Snobbery With Violence - M. C. Beaton [62]
“That’s me.”
“Here’s your tea.”
“That’s very kind of you.”
John grunted by way of reply and marched off down the stairs. He was already planning to try to find a position in a “regular” household, one where they didn’t have murders or expect footmen to serve policemen.
Bickerstaff sipped the tea. It had a funny taste, but it was probably one of those foreign teas. Give him a good cup of Indian any day. But it was hot and strong and he drank it gratefully.
The tray with the tea was on the floor beside him. He bent down to pour himself another cup when he began to feel dizzy. His legs and arms were beginning to feel like lead. He slumped down onto the floor and with his last remaining strength kicked at the door of Rose’s bedroom and shouted faintly, “Help!”
Rose awoke with a start and rang the bell on her bedside table. Daisy came running in, crying, “Did you hear something? I heard something.”
“Ask the constable if everything is all right,” said Rose.
Daisy opened the door and screamed, “He’s dead! Oh, my God, he’s dead!”
TEN
If this young man expresses himself in terms too deep for me, Why, what a very singularly deep young man this deep young man must he!
-W. S. GILBERT
Doors flew opened, voices shouted, guests and servants came running. Kerridge, now staying at the castle, appeared wrapped in a large Paisley dressing-gown to take charge.
Once more a servant was sent to Creinton to bring Dr. Per-riman. Kerridge bent over Bickerstaff and felt his pulse. Then, producing a large handkerchief, he covered his hand and gingerly lifted the lid of the teapot and sniffed.
“He’s drugged,” he said. “He’s not dead. I want the servant who brought this tea up to come to the study and I want to interview the kitchen staff. Some of you get Bickerstaff to a bed.” He turned to Rose. “What alerted you?”
“I heard a banging at my door,” said Rose. “I think the poor man must have realized at the last minute that he had been drugged and hit the door.”
Curzon pushed forward. “It was John, the footman, who took the tea up.”
“Whose idea was it to serve the constable with tea?”
“It was on the list,” wailed Curzon.
“What list?”
“There’s a list in the kitchen for all the late-night drinks that people may require in their rooms.”
“And who makes up this list?”
“It’s pinned up during the day in the main kitchen and various valets and lady’s maids write down what is required.”
“Bring the list to my study. Ah, there you are, Judd. Get another officer to stand guard outside Lady Rose’s door and make sure he does not drink or eat anything while on duty.”
“It was probably another of Mr. Pomfret’s pranks,” said Lady Sarah Trenton. She had flirted with both Freddy and Tristram to no avail and was feeling rejected and sour.
“I’d better see them. Back to your rooms, everyone. I’ll talk to the footman first.”
Lady Polly fussed over her daughter as she helped her back into bed. “I will be so glad when we get you away from this dreadful place. I shall heave a sigh of relief when we can get you off to India with Mrs. Trumpington.”
“I’m not going.”
“Yes, you are, and you are not taking that so-called maid, Daisy, with you. You will have a proper lady’s maid.”
Rose burst into tears. Lady Polly patted her shoulder and then snapped at Daisy, “Don’t just stand there. Do something.”
“I think you should leave her to me,” said Daisy firmly. “My lady, now is not the time to upset her by telling her she’s going to India.”
Lady Polly shifted from foot to foot. She had never known Rose to cry before. It was all too embarrassing.
“Very well,” she said curtly.
Rose’s father poked his head around the door. “Dreadful business,” he said. “Place is full of murderers. I’ll send for two of the gamekeepers. They’ll do a better job of guarding Rose. Keep her in her room and get her meals sent up.”
Rose sobbed into her pillow.
“Well... harrumph ... don’t cry,” said the earl. “Everything will look different in the morning.”
He and his wife left. Daisy hugged Rose, rocking her back and forth. “There, now, Daisy’s here, and