William Monk 02 - A Dangerous Mourning

to hate them. Nor does Mrs. Sandeman—”
    “Unless Mrs. Haslett knew something disgraceful about her?” Maggie offered. “That’s probably it. I reckon Mrs. Sandeman would stick a knife into you if you threatened to split on her.”
    “True,” Annie agreed. Then her face sobered and she lost all the imagination and the banter. “Honestly, miss, we think it’s likely Percival, who has airs about himself in that department, and fancied Mrs. Haslett. Thinks he’s one dickens of a fellow, he does.”
    “Thinks God made him as a special gift for women.” Maggie sniffed with scorn. “ ‘Course there’s some daft enough to let him. Then God doesn’t know much about women, is all I can say.”
    “And Rose,” Annie went on. “She’s got a real thing for Percival. Really taken bad with him—the more fool her.”
    “Then why would she kill Mrs. Haslett?” Hester asked.
    “Jealousy, of course.” They both looked at her as if she were slow-witted.
    Hester was surprised. “Did Percival really have that much of a fancy for Mrs. Haslett? But he’s a footman, for goodness’ sake.”
    “Tell him that,” Annie said with deep disgust.
    Nellie, the little tweeny maid, came scurrying up the stairs with a broom in one hand and a pail of cold tea leaves in the other, ready to scatter them on the carpets to lay the dust.
    “Why aren’t you sweeping?” she demanded, looking at the two older girls. “If Mrs. Willis catches me at eight and we ’aven’t done this it’ll be trouble. I don’t want to go to bed without me tea.”
    The housekeeper’s name was enough to galvanize both the girls into instant action, and they left Hester on the landing while they ran downstairs for their own brooms and dusters.
    In the kitchen an hour later, Hester prepared a breakfast tray for Beatrice, just tea, toast, butter and apricot preserve. She was thanking the gardener for one of the very last of the late roses for the silver vase when she passed Sal, the red-haired kitchen maid, laughing loudly and nudging the footman fromnext door, who had sneaked over, ostensibly with a message from his cook for hers. The two of them were flirting with a lot of poking and slapping on the doorstep, and Sal’s loud voice could be heard up the scullery steps and along the passage to the kitchen.
    “That girl’s no better than she should be,” Mrs. Boden said with a shake of her head. “You mark my words—she’s a trollop, if ever I saw one. Sal!” she shouted. “Come back in here and get on with your work!” She looked at Hester again. “She’s an idle piece. It’s a wonder how I put up with her. I don’t know what the world’s coming to.” She picked up the meat knife and tested it with her finger. Hester looked at the blade and swallowed with a shiver when she thought that maybe it was the knife someone had held in his hands creeping up the stairs in the night to stab Octavia Haslett to death.
    Mrs. Boden found the edge satisfactory and pulled over the slab of steak to begin slicing it ready for the pie.
    “What with Miss Octavia’s death, and now policemen creeping all over the house, everyone scared o’ their own shadows, ’er ladyship took to ’er bed, and a good-for-nothing baggage like Sal in my kitchen—it’s enough to make a decent woman give up.”
    “I’m sure you won’t,” Hester said, trying to soothe her. If she was going to be responsible for luring two housemaids away, she did not want to add to the domestic chaos by encouraging the cook to desert as well. “The police will go in time, the whole matter will be settled, her ladyship will recover, and you are quite capable of disciplining Sal. She cannot be the first wayward kitchen maid you’ve trained into being thoroughly competent—in time.”
    “Well now, you’re right about that,” Mrs. Boden agreed. “I ’ave a good ‘and with girls, if I do say so myself. But I surely wish the police would find out who did it and arrest them. I don’t sleep safe in my bed, wondering. I just can’t believe anyone in the family would do such a thing. I’ve been in this house since before Mr. Cyprian was born, never mind Miss Octavia and Miss Araminta. I never did care a great deal for Mr. Kellard, but I expect he has his qualities, and he is a gentleman, after all.”
    “You think it was one of the servants?” Hester affectedsurprise, and considerable respect, as though Mrs. Boden’s opinion on such matters weighed heavily with