Snare of Serpents Page 3

  IT WAS LATE THAT NIGHT when my father returned. Lying in bed, I heard him come in. The storm would not break that night.

  The next morning Kitty was sent for. Pale, shame-faced, but not so desperate as she had been, she went to his study. I was waiting on the stairs for her when she emerged. She looked at me and nodded.

  I went with her to her room where Lilias joined us.

  “I’m to pack my box and leave. I’ve already packed.”

  “At once?” I asked.

  She nodded. “He said I was a disgrace to the house and he had a young daughter to think of.”

  “Oh, Kitty,” I said. “I’m sorry you’re going like this.”

  “You’ve been an angel, Miss Davina, you and Miss Milne.” Her voice broke. “I don’t know what I’d have done without your help.”

  “Here’s the letter,” said Lilias. “Take that. And here’s some money.”

  “I’ve got my wages due to me.”

  “Then you’ll have a little. It’ll get you to Lakemere. My father is a good man. He would never turn anyone in distress away. He will pray a lot, but it won’t be all prayers. He’ll do his best to help you. He’s done it for people in trouble before.”

  Kitty broke into tears and embraced us both.

  “I’ll never forget you two,” she sobbed. “What I’d have done without …”

  A cab had been ordered to take her to the station and solemnity reigned over the house. Kitty had been dismissed in disgrace. A lesson to foolish girls. And now it was the turn of Hamish.

  He was to go to see the master. He swaggered into the house, hands in pockets. There was no sign of repentance.

  He went to my father’s study and the door was shut on them.

  Lilias came to my room. “What will happen?” she asked. “It’s going to be very awkward … his family living in the mews.”

  “He’ll be dismissed, of course. He won’t be able to come into the house. Well, we shall see.”

  The whole house was waiting for what would happen next. The interview was long. No one heard any raised voices coming from the study, and finally Hamish emerged and walked calmly out of the house.

  It was not until the following day that we realised that Hamish was to drive my father just as usual, and that the punishment meted out to his partner-in-crime was not to be inflicted on him.

  THERE WAS BEWILDERMENT. Hamish went about nonchalant as ever, whistling “Ye Banks and Braes” or “Loch Lomond” just as though nothing had happened. We could not understand it.

  Aunt Roberta was not of a nature to allow the matter to rest there.

  She raised it at dinner that evening.

  “The girl has gone,” she said. “What about him?”

  My father pretended to misunderstand. He raised his eyebrows and assumed that cold manner which intimidated most of us. But not Aunt Roberta.

  “You know to what I am referring, David, so please don’t pretend you don’t.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, “you would be good enough to elucidate.”

  “Surely incidents such as that which has recently taken place in this household are not lightly passed over.”

  “I understand,” he said, “that you are referring to the maid’s dismissal.”

  “She wasn’t the only culprit.”

  “The man is one of the best coachmen I ever had. I don’t propose to dispense with his services … if that is what you mean.”

  Aunt Roberta forgot her dignity and screamed: “What?”

  My father looked pained. “I have dealt with the matter,” he said coldly, “and it is closed.”

  Aunt Roberta could only stare at him.

  “I cannot believe I am hearing aright. I tell you I saw them. They were caught in the act.”

  My father continued to look at her coldly and then gave a significant glance in my direction, meaning that they could not discuss such a matter when I was present on account of my youth and innocence.

  Aunt Roberta shut her lips tightly and glared at him.

  The rest of the meal was conducted in near silence. But afterwards she followed him into his study. She was there for quite a long time and when she came out she went straight to her room.

  The very next morning she left, with the air of the righteous leaving Sodom and Gomorrah before disaster descended.

  She could not stay another night in a house where sin was condoned because one of the sinners was “a good coachman.”

  THE MATTER was discussed at length belowstairs—not in my presence, but much of what was said was imparted to me by Lilias.

  She said: “It’s very strange. No one understands it. Your father sent for Hamish and we thought he was going to be dismissed as Kitty had been. But Hamish came out of that room, even more sure of himself, it seemed. What was said no one knows. But he is just carrying on as usual. And to think that poor Kitty was turned out as she was! It doesn’t make sense. But then they always blame the woman in cases like this, and the men get off, scot-free.”

  “I can’t understand it,” I said. “Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t live in the house.”

  “He comes into the house. He corrupts the servants.”

  “I wonder why … I wish I knew.”

  “Your father is not a man to be easily understood.”

  “But he is so religious and Hamish …”

  “Is a rogue. It didn’t take this to tell me that. We could all see what he was. A pity Kitty was such a little idiot as to be tempted by him. I admit there is something about him. She must have found him irresistible.”

  “I know one who thinks he is wonderful.”

  “Who?”

  “Himself.”

  “That’s true enough. If ever a man was in love with himself that man is Hamish Vosper. But the servants don’t like it, you know. Kitty was a good worker … and she was well thought of.”

  “I do hope she will be all right.”

  “I know she won’t be turned away. My father will do what he can. As I told you, he’s a real Christian.”

  “My father is supposed to be one and he turned her out.”

  “Your father is good at saying prayers and looking like a Christian. My father is good at being one. There is a difference.”

  “I hope so, for Kitty’s sake.” “He’ll write to me and tell me what happened.” “I am so pleased you are here to help, Lilias.” That caused a frown to appear on her brow. For how long? she would be wondering. My father had ruthlessly dismissed Kitty, and Lilias would have to go when her services were no longer required. She was right. My father was very good at showing a Christian demeanour to the world, but he had his own creed of right and wrong. Lilias had summed up his attitude; and I had seen what had happened to Kitty.

  But what was the true reason why Hamish had been forgiven? Because he was a good coachman? Because he was a man?

  AFTER A WHILE the affair ceased to be talked of continuously. A new parlourmaid was employed to replace Kitty. She was Ellen Farley, a woman of about thirty. My father said she had been personally recommended to him.

  Mr. and Mrs. Kirkwell were somewhat put out. The engaging of staff was their province and they did not like members of it to be introduced over their heads, as Mrs. Kirkwell put it. It was a reflection on her and Mr. Kirkwell that Kitty had been their choice. But the main culprit in that affair, if you asked Mrs. Kirkwell, was Hamish Vosper, and why he was allowed to stay on she would like to know.

  However, Ellen came. She was quite different from Kitty— quiet, efficient and, said Mrs. Kirkwell, kept herself to herself.

  Hamish still came into the kitchen and sat at the table, seemingly amused because Mrs. Kirkwell pretended that he was not there. He had an eye for Bess and Jenny but, remembering Kitty, they were wary.

  Hamish’s opinion seemed to be that he was unassailable; he could act in whatever way he pleased because it was natural that he should. It was human nature, as he had once said. A man such as he was, irresistible to the female sex, could n
ot be expected to behave in any way but that which came naturally to him. But I fancied he would have to look elsewhere for his conquests because he would not find them in our house. The example set by Kitty was very fresh in everyone’s mind.

  In due course there was a letter from Lakemere vicarage. Lilias took it to her bedroom and I went with her that we might read it together.

  Kitty had arrived and the vicar had behaved in exactly the way that Lilias had said he would.

  “She is so grateful,” he wrote. “She cannot say enough in praise of you, Lilias, and your charge Davina. I am proud of you. The poor child, for she is little more, was in acute distress. She has been useful to Alice and Jane in the kitchen and about the house. Mrs. Ellington up at Lakemere House needs someone in the kitchen. You remember Mrs. Ellington, a very forceful lady but with a kind heart. I went to see her and told her the story, which of course I had to do. She promised to give Kitty a chance and I am sure the poor child will not slip up again. It seems that one of her maids is leaving in a few weeks to get married so there will be a vacant place. While she is waiting, Kitty can stay and help Alice and Jane. Lilias, I am so glad you did what you did. What would have happened to poor Kitty otherwise I cannot imagine …”

  I gazed at Lilias and I felt the tears in my eyes.

  “Oh, Lilias,” I said, “your father is a wonderful man.”

  “I agree with you,” she replied.

  But the response of the vicar of Lakemere set me thinking about my own father. I had always regarded him as an upright and honourable man. But to have dismissed Kitty as he had and inflict no punishment on Hamish, except perhaps a verbal reprimand, had made me change my image of him. He had always seemed so remote, but now he was less so. In the old days I had thought he was too noble to be considered as one of us; now my feelings towards him had begun to change. How could he have cared so little as to what would become of another human being and send Kitty out into a harsh world, while he kept her partner-in-crime because he was a good coachman? He was acting not out of righteousness but for his own comfort. The image of the good and noble man was fading.

  If my mother had been there I could have talked with her. But it would not have happened if she had been with us. She would never have allowed Kitty to be sent away having nowhere to go.

  I felt bewildered and apprehensive.

  My father sent for me one day and when I arrived in his study he looked at me quizzically. “You’re growing up,” he said. “Nearly seventeen, is it not?”

  I agreed that it was, terrified that this was a prelude to the departure of Lilias whose services would no longer be required so that she would be as cursorily dismissed as Kitty had been.

  However, it was not to be just then, for he turned to a casket which was on the table. I knew it well. It contained my mother’s jewellery. She had shown it to me on more than one occasion, taking out each piece and talking to me about it.

  There was the pearl necklace which her father had given her on her wedding day. There was the ruby ring which had been her mother’s. There were the bracelet set with turquoise, a turquoise necklace to match, two gold brooches and a silver one.

  “You shall have them all when you are grown up,” she had told me, “and you’ll be able to give them to your daughter. It’s rather pleasant to think of these trinkets going on through the generations, don’t you think?”

  I did.

  My father picked up the pearl necklace and held it in his hands. My mother had told me that there were sixty pearls in it and the clasp was a real diamond surrounded by seed pearls. I had seen her wear it on several occasions, as I had most of the jewellery in the box.

  My father said: “Your mother wished you to have these. I think you are too young for the jewellery as yet, but the necklace is different. You could have that now. They say that if pearls are not worn they lose their lustre.”

  I took it from him and my first thought was one of relief. He considered me too young to wear jewellery; therefore I would not yet be ready to dispense with Lilias. But I was pleased to have the pearl necklace.

  I put it round my neck and when I thought of my mother I was overwhelmed with sadness.

  When I joined Lilias, she noticed the necklace at once.

  “It’s beautiful,” she cried. “It really is.”

  “It was my mother’s. There are several brooches and things. They are for me, but my father doesn’t think I am old enough to wear them yet. But it’s not good for pearls if they are not worn.”

  “I’ve heard that,” she said. She touched the pearls lovingly and I took them off and handed them to her.

  “The clasp is lovely,” she said. “That in itself would be worth a good deal.”

  “Oh … I shouldn’t want to sell them.”

  “Of course not. But I was just thinking … they’d be a nice little nest egg.”

  “You mean if I fell on hard times.”

  “Well, it’s a comfort to have such things.”

  I saw that sad, rather faraway look in her eyes. She was looking into a future where a nest egg would be a great comfort to her, I guessed.

  I went down to the kitchen to find out whether my father had said he would not be in for dinner that evening. He usually left a message for Mrs. Kirkwell. There was that uneasy atmosphere down there because Hamish was sitting at the table, sleeves rolled up, pulling idly at the hairs on his arms.

  I went over to Mrs. Kirkwell who was stirring something in a basin. She noticed the pearls at once.

  “My word,” she cried. “They do look fine.”

  “Yes. They are mine now. They were my mother’s. I have to wear them because they get dull if they are shut away too long.”

  “Do they now?” said Mrs. Kirkwell.

  “That’s what my father said.”

  “Well, he would know, would he not?”

  “I think I have heard it before.”

  “Well, they look very nice. They suit you, Miss Davina.”

  “The clasp is valuable, too,” I said. “It’s a diamond with little pearls round it.”

  “There now.”

  “Miss Milne said it would be a nest egg … if ever I was in need.”

  Mrs. Kirkwell laughed. “Oh, not you, Miss Davina. But she would think of that, wouldn’t she? Poor wee soul. Governesses … well, I’ve always said I wouldna be one.”

  “Has my father said whether he would be in to dinner tonight?”

  Before she could answer Hamish looked up and said: “Nay, he’ll nae be in. I know. I’m driving him.”

  Mrs. Kirkwell answered as though he had not spoken.

  “He left a message that he would not be in.”

  And soon after that, I left.

  THE NEXT DAY there was consternation. My necklace was missing. I had kept it in its blue case in the drawer of my dressing table and I could not believe it when I discovered that the case was there but not the necklace. Frantically I searched through all the drawers, but they revealed nothing. The necklace had disappeared. It was a mystery because I would not have dreamed of not putting it away in its case.

  Everyone was shocked. When a valuable article like the necklace disappeared, said Mrs. Kirkwell, it was not very nice for those close by.

  She was right. The necklace had been in my room. Now it was no longer there. Where was it? “Necklaces don’t walk,” said Mrs. Kirkwell. Therefore the inference must be that someone had taken it. Who? No one could feel entirely free from suspicion.

  My father had not returned until late that night, driven home by Hamish, and as the household had retired he had not heard of the missing necklace until the next morning.

  I don’t suppose I was the only one in the house who had a sleepless night. We had a thief in the house and my suspicions naturally turned to Hamish. If he were capable of that other thing, might he not believe that it was “human nature” to take a necklace from someone who did not need it and give it to someone who did—himself in this case?

  But
Hamish did not go beyond the kitchen. Since he was discovered in one of the bedrooms with Kitty it had been a tacit agreement that the upper floors were out of bounds to him unless he was summoned there by my father. Of course, there was always a possibility that he had not kept to the rule; but I had never seen him anywhere except in the kitchen since that affair. Yet it was not impossible that he might have crept up to my room and taken the necklace. If he had been caught there I was sure he would have had a ready explanation for his presence.

  During the night when I was trying to sleep I went over what had happened since I last put the necklace on and I was sure I had put it back in the case when I last took it off.

  My father was naturally horrified. He ordered that my room be thoroughly searched. He fired questions at me. Did I remember taking off the necklace? Did I remember putting it into the case? Who had been in my room since then? Only the maid to clean and Miss Milne, of course. She came to discuss something with me. I forgot what.

  He said that everyone should assemble in the library.

  “This is a grievous matter,” he said to the company. “A valuable piece of jewellery is missing. Someone in this house knows where it is. I am going to give that person a chance to hand it over now. If this is done, I will consider the matter. But if it is not brought to me this day I shall inform the police. Is everyone here?”

  “Where is Ellen?” asked Mrs. Kirkwell.

  “I don’t know,” said Bess. “She was giving me a hand with the rooms. I called out to her when we had the order to come to the library.”

  “Someone should be sent to tell her,” said Mrs. Kirkwell. “I’ll go myself.”

  Mrs. Kirkwell did not have to go for just at that moment Ellen appeared. In her hand she held the pearl necklace.

  “Ellen!” cried Mrs. Kirkwell.

  “I heard Bess calling that we were to come here,” said Ellen. “But … I was finding this. I couldn’t shut the drawer … it looked untidy … half open. I thought something in the drawer below might have caught up somehow. So I opened the lower drawer. It was a petticoat. I pulled it out and as I did this fell out. Is it the one that’s been lost?”

  “In what drawer did you find this?” demanded my father.