Four Funerals and Maybe a Wedding Page 11

  Two successes in one morning. As I passed the greengrocer’s something caught my eye. A basket of strawberries with the title Locally grown. Locally grown, all right, I thought. I had seen that basket sitting next to the potting shed at Eynsleigh. So my hunch was right and the gardeners were making extra income. We’d have to have a little talk about that!

  “Can I help you, miss?” The greengrocer came out of his shop as I stood there.

  “I am Lady Georgiana Rannoch and I’ve just moved into Eynsleigh,” I said. “I think those strawberries came from our garden.”

  The shopkeeper beamed. “They did indeed, my lady. Your gardeners grow the finest strawberries hereabouts.”

  “So we’ve been supplying the shop for some time, have we?” I asked.

  “Oh yes. Sir Hubert has always let us buy any produce he couldn’t use. Can’t get any fresher than that, can you?”

  “And you pay the gardeners, do you?”

  “Oh no, my lady. We settle up with the household accounts once a month.”

  “Thank you,” I said. One item that hadn’t appeared on the household books I’d seen that morning. I wondered what else might be missing. I was heading back to the Bentley when I passed an old man sitting on a bench under a big beech tree.

  “I know you,” he said, wagging a finger at me. “You’re her little ladyship. I remember when you were a little girl.”

  I looked at him, trying to remember his face. Vaguely familiar, I thought, but then he looked like a lot of countrymen. “You used to work at Eynsleigh?” I asked.

  “I did. Over forty years there, man and boy,” he said. “I were assistant head gardener.”

  “Of course.” I smiled and sat on the bench beside him. “Have you been retired long?”

  “Not retired,” he said. “Not willingly. Let go. But I still had a lot of life in these old limbs. But that new bloke, he wanted new blood. Someone with more modern ideas about things, he said.”

  “I see.” I paused, digesting this. “What was your name again?”

  “Old Ben. That’s what I was always known as. Ben Wayland.”

  “Ben.” I smiled at him. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’ve just come to live at Eynsleigh and I find that everything has changed.”

  “It has indeed,” he said. “And not for the better. Nothing were the same after Mr. Rogers . . .” He paused and sighed.

  “Did Mr. Rogers retire near here? I’d like to visit him if he’s in the area still.”

  “Oh no, my lady,” he said. “He died. Didn’t you hear that? He was planning on retiring, but then he took a fall down the back stairs at Eynsleigh and broke his neck. Awful tragic, that was. Never got to enjoy his retirement.”

  “Yes, awful tragic,” I echoed.

  “And that new bloke. Plunker or whatever he was called. He came in and got rid of the lot of us. Even Mrs. Holbrook, who had been housekeeper since Sir Hubert was a young man. Out we all went.”

  “And what happened to Mrs. Holbrook?”

  “Oh, she’s still around here,” he said. “Bought herself a nice little cottage out Haywards Heath way.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” I said. “Maybe I’ll pay a call on her.”

  “You do that,” he said. “She’d like that.”

  “And, Ben,” I said, “I wonder if you’d come back to Eynsleigh and get those two young gardeners in line. There are so many things that need doing and I don’t think they have much idea. The fountain’s not working for one thing. They said I’d have to get a plumber.”

  “Get a plumber?” Old Ben gave a chuckle that turned into a cough. “I reckon it’s just turned off. We always turned it off when the master went away. No sense in wasting water. There’s a tap round the other side of the yew hedge. Have them try that first. But I’d certainly like to come back, couple of days a week, and show them young’uns how things are done properly. If you think that’s all right, I mean?” He looked worried, almost scared. “I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of that Plunkett bloke.”

  “Ben, I am mistress of Eynsleigh now.”

  “You are? What about the old lady? What does she say?”

  “Old lady?”

  He suddenly looked confused, almost embarrassed. “Oh, I don’t suppose I should have said anything. Opened my big mouth again. Never mind, forget what I said.”

  “What old lady?” I repeated, but he got up. “I should be getting back. The missus will have my dinner on the table and I’ll be in big trouble.” He started to walk away. “But I’ll come by the house and see how things are in a few days. All right?”

  I watched him go, wondering if his mind was still all there. Old lady? Did he think there was a new housekeeper who had replaced Mrs. Holbrook? But he had seemed upset, almost afraid. I was in a pensive mood as I drove back to the house. All the staff let go, and poor Rogers, the butler I remembered, had died in a horrible fall down the back stairs. I would have taken it for granted that this was nothing more than an accident—failing eyesight, unsteadiness and steep uncarpeted stairs—except for the gas-tap incident last night. It came to me that I would have to be extra vigilant until I got to the bottom of what was going on at Eynsleigh.

  Chapter 14

  THURSDAY, JUNE 27

  EYNSLEIGH, SUSSEX

  I’m not sure what to think or exactly what to do next. I thought I was dealing with annoyances, with someone dipping into the household accounts, maybe, and a staff no longer willing to work. But the news of Rogers’s death has really shaken me up. Now I’m inclined to believe that the gas tap was no accident and someone wants me out of the house, or even dead. Not a comforting thought. I wish Darcy would come back. He’d know how to deal with these people. I think that Princess Zou Zou would too, but I don’t want to seem like a helpless person and run to her for help on the second day! Oh golly. And I so looked forward to this!

  I mulled over what to do as I drove back to Eynsleigh. I could confront Plunkett about the produce and ask why it wasn’t part of the accounts. I could ask him about Rogers’s death, but then from what Old Ben had said, Plunkett wasn’t even part of the household then. Rogers was only thinking of retiring and Plunkett was hired to replace him. So someone else on the staff at that time—someone who helped Plunkett get the job? But who would that be? McShea didn’t seem like the sort to push an old man down the stairs. And Joanie . . . well, she had admitted she might have accidentally turned on my gas tap. I should find out when she arrived and try to see if she had any connection to Plunkett.

  But I had to tread very carefully, I reminded myself.

  And the old lady Ben had mentioned. Maybe his mind was going and that was just senile rambling. There certainly wasn’t an old lady on the staff that I had seen. There could, of course, be a perfectly reasonable explanation. A housekeeper had been hired to replace Mrs. Holbrook while Ben was still there. But she had been too domineering, clashed with Plunkett and was let go. Yes, that might well have been it. I gave a sigh as I pulled up in the forecourt and went up the steps. As I came in I saw that the dust sheets had now been taken off the big drawing room to my left. The red velvet curtains were now drawn back and the room was ready for use. Little by little, I thought.

  I stepped into the room and stood looking around, trying to bring back memories. Yes, I had been in this room before and it had always seemed to me to be very grand. Now it seemed rather ordinary—a large room to be sure, but in no way ornate. A couple of faded red brocade sofas. Some Queen Anne chairs around a large marble fireplace. Some pictures on the walls. But a rather tired room. I sighed and went out again.

  On the way back I had come to another decision—or rather two more decisions. I was going to take a look at the forbidden wing. And I was going to write to the current Earl or Countess of Malmsbury, asking about Plunkett. I could also ask Belinda—or rather my mother—to find out about agencies in London that supplied top-level servants. Mummy must have used one before now. And I could ask for a copy of Plunkett’s letter of recommendation. If he came from an agency, they were usually most particular in their screening process. In fact, trying to hire a servant from one was slightly harder than choosing a new pope.

  As I emerged from the drawing room, Plunkett appeared with that uncanny feeling that all butlers seem to possess of knowing when one has come home.

  “Welcome, my lady. I trust the motorcar ran smoothly?”

  “Perfectly, thank you, Plunkett.”

  “Fernando has luncheon prepared whenever you are ready.”

  “Tell him I’ll eat in fifteen minutes. Oh, and Plunkett: I went to the telephone exchange. I was told that the line to Eynsleigh was in perfect working order. So please make sure that the receiver is reconnected in the entrance hall. It is not needed in Sir Hubert’s study while he is not in residence. “

  I stared at him with my best Queen Victoria look.

  “Very well, my lady,” he said. “I will see if one of us can reconnect it. We don’t exactly have a handyman on the staff any longer.”

  “So I believe, since the gardeners didn’t realize that all that was needed to make the fountain play again was to turn on the tap.” I decided I was doing well and risked forging ahead. “And speaking of gardeners, I am gravely concerned that they have been stealing from the estate. I was at the village shop just now and saw a basket full of strawberries that the shopkeeper admitted had come from the estate. Did you know about this?”

  To my delight he turned red. “My lady, Sir Hubert has always instructed the staff that excess produce not go to waste and can be sold at the village shop.”

  “I’ve nothing against that. But the produce belongs to Sir Hubert, not the gardeners. The money should come into the household accounts, especially since you have shown me how short we are.” I paused, then added, “Since the gardeners might not have been told otherwise, I will not dismiss them this time, but from now on I expect the correct amount to be appearing in the weekly books.”

  “As you wish, my lady,” he said.

  Another small victory, I thought, as I went up the stairs to my room. I decided to change out of the frock I had been wearing into a cotton skirt and blouse, as the day had become quite muggy. I opened my drawer and stood staring at it. I remembered folding my long petticoat on top of my underwear. Somebody had been through my things. I wasn’t sure what that person expected to achieve by this. I had only brought one suitcase of clothes, none of my books or personal papers. Maybe it was the curiosity of a young girl about what the undergarments of the aristocracy might look like. But it left me feeling even more uneasy, as if I could not let my guard down for one moment in this place.

  I changed my clothes, then went down for luncheon. This time I was served ham and salad. At least the lettuce, spring onions and radishes were fresh this time and the ham was tasty, but it was the sort of meal one would expect for high tea, not luncheon, and it required no effort on the part of the cook. It was followed by more strawberries and cream. I even had to request that coffee be brought to me in the morning room afterward. Could I dismiss Fernando? I wondered. What if he wouldn’t go? I couldn’t have him thrown out. And he was probably right in stating that if Sir Hubert had hired him, only Sir Hubert could sack him. Darcy would know what to do. Golly, I hoped he would return in a hurry, because I needed an ally.

  Then a brilliant idea came to me: Queenie! She had now become a passable cook and she could double as my lady’s maid when I needed help dressing or undressing. I knew Darcy’s aunt Oona and uncle Dooley would miss her, but they could survive without her for the time being. And I needed her. I wrote her a letter telling her how much I needed her help before the wedding, especially her newfound cooking skills.

  The Bentley was still sitting outside the front door. I was going to drive into the village, but first I went to seek out the gardeners. They were working half-heartedly on one of the herbaceous borders.

  “Come with me,” I said.

  They followed, reluctantly. I led them around the yew hedge and found what I was looking for.

  “What do you see there?” I asked.

  “That looks like a tap, my lady,” one of them said.

  “Please try to turn it on.”

  One gardener shot the other a look that indicated I was clearly not quite right in the head. He bent down and wrestled with the tap. It had not been turned for some time and it was hard work, but finally he moved it. There was a hissing, splattering sound from beyond the hedge. I went to a gap and peeked through.

  “Well, what a surprise!” I said. “The fountain is actually working again.”

  I turned back to the gardeners, both of whom were looking rather crestfallen at this moment.

  “And neither of you had figured that out?” I said. “Now it just needs the leaves and debris cleaned from it. I expect it to look sparkling clean, is that understood? Oh, and just to warn you, I am bringing back Old Ben to help you get the gardens back in shape. And to teach you what you need to know if you continue to work here. But if any more produce goes out of this garden without my permission, then I’m afraid you may be looking for other jobs.”

  “It wasn’t us, my lady,” one of them—Ted Hoskins—said, glancing at the other to see if he was saying the right thing. “Mr. Plunkett told us it was all right and the boss always let the surplus fruit and veg be sold.”

  “I understand,” I said. “But the word is ‘surplus.’ You will let me know each morning what is ripe and ready to eat and I will tell you which items I do not need. And there is bottling and preserving for the winter to consider. Since Fernando doesn’t have much cooking to do at the moment, he can put up fruit for the winter. I’ll speak to him about it later.”

  I gave them a big smile. “That will be all,” I said.

  I drove into the village, posted my letter and asked if the postmistress knew where Mrs. Holbrook might have gone.

  “I do, your ladyship,” she said. “Because I have a forwarding address for her letters.” She wrote it out for me. I asked and it was about five miles away. I decided that since I already had the motorcar out, I’d pay her a call. I drove through pretty leafy lanes until I came to a small cottage. It was whitewashed, with roses climbing up the front porch, and quite charming.

  Mrs. Holbrook frowned when she saw me standing at the front door; then recognition dawned and her face broke into a big smile. “Well, I never,” she said. “Come in, your ladyship. What a lovely surprise to see you.”

  She led me into a spotless living room and rushed into the kitchen to make me a cup of tea. She reappeared soon afterward with a tray of shortbread and gingerbread and a blue-and-white-striped tea set. She sat opposite me and plied me with questions about my upcoming wedding. When she heard that Sir Hubert had invited me to live at Eynsleigh, she looked surprised and delighted. “Well, that is good news,” she said. “You’ll soon get the place back to the way it should be.” She leaned closer. “I told the master it wasn’t wise to leave the place unoccupied for so long. I mean, while me and Mr. Rogers were there we saw that standards were kept up. But that new person—well, I expect you’ve found out for yourself.”

  “I have, Mrs. Holbrook, and frankly I’m surprised that Sir Hubert ever hired him in the first place.”

  “Well, he came with good credentials, your ladyship. The highest recommendation from a titled lady. And of course Sir Hubert wasn’t here in person. He had to rely on his solicitor and an agency in London. It was all rather rushed through on account of poor Mr. Rogers. You heard about that, of course. Falling down the back stairs. He was getting a trifle doddery, I have to say. He knew he should think of retiring, which was why he had the solicitor contact the agency in London.” She stopped, blinking back tears. “All the same, it was a terrible shock. We’d worked together in that house for thirty years and I was ever so fond of him. Well, everyone was, weren’t they? He was a lovely kind man.” She managed a weak smile. “You should have seen the funeral. The church was packed. Ever so popular around here, Mr. Rogers was.”

  “And you decided to leave after his death, did you?”

  “Well, my lady”—an embarrassed look came over her face—“I was made such a generous offer to retire that I couldn’t turn it down. I mean, I wouldn’t have been able to buy a cottage like this without that sort of money. I’m comfortable for life now, I am, and ever so grateful. I expect the master was behind it. He always was such a kind man.”

  We chatted some more and I promised to visit again. I was half tempted to invite her to come back for a while, but she clearly had no love for Mr. Plunkett. “A common individual, if you ask me,” she said.

  As she accompanied me to the front door I asked her if she knew the name of the solicitor.

  “Well, of course I do. Eaton and Harris in Haywards Heath, my lady. Been the family solicitor for generations.”

  Now I felt I was getting somewhere. I had the name of the solicitor. I would find out the truth about a lot of things. But who had given Mrs. Holbrook the money to buy a cottage? Certainly not Plunkett. Butlers do not make that sort of money. Was it perhaps a bequest from Sir Hubert himself, left with his solicitor for when she decided to retire? Yes, that seemed the most logical. I’d ask Eaton and Harris about it when I visited them.

  Chapter 15

  THURSDAY, JUNE 27

  EYNSLEIGH, SUSSEX

  This is all getting more and more confusing. The former butler met his death when he fell down the stairs. Someone had been through my drawers. And someone had given Mrs. Holbrook a handsome sum to retire—enough to buy a cottage. What on earth is going on here? I have to confess I’m a little uneasy now.

  It was lovely to return to Eynsleigh and see the fountain playing merrily in the forecourt. Sunlight sparkled on water droplets and I stood for a long while just watching the dance of the water. Several sparrows were perched on the rim, enjoying the spray. For a moment I wished that I had taken a room at the front of the house and could watch the fountain from my windows. But I had to admit that the room I had chosen was the nicest and the view from the back windows over the parkland was stunning. I was glad that I had had a good tea with Mrs. Holbrook because I rather feared that tea at Eynsleigh would have been another biscuit from a packet beside a pale beige cup of liquid. But I could hold out until Queenie arrived, I thought. And I’d wait until tomorrow to confront Fernando about using the fresh produce from the estate. I doubted he’d have any idea about bottling and canning, but it would be satisfying to catch him out! Maybe one of the ladies from the village would be available. In my experience all country ladies knew about preserving fruit and vegetables.