‘I wonder if I might ask for a copy of The Times before I go down, sir? It is the normal practice to leave two or three on the hall table. A brief study of the form at Ascot would put me in a strong position to withstand Sir Henry’s questions at breakfast.’
There seemed little point in quibbling, so I went off like a retriever puppy to fetch his lordship’s paper. I managed to deliver it and remove the tray to the servants’ quarters without bumping into anyone, then set about finding the butler.
In my younger days – as an undergraduate, say, on a visit to some chum’s twenty-first – I had found the butler an aweinspiring figure and spent many an anxious hour calculating how much and at what instant to tip him on the day of departure. The years between, though few enough in number, had taken the edge off such callow fears and it was with a measure of insouciance that I knocked at the door indicated by Mrs Tilman.
‘Come in,’ said a voice that seemed to come from fathoms underground.
I did as I was told and then stopped short. It was the sheer volume of butler that was overwhelming. If one of the heads on Mount Rushmore had taken first a body then a breathing form, it could have picked up a hint or two from this Bicknell. Monumental was the word that came to mind. No one would have wished – or dared – to call him corpulent: there was no suggestion of spare flesh beneath that mighty waistcoat; but it would have been unwise to attempt a circumnavigation without leaving some sort of forwarding address or poste restante.
‘Can I help?’
‘Yes, I’m Ber … Wilberforce, Mr Wilberforce, I mean. Lord Etringham’s man … valet.’
I was aware of having made the most frightful hash of my opening lines. I coughed and pulled myself together.
‘I thought I’d just look in and say what ho, what?’
There was a silence. I heard the clock in the servants’ passageway strike the hour and felt the success of the whole adventure rather hang on the moment.
‘Good morning,’ said Bicknell. ‘I hope you passed a pleasant night.’
The manner was grave, but the eye was genial.
‘Oh, rather. Very comfortable. Slept like a top, don’t you know.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it. Some visitors find the bed takes a day or two to get used to.’
‘Not me, Bick … Mr Bicknell. Quite used to roughing it. Officer cadet corps at school and all that. Absolute lap of luxury.’
I sensed that I hadn’t quite got the hang of this dialogue and thought it best to say as little as possible for the time being.
‘We’re at full stretch this weekend,’ said Bicknell. ‘We lost a footman last week. Liddle.’
‘Oh dear. An accident?’
‘No. Liddle was what you might call a shirker. Bone idle. I don’t like shirkers, Mr Wilberforce.’
‘Nor do I. No time for them at all.’
‘And then he was caught with a dozen Georgian forks in his coat pocket when he went home on Saturday night. Sir Henry is very particular about his silver.’
‘What a scoundrel. Was he hauled up before the bench?’
‘Sir Henry is the bench, in a manner of speaking. He didn’t want to take it any further.’
‘But Liddle was shown the door.’
‘Yes. The next morning. We have a new man called Hoad who’s come to help out while we’re full up.’
‘Hoad?’
‘Yes, he’s from the village. He used to work in the stables.’
‘I see. And does that complete the picture?’
‘There’s also Mrs Tilman – and Mrs Padgett, the cook. And the women who come in to clean.’
‘Well, if I can help at all, just let me know. Always happy to oblige, don’t you know.’
‘That’s most thoughtful of you, Mr … Wilberforce. As a matter of fact there is something you could do. Sir Henry has asked me to have the telephone line mended. I’ve written to the company but that may take a day or two. If you were in the village you could perhaps go into one of the public houses and make a telephone call to report the fault. I shan’t have the time myself. I would recommend the Hare and Hounds over the Red Lion.’
‘Consider it done, Mr Bicknell. I shall see you later, no doubt.’
So saying, I left the impressive fellow in his den and headed to the kitchen garden for a well-earned gasper. On my return to the house, I found breakfast under way in the kitchen. This meal consisted of what had been brought back from the dining room with a fresh pot of tea plonked down by the cook. This Mrs Padgett was a red-faced old party whose way of speaking indicated that she came from somewhere in the northern wilds – possibly this side of Hadrian’s Wall, but not by much.