‘Put them in here,’ I said to her. ‘Silly girl!’ I had decided that brisk but affectionate exasperation was the strong suit here. ‘Apart from anything else, Miss Etheldreda, hot water sets a bloodstain so nothing will ever shift it. A cold water and salt soak is what you need.’ I blessed Grant for my crammer course in laundry work on Sunday, during which I had learned this snippet; not only was it a thrillingly convincing line for Miss Rossiter to deliver but it was also true. If there had ever been blood on those ruined clothes of Eldry’s I should be able to find it. I decided against trying to feed them through the mangle but simply squeezed the worst out of them and hauled them up over the drying rack, and shut the door behind me. Nothing is more depressing than the sound of dripping.
‘I don’t want them to think I killed him,’ she said to me when I joined her again. ‘The police. My mammy would never forgive me if it all came out and everybody knew.’
‘If it all came out about what kind of man he was?’ I said, guessing. Eldry nodded. ‘Did he make a nuisance of himself with you?’ I said. She nodded again, just a dip of her chin against her chest. She did not raise her head again afterwards.
‘I was a good girl,’ she said.
‘And a kind girl,’ I agreed. ‘Taking the tray this morning when Clara wasn’t well.’
‘We all help each other out,’ she said. ‘We always do. And Mrs Hepburn is like an auntie to us all – not just Millie – and Mr Faulds is a kind man. He’s so fond of Phyllis and he’s been good to me too, miss.’ She was looking a little brighter now; perhaps it was beginning to dawn upon her, with Mr Balfour gone, what a pleasant establishment his widow’s household might be.
‘Now, Eldry,’ I said. ‘No more nonsense. You must be brave and sensible because you are going to be interviewed by the police, dear. They will want to know everything about this morning and about last night too. So why don’t we run through it together now and I’ll help you decide what to say.’
Eldry was adamant that she could not have crept out in the night without Millie hearing her and when I accompanied her to their shared bedroom I agreed. We were at the front of the house and here the sub-basement seemed very different. The only window was high and rather green and one had to stand right up against it and crane one’s neck to see the area steps and the street railings above them. Even in the mid-morning Eldry had to put a light on.
‘That’s Millie’s bed,’ she said, pointing towards a rather dishevelled little bedstead with a knitted bear propped up against its pillow. Her own was neater, although by no means the picture of precision mine had been the previous day. Clearly whoever had readied Miss Rossiter’s room for her, it was neither of these two. Between the beds was a box with a candlestick, a small prayer book and a couple of photographs, pasted onto board and propped up using opened hairpins. There was a washstand, a large oak chest standing on its end serving as a wardrobe and a small chest at the end of each bed. The floor was stone, but was covered here and there with rag mats. Under the window in the dankest corner of the room a third bed, stripped bare to its mattress, stood neglected.
‘That was Millie’s until Maggie took off,’ Eldry told me, ‘then we had a shift around. I hope she does get the kitchenmaid’s position and doesn’t need to move back again.’ I sat down on Eldry’s bed and bounced up and down a few times, hearing the grating squeak of slightly rusty bedsprings so familiar from the convalescent home in the war. Back then, the damp which caused the rust had come from windows thrown wide summer and winter to the insidious drizzle and driving rain. Here, the window was shut tight and there was a tiny fireplace with evidence of coal having been burned in its grate, but nothing would ever warm and dry such a subterranean room. When Eldry sat down on Millie’s bed, there was another screeching of springs and our knees were practically touching. The girls could have held hands at night without even straightening their arms.
‘And I suppose you lock your door?’ I asked her.
‘In this house,’ she said, ‘wouldn’t you?’
I went over to the door and turned the key, with a scrape and a clunk. Clearly, if either of the two lower maids had left in the night, the other one had to be in cahoots and covering for her. I believed Eldry, I thought, although I would still check her clothes very carefully when they were dry, and I could not imagine Millie – that dewy, blinking little baby doll – driving a knife into Pip Balfour’s neck, but I was looking forward to asking her what she made of her master, if indeed she had ever met him to form a view.
‘We’d better join the others,’ I said, unlocking the door. ‘If PC Morrison says anything to you just send him to me.’
Phyllis was skipping down the stairs from the ground floor when we climbed up again.
‘Where have you been?’ she said, stopping when she saw Eldry. ‘That big policeman – what’s he? An inspector? – was looking for you, but he took me instead. So I’ve told him what I know which was nothing and now I’m free as a bird.’ She grinned at us and jumped the last few steps down onto the flags then strolled off towards the kitchen. ‘He wants Mrs Hepburn next,’ she said over her shoulder.
‘Well, thank all that’s holy for that then,’ said Mrs Hepburn, hearing her. ‘And after I’ve said my piece I can get on without thon big lummock breathing down my neck.’ She appeared in the kitchen doorway unrolling her sleeves. ‘No disrespect meant to you, Jimmy,’ she called back, ‘I know you’re only doing your job, lad. Now come on, Molly-moo. Come with me.’
‘Eh, Mrs Hepburn,’ said PC Morrison, hurrying out after her. ‘It’s one at a time. It’s just you the now and Miss eh… Miss eh… Molly-moo after.’ He was coatless now and had the glossy look about the mouth of someone who had just eaten a liberally buttered bun.
‘Away and get,’ said Mrs Hepburn. ‘My niece Amelia is only sixteen and she needs her auntie.’
‘You can mebbes chum along when Superintendent Hardy calls for her,’ said PC Morrison, ‘but he only asked-’
‘Aye well, he’s asked and no one can do more,’ said Mrs Hepburn. Millie had joined her and was being firmly brushed, tweaked and smoothed into presentable shape, submitting with great docility. ‘But I’ve no time to be running up and down stairs. I’ve a fish custard to make for mistress’s luncheon – nothing gentler nor more strengthening after a shock – and the rest of them to feed and you two more than likely. We don’t all have a canteen we can turn to, you know. Come on, Moll.’
She bore Millie away upstairs leaving PC Morrison mouthing ineffectually after them. Phyllis giggled and stuck out her tongue at him.
‘Just as well you’re here and not at the pickets if you can’t stop Mrs Hepburn getting her own way,’ she said. ‘That big man Hardy said I could get on with my duties now I’ve made my statement, and it’s my half-day free today – the first Tuesday of the month – so does that mean I can go out and meet my pal after dinner?’
‘I’m not… I mean, no,’ said Morrison. He had blushed when Mrs Hepburn was setting him down and was blushing again now as Phyllis twinkled up at him, his voice climbing up the octaves as he struggled to stamp his authority on the scene.
Phyllis put her hands on her hips and swayed gently from side to side, like a gypsy dancer. All she lacked were the streamers and tambourine.
‘We’ll see what Mr Faulds thinks,’ she said and left us.
‘I’d better go back up to Mrs Balfour,’ I said, ‘and leave you to…’
‘Herd cats,’ said PC Morrison, with feeling. ‘It’s like no house of mourning I’ve ever been in before, miss, I can tell you. More like a gala day.’