “I trust you not to repeat this, but we fear Miss Gore-Desmond’s death was murder.”
Quinn sat there, unmoving, her harsh face registering neither shock nor surprise.
“We have reason to believe she was romantically involved with someone.”
Harry released her hand, drew out his wallet and opened it. He took out one five-pound note and then another.
Quinn still sat unmoving.
When Harry was holding twenty pounds in his hand, Quinn said, “I’ll tell you what I know.”
Her hand snaked out and took the twenty pounds.
At last, thought Rose, an end to this mystery. She would not admit to herself that Harry’s earlier words, that she had put herself in danger, had frightened her.
“Miss Gore-Desmond was having an affair,” said Quinn.
“With whom?”
“I don’t know and that’s the truth.”
“Then how do you know she was having an affair?”
“Marks on the sheets. You know.”
Harry did, but Rose did not, and looked bewildered.
“Then there would be a smell of cigar smoke in the room in the morning.”
“Was she by any chance pregnant?” asked