“Mistress Cecily’s orders, sir. ‘Touch nothing,’ we were told. ‘You may clean surfaces but that’s all.’ ”
“Mistress Cecily, ah, yes …” Joe said, speculation in his eye. “Back in the saddle again. Things are moving more smoothly with the old mistress in charge again, would you say?”
Mrs. Bolton’s chilly expression warned him she would say nothing of the sort. Discretion even after death was the rule for housekeepers. She unbent so far as to confide, “Mistress Cecily and I understand each other well, Commissioner. Indeed, we arrived here at Melsett on the same day, over forty years ago. She brought me down with her from her father’s household when she married. I was given a position of rising authority here with the task of raising the level of domestic discipline and capability. Under Sir Sidney—the bachelor Sir Sidney—things had become regrettably lax.”
Joe smiled. “What I see is a credit to your efforts, Mrs. Bolton. As well run a household as I ever saw, I do believe.”
Enid Bolton seemed pleased by the compliment
“Well, thank you Mrs. Bolton.” Joe began to get to his feet, the interview over. “Just one more thing.” He touched his plaster and grimaced. “How much per week do you pay the Green Man of the Woods to heave logs at your house guests?”
If he had thought to catch her out he was disappointed. She chuckled. “You’ll not find that villain’s name on my books, sir! You rightly guess I do all the payments for indoor and outdoor staff. That’s been the way since we lost Steward Hunnybun and he was replaced by a Farm Manager. Albright is very good in his way, but he doesn’t have Adam’s insight and tact. Adam calls by and gives a hand still if ever I need him but luckily I have a head for figures and it’s no trouble. You may inspect the household accounts if you wish.”
Mrs. Bolton got to her feet and selected a large red leather-bound ledger, the last in a series, from the bookshelf. She placed it on the table. “Help yourself,” she invited. “Lady Lavinia could never be bothered. I can’t be certain she quite followed the calculations when I insisted on having her signature at the month’s end. I don’t believe she knew the price of a packet of pins! But no—to answer your question—‘Goodfellow,’ as he likes to call himself, among other things, is not on the house payroll. Never has been. ‘It’s a personal contribution, Enid, and none of your business,’ Adam said when I asked him where the buffoon got his beer money. I don’t think Adam knows either.”
“Can you tell me in what ways Mr. Goodfellow bothers the household?” Joe asked as though merely requiring confirmation of knowledge he already had.
“Peeking and prying!” The answer came at once. “The maids don’t like to be working in the dairy and see his ugly face leering at them through the window. They don’t feel free to kick off their shoes these hot days and dabble in the moat to cool off as they’d like to. He’s always drawn by the sight of a bare leg. He pushed Rose off the edge last summer and stood by laughing as she sank under—in the afternoon uniform she’d just put on all fresh from the laundry press. Just as well Ben heard her scream and came running. Pest! It’s like having a hornet buzzing about all the time. Never knowing where it’s going to plant its sting.”
“Don’t the men take some action?” Joe cast a sideways look at Ben, noting his suddenly clenching fists. “Did no one step forward to remonstrate on Rose’s behalf?”
“He’s too slick to do anything when the men are about. Though I do recall that Goodfellow fell into something less salubrious than moat-water shortly after Rosie’s escapade.”
Ben reddened and grinned.
“The men servants work hard for their pay, Commissioner, and they don’t like to see him louting about, pretending to do a bit of coppicing here and a bit of fencing there when all he hangs about for is dressing up, scaring people and getting sozzled down the pub of an evening. But their hands are tied. He has the master’s ear, you might say. Lady L. couldn’t stand him, though she couldn’t get him dismissed either. Heaven knows—she tried often enough!”
“Where did he come from? Anything known?”
“He’s been here since before the old master died. Sir Sidney knew him. From his army days? He fetched up here as a down-and-out … oh, thirty years ago … and Sir Sidney, who was a very generous man, gave him a part time job, helping with estate work, sometimes with the horses. He’s been here ever since. He ‘arrives with the cuckoo, that harbinger of Spring, and leaves the moment Jack Frost returns to crackle the surface of the moat with his icy breath.’ That’s what he tells the guests in his spirit-of-nature way. May to September, in my vocabulary. His sister’s a seaside landlady in Southend. She’d tell you she kicks her brother out at the arrival of the first summer holiday-maker and doesn’t let him back until the last one has left. The man’s a total fraud and an exploiter of the Truelove family’s generous nature. My advice—don’t ever ask him to take his mask off.”