Four Funerals and Maybe a Wedding Page 15

  I retreated again. Fernando was looking rather scared. I would be too. Queenie was a large girl and quite alarming when riled. O’Shea came into the morning room a little later with a tray of tea and shortbread.

  “Your girl just baked for you, my lady,” he said. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, but she’s a good cook. She let me try a piece of that shortbread. Fair melts in your mouth. Will she be taking over from Fernando?” Clearly he did not appreciate Spanish food either.

  “That we’ll have to see, O’Shea. For now she’s just going to help him learn what I like to eat.”

  “My, but she’s a fine, strapping girl, isn’t she just?”

  Wonders would never cease. O’Shea was attracted to Queenie! I tried not to grin.

  “How long have you been here, O’Shea?” I asked.

  “Coming up for two years now. I’ve never actually seen the master yet. Mr. Rogers hired me.”

  “Oh, so you were here before Plunkett?”

  “I was, my lady.”

  “And Joanie?”

  “She was hired just after me.”

  So two of them had been here when Rogers fell down the stairs. Interesting. Although I couldn’t see Joanie pushing a large man down the stairs and McShea seemed just too nice. Perhaps it was an accident after all.

  I had just finished my second cup of good strong tea and probably my fourth piece of shortbread when I heard the sound of a motorcar. I looked up to see a taxi arriving. The driver jumped out and held up a great umbrella as a small blond person got out. I hurried to the front door.

  Mummy was all in black, making her light complexion look ghostly white. She wore a small pillbox hat with a black veil over her eyes and she held out her hands when she saw me. “Georgie, darling. My angel. My savior.” And she flung herself into my arms.

  Plunkett had arrived on the scene. Mummy, ever alert even in her most dramatic moments, noticed him.

  “And who is this delightful young man?”

  Plunkett could not, in his best moments, be described as either delightful or young. He went red.

  “I’m Plunkett, Your Grace. The butler.”

  “What happened to Rogers? I used to adore him.”

  “He died, Mummy,” I said.

  “How sad. But he was quite old, wasn’t he?”

  I was going to say that he fell down the stairs and watch Plunkett’s face but then I reminded myself that Plunkett wasn’t even hired at the time that Rogers died. So if Rogers’s death wasn’t an accident, I couldn’t blame it on Plunkett.

  “Well, I’m glad to meet you, Plunkett,” my mother said, turning on that charm that had made men across the globe go weak at the knees. “I know you’re going to take care of me splendidly.”

  “I’ll do my best, Your Grace,” he said. “Do I take it you are in mourning? Her ladyship didn’t mention it.”

  “I am, Plunkett. My fiancé’s father died. So tragic. And my darling daughter invited me down here so that I wouldn’t be alone in my sorrow.”

  “My condolences, Your Grace.”

  He looked up as the taxi driver staggered up the steps with a trunk. “One moment and I’ll send for the footman.”

  McShea came to assist with two valises, a jewelry case, and a hatbox.

  “I’ll show you the room I’ve chosen for you, Mummy,” I said. I led the way up the stairs. As we passed my room she stopped and put a hand on the doorknob. “Will I not be sleeping in here? This was always my room, I remember. Such an enchanting view.”

  “I’m sorry but I’d already chosen this room for Darcy and me.”

  “I see.” She gave a huge dramatic sigh. “Still I’m sure what you’ve selected for me will be better than nothing.”

  She was good at getting her own way through guilt. But my newfound strength, forged during the last few days, was not going to bend to her will. “You’ll be quite comfortable, Mummy, and it may not be for long. You’ll probably get bored here and want to go to Nice or Lugano.”

  “No. I don’t think I’ll want to be seen in public,” she said. “People will talk. One thing I can’t stand is pity. This will do quite nicely as a base. When I have conquered the worst of my grief I shall go up to town to see dear Noël. Remember he wanted to write a play for us to star in together? Now I may have to start earning my own crust again and the sooner I start the better.”

  “Your own crust.” I had to laugh. She gave me a haughty stare. I led her down the hall of the wing and opened the door to the room I had selected.

  “Oh,” she said. “Yes, I suppose this will do.” She put on a falsely bright smile. “And it doesn’t matter that these north-facing rooms are always so cold. I expect I’ve a good eiderdown on the bed.”

  “You have. And it’s summer,” I pointed out. “And if the room isn’t right for you, then take a look around and select the one you like.”

  “There was quite a pretty one in the other wing, I seem to remember,” she said. “The matching room to yours, but in the far corner.”

  “We’re not using the other wing at the moment,” I said. “Sir Hubert wanted those rooms kept for his personal use when he returns.”

  “Is he returning soon?” she asked with a tremble in her voice. “I don’t know if I’d be strong enough to face him. I did behave so badly before, you know. I broke his heart. Just like mine has now been broken.”

  “He won’t be back for a while, I don’t think,” I said. “He’s somewhere in South America, climbing the Andes.”

  “Then he won’t mind if I select one of his rooms, will he?”

  “Sleep here for now. We’ll talk about it later,” I said, conscious that Plunkett was still hovering in the doorway, and the tramp of feet indicated that trunks were being carried up the stairs.

  “What are you doing about a maid?” The idea suddenly struck me. I didn’t think she’d do well with either Queenie or Joanie.

  “Claudette will be coming down from London by train with the rest of my things,” she said. “I hope there will be a suitable room for her available. She is rather particular.”

  “I’m sure we can arrange something,” I said. I glanced back and saw Plunkett still loitering. “Her Grace’s French maid will need a room, Plunkett. Please select something suitable and have Joanie give it a thorough cleaning.”

  I took Mummy’s arm. “Why don’t you take off your hat and gloves and come and have some tea. Queenie’s baked shortbread.”

  “Queenie? Oh God, Georgie, you haven’t brought her here. She’ll burn the place down.”

  “She’s turned into a decent cook, Mummy. You wait until you taste the shortbread.”

  I led her down to the sitting room. She looked around, frowning. “I don’t remember this room as being so drab,” she said. “It certainly needs sprucing up. Wasn’t there a lovely ormolu clock on the mantelpiece? And Chinese dogs? And a little cabinet with all kinds of silver knickknacks? I suppose Hubert locks everything up in the bank or in a strong room while he’s away.”

  Another tea tray was brought and Mummy admitted grudgingly that the shortbread was quite edible. Things were going to be improving at Eynsleigh, I thought. I waited until I was sure no servant was hovering, then closed the door and drew her aside.

  “There’s something I have to tell you,” I whispered.

  “Oh God, Georgie, you’re not pregnant?”

  “No, nothing like that. It’s Sir Hubert’s mother. She’s here. In the house.”

  “Is she? I remember her well. Feisty old thing, isn’t she? Completely disapproved of me. But then most mothers do, I find. Pure jealousy, if you ask me. Will she be joining us for dinner?”

  “That’s just the point. She won’t. She’s gone quite gaga and is confined to the other wing with a nurse. I went to visit her last night and she has great birds that fly around the room and land on your head and she throws things.”

  “Good heavens. Why isn’t she in some kind of institution, then?”

  “She was. Sir Hubert left her in one but she escaped and came here and now she refuses to go back.”

  “How strange. How tiresome,” she said. “So we won’t be seeing her?”

  “Not unless you want a bird on your head.”

  “Oh, how ghastly. I can’t stand birds.” She shuddered. “I don’t remember her keeping birds when we visited her.”

  “Oh, and one more thing. She sleeps all day and wanders at night. I’d lock my door if I were you.”

  “Gracious, Georgie. It’s like moving into a house of horrors. We must put her back in the home as soon as possible.”

  I chewed on my lip. “I wasn’t sure whether it was my place to interfere or not. I planned to write to Sir Hubert, but who knows when he’ll get the letter.”

  “Write to him? We must cable him and tell the embassy to find him immediately. The old bat could set fire to the place or kill us all in our beds.”

  “She does have a nurse, Mummy. I’ll speak to Plunkett to make sure she doesn’t get out again.”

  I sighed as I went to change for dinner. If I had known that running this house would prove so complicated, would I ever have accepted Sir Hubert’s kind offer? I took out my evening dress and realized that Mummy would expect me to dress properly for dinner. I rang my bell and eventually Joanie appeared.

  “Joanie, I’m not sure if Queenie has time to dress me if she’s preparing dinner. Maybe you can do it until we work out a schedule.”

  “I’m not being paid to be a lady’s maid,” she said sullenly.

  “That’s because you don’t have the skills yet,” I said. “Wouldn’t you like to learn and have experience so that you can become a lady’s maid and earn more money?”

  “Not me,” she said. “I don’t plan to stay in service longer than I have to. I’m off to America and going to make a fortune.”

  “There is nothing wrong with ambition, but right now I need someone to help me with doing up my dress.”

  She put it over my head. “It doesn’t seem right, does it?” she said. “Your lot do nothing and us lot have to wait on you.”

  “No, I suppose it doesn’t seem right,” I said. “But at least you have a job and a roof over your head, which hasn’t been true for a lot of people since the beginning of the Depression. My own father lost all his money and killed himself, so I’ve had to make do without much help.”

  The last buttons were being done up when the floor shook and in barged Queenie, red-faced and sweating.

  “What’s she doing up here?” she demanded. “I came as quick as I could to dress you for dinner, miss.”

  “I thought you’d be too busy cooking so I asked Joanie to help me.”

  “I’m your ruddy maid, not her. She ain’t taking my place,” Queenie said.

  “Don’t worry, you’re welcome to it,” Joanie said and stalked out.

  “She’s trouble, that one,” Queenie said. “I’d watch her if I were you, miss.”

  “In what way?”

  “She’s too friendly with Fernando for one thing. And she looks sneaky.” As she spoke she brushed my hair and fixed a diamanté comb to the curls on one side. “You can do your own face, can’t you, or my pudding will burn.”

  Then she departed again, making the vases on the shelves start to jingle. I sat staring at myself in the dressing table mirror. Queenie might be annoying, but she wasn’t stupid. The fact that she had picked up on Joanie as being sneaky . . . Maybe she was right.

  * * *

  MIRACULOUSLY A GOOD dinner appeared: a passable soup, grilled pork chops and meringues with strawberries and cream.

  “Not bad,” Mummy commented.

  I decided it was time for positive reinforcement. I went down to the kitchen.

  Two scowling red faces looked up at me.

  “Her Grace was pleased with the dinner tonight, Fernando,” I said. “Please keep it up.”

  “I no cook,” he said, his face so red it looked as if he was about to explode. “This woman, she tell me to bugger off and she will cook for her mistress.”

  “Then you did very well, Queenie,” I said. “The meringue was delicious.”

  “Thank you kindly, miss,” she said. “But old sourpuss here didn’t half make a fuss. We almost came to blows.”

  “I am cook here,” Fernando said in dramatic fashion. “No woman going to come and take my place.”

  “No woman will take your place until Sir Hubert returns, Fernando,” I said, “but since you apparently don’t know what English aristocrats like to eat, then I’m putting Queenie in charge of my meals. You may continue to cook for the staff.” I turned to Queenie. “You and I will discuss menus in the morning, Queenie.”

  “Bob’s yer uncle, miss.”

  “Who is this Bob person?” Fernando demanded. “Is he also coming to this house?”

  “Just an English expression, Fernando,” I said.

  “The English, they have ridiculous expressions,” he said.

  “If you don’t like the way we do things, why don’t you just bugger off and go home to wherever you came from,” Queenie said, giving him a cold stare.

  I thought this was a valid question. Why did he stay in England if he clearly couldn’t or wouldn’t cook English food? And why had anyone hired him?

  Chapter 20

  SUNDAY, JUNE 30

  EYNSLEIGH

  I’m feeling so much better now. Mummy is here and will soon whip Plunkett into shape and Queenie has actually become a good cook. Wonders will never cease.

  Fortunately the rain had stopped by the next morning and a watery sun poked through an early morning haze. I breakfasted alone: eggs and bacon, marmalade and toast, cooked by Queenie. I was beginning to think of her as a treasure, her old disasters already fading from my mind. Mummy appeared much later, looking like the heroine of some tragic and romantic novel in a long black gown with a black headband tied around her forehead.

  “I hardly slept a wink in that room. I kept thinking I heard things—people coming and going all night. We’ll have to find another room for me. I suspect that one may be haunted.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “But at least Queenie will cook you a good breakfast.”

  “Nothing too elaborate, please. You know I haven’t been able to eat a thing since the terrible news. Just some smoked haddock, maybe, oh, and kidneys to go with the bacon, and the eggs poached . . .” She looked around, hands raised. “Where are the newspapers?”

  “I’m sorry. I haven’t got around to ordering any yet.”

  “But I must have the Times in the morning. I can’t live without the Times. And the Tatler. I have to see if anyone is writing anything about me.”

  “I have to go into the village later. I’ll pick you up a copy of the newspaper and order it to be delivered for you,” I said. It had just struck me that Mummy’s contribution to the household budget would at least ensure that we ate and drank well. I’d tell her about our meager allowance and suggest she chip in. After all, she wasn’t destitute yet.

  “Thank you. I suppose I can do without it for an hour or so. Is there any coffee?”

  “I’ve been drinking tea,” I said. “I’ll order some for you.”

  It seemed that coffee was one thing Fernando could do well. Mummy was satisfied and cheered up.

  “Why don’t you come in to the village with me?” I asked. “It’s the local church fete. It might be fun. I promised to attend.”

  “A fete? Oh, good God, no.” She shuddered. “You know what it would be like. They’d want me to open it and give speeches and present the prizes for best jams and vegetable marrows and I look so awful at the moment that I simply couldn’t do it.”

  “They’ve already got the runner-up to Miss Dairy Queen of Sussex to open it,” I said, grinning. “But I do understand. I won’t stay long and I’ll be back with your newspaper.”

  I had the motor brought around and drove myself into the village. There was bunting strung across the street and a brass band was playing outside the church. The green was covered with booths, selling everything from homemade jams to white elephants. Children clustered around the games: hoopla and cakewalk and coconut shy. Apparently I had missed the grand-opening speech, as everything was in full swing. And speaking of swings, there was a giant swing boat on one side and screams emanated as it went up and down. Such a jolly, innocent scene, and I stood watching wistfully, feeling like an outsider. A few people recognized me and smiled, murmuring, “Welcome, your ladyship. Good of you to come.” I bumped into Old Ben, the gardener, and reminded him that I looked forward to seeing him back at Eynsleigh as soon as possible.

  “I’ve been thinking it over. If you’re sure that my presence would be wanted, your ladyship,” he said, “I’d be more than willing.”

  “The current gardeners may well resent you,” I said. “But I want you there and I am the lady of the manor at the moment. If you have any trouble with them, come to me.”

  “Very well, your ladyship. Let’s give it a try, shall we? I don’t like to think of those grounds going to rack and ruin after all those years I put into them.”

  “Thank you, Ben. I’d be most grateful,” I said. As he was about to walk away, touching his cap to me, another thought struck me. “Ben, about the old lady. I’ve met her now. You seemed to know that she was back in residence.”

  He turned red. “I shouldn’t have said nothing. I realized she’d want to keep it hush-hush.”

  “So how did you know she’d come back?”

  “I’ve seen her, haven’t I? First time must have been a few months ago now. She was sitting in the back of a big car and she looked out and she spotted me and gave me a little nod. Then I saw her again, only a week or so ago. Again she was in the back of that big car and this time she didn’t see me, but I recognized that black shawl she wore around her head.”