Enter Pale Death(109)
“No indeed, Miss. Will you wait until I find him or will you leave a message? I think he’s officiating at the teapot in the east parlour at the moment. Sudden influx of thirsty guests.”
“Who are you?”
Joe explained who he was.
After a long pause, she began to talk. “I’ve only got threepence and I’m ringing from Mrs. Crispin, the grocer’s next door so I’ll have to talk fast. It’s Grace. Grace Aldred.”
“Oh, hullo, Gracie! I was just talking about you with Ben. How are you getting on? Or, more to the point, I ought to ask—how’s your mother doing?”
“Mother? Oh, she’s fine, thank you for asking, sir. She’s back on her Iron Jelloids and her Pink Pills. Look, can you tell Mr. Styles or Mrs. Bolton I’ve decided to come back? There was no need to stay here a whole week. Monday’s my busy day and I ought to be back at Melsett. And now my sister’s here with her two little ’uns … well, it’s a bit crowded and I’ve never got on with my ma. Not like Sarah, they’re thick as thieves those two …”
Joe listened to at least sixpenn’orth of family intrigue and drew his conclusions. He cut her short: “So, you’re packed and ready. What time is the next bus?… Two o’clock … In half an hour … Get on that bus, Grace. What time do you expect it’ll arrive in Melsett?… Right. I’ll come and collect you myself at the bottom of the drive. Don’t worry. I’ll tell those who need to know.”
FOUR O’CLOCK FOUND Joe lurking in the shade of a chestnut tree at the end of the drive. The bus braked, pulled over and parked. Joe leapt forward to greet the sole descending passenger with a smile and an extended arm. He introduced himself briefly. “From the Hall, Miss Aldred. I’m a friend of Adam Hunnyton. My name’s Joe Sandilands. We spoke on the telephone earlier. Let me take your bag.”
Grace was self-possessed enough to smile back and pause to wave a showy goodbye to the gaggle of young faces peering at her from the bus with astonishment and speculation. She claimed his arm, enjoying the intrigue of being seen in the company of such a smart gentleman and, without further ado, set off with him up the drive.
“You got away with no trouble, then?” he asked politely.
“Yes. They were quite glad to get shut of me. I’d rather be here with the other girls. We get time for a good gossip on Sunday afternoons. I’d miss that, Mr. Sandilands.”
As soon as the bus had rattled out of sight, Joe pulled her to the side of the drive into the shade and put down the bag. He turned to face her. Neat, brown-haired Grace had the plain but bright features of a robin, he thought, and she carried her head slightly cocked to one side, which increased the illusion.
“Listen carefully to me, Grace. I must give you my full title and explain why I’m here at the Hall at the invitation of Cecily, Lady Truelove.”
Grace nodded without surprise to hear his explanation.
“Now tell me—who exactly gave you permission to be away from the Hall?”
“It was Mrs. Bolton, sir. Last Tuesday … She asked me how my mother was getting along and I told her she’d been having these pains in her chest … Yes, it was Mrs. B. She’s strict but she’s a kind-hearted lady. She told me to take the whole week off if I wanted to. I said no need for that—I’d got behind with my gophering and would never catch up. I expect she’d cleared it with Lady Cecily. Nothing happens without her ladyship knowing.”
“I’ve visited your room, Grace. Thank you for so discreetly preserving the evidence. Were you expecting someone like me to come along and rake it over?”
“No. Can’t say as I was, sir. No one so grand as you. I had hoped Adam Hunnybun might come and set everything straight. I wasn’t sure quite how he’d manage it—he doesn’t often visit these days. I was waiting for him to come back.”
“How did you come by the rain cape your mistress was wearing that night?”
Grace looked affronted at the question. “I was her personal maid, sir. Who else would have the sorting out and cleaning of her things? It came back from the hospital with the rest of her clothes. They went on the bonfire.”
“Cleaning? You had preserved the cape in its uncleaned condition. Why?”
“I wasn’t happy about that rubbish she was meddling with. Witchcraft, she called it. Monkey-business, I thought. I had bad feelings about the whole silly scheme. I didn’t want to get the blame. They always go for one of us when someone high and mighty takes a tumble and I was the one who’d been to Mr. Harrison’s and bought the stuff she had me smear on that gingerbread. I thought someone ought to know the truth of the matter. How I tried to put it right. Tried to stop her getting hurt.”