T Kinsey - A Quiet Life in the Country (A Lady Hardcastle Mystery Book 1)

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, we are. Do come in.’

I stood aside and ushered them through into the morning room where we had decided to conduct their interviews.

‘Do sit down,’ I said. ‘Would you care for some coffee? I was just making some for Lady Hardcastle.’

‘Thank you, Miss Armstrong,’ said the older woman who had clearly assumed the role of spokesman. ‘That would do lovely.’

I finished off the coffee while the two women sat in awkward silence. By the time I returned from taking the tray through to Lady Hardcastle, they still hadn’t moved or spoken. I judged the older one to be in her fifties. She was a little below average height, though still a shade taller than me. She was a good deal rounder, though, to the point of plumpness. She had a genial face topped by greying hair and I presumed that she was the cook. The younger was tall, almost as tall as Lady Hardcastle I should say, but that was where the similarity ended; this young girl was beanpole thin with mousy hair that poked untidily from beneath her hat. Clearly the maid.

I sat at the table opposite them and poured us all cups of coffee.

‘Well, then,’ I said, ‘let’s get acquainted. Which of you is which?’

‘I’m Mrs Gibson,’ said the older woman. ‘And I’ve got plenty of experience as a housekeeper. But I’m getting on a bit now and my knees i’n’t what they used to be, so I’m lookin’ for lighter duties.’

So much for appearances, I thought. ‘So you must be Blodwen?’ I said to the other.

‘That’s right, miss,’ she said timidly. ‘And I’ve been working as a kitchen maid these past four years. Learned a lot, I have. And Mrs Cooper – she was the cook at the house I was at last – she reckons I’m ready to take over a kitchen of my own. I got references.’

She passed an envelope across the table. I glanced through the letter from her former employer to which was attached a note from her mentor in the kitchen.

‘If anything,’ I said, looking up, ‘you’re rather too well qualified. This is quite the most enthusiastic reference I’ve ever seen. Your Mrs Cooper thinks the world of you. We’re just a small household – are you sure you wouldn’t be bored? You really ought to be working in a much grander house. Or a hotel. Or one of the restaurants in London if Mrs Cooper is to be believed.’

The girl blushed. ‘Thank you, miss,’ she said. ‘Trouble is, our Ma’s not well and I can’t leave her now, so I thought the position here would suit very well.’

‘That’s the attraction of it for me too, mind,’ said Edna. ‘I don’t want to have to live in, and what you’re offerin’ sounds ideal.’

‘I see,’ I said. ‘Do you have your references?’

The older woman produced a more battered envelope containing a collection of creased and stained notes from a number of local employers who all seemed to think quite highly of her.

‘These seem to be in order,’ I said at length. ‘Why don’t you both tell me a little about yourselves? Lady Hardcastle and I have been biffing along on our own for quite some while now, so it’s important to us both to have people in the house that we can get along with.’

‘Quite understand that, miss,’ said Edna.

For the next half an hour I was treated to a retelling of their life stories and by the end of it all we were properly acquainted. I was reasonably sure that I, at least, would be able to stand having them in the house for several hours a day.

I asked them to wait while I went to the study to confer with Lady Hardcastle.

‘What news from the scullery?’ she asked.

‘Two reasonable women,’ I said. ‘A maid with bad knees called Edna—’

‘She has knees called Edna?’

‘Must you, my lady? A maid called Edna who has bad knees, and a cook who doesn’t look old enough to be allowed to use a knife on her own. But their references are impeccable and they seem like decent sorts.’

‘Splendid,’ she said, looking up from the letter she was writing. ‘Would you employ them?’

‘I would, my lady,’ I said.

‘That’s good enough for me. Offer them the jobs at the rate we agreed.’

‘You don’t want to see them first?’

‘If you say they’re right for us, then they’re right for us. I’ll see them tomorrow when they start work. I want to go out for a walk now.’

‘Right you are,’ I said, and returned to tell our new cook and maid the good news.

‘Good morning, my lady,’ I said, placing her coffee tray on the bed.

‘And good morning to you, too, Flo, dear,’ she said sleepily. ‘How kind of you to bring me a tray.’

‘I always bring you a tray.’

‘Yes, and it’s always very kind. Are the serfs here?’

‘Edna and Miss Jones arrived about half an hour ago,’ I said. ‘And please don’t let them hear you calling them “the serfs”. It’s the twentieth century now. We servants will be rising up and overthrowing you lot before you know it.’

‘Righto, dear. You will keep an eye out for me if there’s a rebellion, won’t you?’

‘I shall do my best, my lady, but I’m only little.’

‘I knew I could count on you.’

‘Do we have plans for the day, my lady?’ I said, as I opened the curtains.

‘I rather thought that a Saturday morning promenade around the village might be in order. Show my face and all that. See what’s what. I’ve not had a proper explore yet.’

‘Watch out for Mrs Pantry in the grocer’s. She doesn’t like your sort.’

‘I shall have you with me as guide and protector.’

‘Very good, my lady. Would you like breakfast soon? I’ll get Miss Jones going if you do.’

‘Yes, please, dear,’ she said. ‘In the morning room, and you should join me if you’ve not eaten. Can you find something tweedy for me to wear, too.’

‘If you’re going to dress for the country all the time, you’re going to need to go shopping,’ I said, as I rummaged in the wardrobe. ‘You’re a bit of a town mouse at the moment.’

‘Dash it, then. I shall dress as always. Conventions can be so boring, don’t you think?’

‘The blue?’ I said, holding up my favourite dress of hers.

‘That will do splendidly.’

This being a stroll rather than a shopping expedition, we chose to walk around the village green rather than across it. An early shower had cleared but the roads, and especially the well-kept grass of the green, were still wet with the summer rain. As we drew near the row of shops, a lady and gentleman in country clothes emerged from Holman the Baker’s in the company of another couple in more citified dress. The country lady caught sight of Lady Hardcastle and hailed her at once.

‘I say, Emily! Over here, m’dear.’

Lady Hardcastle leaned in close and whispered, ‘Gertrude, Lady Farley-Stroud.’ Then she waved a greeting and increased her pace towards the waiting group.

‘Emily, m’dear,’ said Lady Farley-Stroud as we approached. ‘Allow me to introduce Mr James Seddon and his wife Ida. Mr and Mrs Seddon, Emily, Lady Hardcastle.’

‘How do you do?’ they all said together. The Seddons looked out of place in the village. Mrs Seddon’s unusually powerful frame was wrapped in a fashionable and fussy day dress. She would have been overdressed for lunch at Claridge’s. Even Mr Seddon, whose suit was of a more sober cut, stood out as someone who was unused to being outdoors.

The two couples were making a great show of chumminess – in-laws who realized that for the sake of form, at least, they were going to have to appear to the world to be the best of pals.

I smiled a greeting but hung back. Lady Farley-Stroud and Mrs Seddon seemed to make a great display of ignoring me. Mr Seddon made a more natural job of it, seeming genuinely oblivious to my presence. Sir Hector, though, gave me a mischievous smile and a little wave of the fingers. He rolled his eyes before recomposing his face and pretending to pay rapt attention.