The men laughed.
‘Too good for them, eh?’ said Lord Riddlethorpe.
‘They claimed it was because the laws didn’t allow girls to play,’ I said. ‘But I consoled myself by choosing to believe your explanation.’
They all laughed again.
Herr Kovacs was still scrutinizing the photograph.
‘Don’t hog it, Viktor,’ said Lord Riddlethorpe. ‘Let everyone have a bat.’
Almost reluctantly, Herr Kovacs relinquished the photograph and let the other gentlemen have a look. Mr Waterford smiled as he flicked his gaze between the photograph and the grown-up versions of the girls sitting before him, but when it was Harry’s turn, he lingered longer on the face of the present-day Lady Lavinia, and only reluctantly gave up the photograph and returned to the conversation.
‘Now that we’re all together, and now that we three have been thoroughly embarrassed by images of the gawky girls we once were,’ said Lady Lavinia as she handed the photograph back to Miss Titmus, ‘what say we play some games? It’s been a wretched day, and our spirits are badly in need of lifting.’
‘Exactly what I was saying, m’dear,’ said Uncle Algy. ‘St Uguzo’s Holy Cheese, anyone?’
‘No, Uncle Algy!’ said Lady Lavinia firmly. ‘Something much less bawdy, if you please.’
There followed a brief debate about which parlour game they should play. Between them, they knew a great many, and I decided that I shouldn’t be missed if I were to leave them to it. It was one thing being invited to join in a conversation, but I felt I ought to spare everyone the embarrassment of having to try to accommodate me in one of their games. I whispered a quiet goodnight to Lady Hardcastle and slipped away unnoticed.
Chapter Eight
Next morning, Betty and I arose together and bimbled about, good-naturedly getting in each other’s way as we washed and dressed.
‘Did you see the body?’ she asked as she brushed her hair. ‘Poor Mr Dawkins, I mean?’
‘Not closely,’ I lied.
‘I bet you’ve seen loads of bodies, though, haven’t you? I mean, laid out all neat and tidy in a coffin is one thing, but out there in the world, all mangled and broken . . . It doesn’t bear thinking about.’
For all that it didn’t bear thinking about, she seemed to have given the matter considerable thought.
‘I’ve seen my fair share,’ I said. ‘And it’s never very pleasant.’ I decided not to mention that a fair proportion of those whose bodies I had seen had died at my, or Lady Hardcastle’s, hand.
She sighed. ‘I’ve never done anything exciting,’ she said sadly. ‘Don’t suppose I ever will, working for Mrs Beddows. She gets her fun from spreading gossip and being catty to her husband, which doesn’t leave much for me to get involved in. You’ve been around the world.’
‘If you hate it so much,’ I said as kindly as I could, ‘why not leave and find something else?’
‘I probably should, shouldn’t I? But it’s always hard to take that first step, isn’t it? Talking of which, I ought to take my first steps towards the kitchen. There’ll be hell to pay if I’m not there with her tea a few seconds before she wakes up. You should have seen her yesterday morning.’
She sighed again, and with a final brush at her uniform to remove a stray thread, she set off to start her day.
I wasn’t far behind, and we sat and chatted a little longer at the staff table, Betty hurriedly scoffing down a few mouthfuls of her own breakfast, while Patty prepared our trays.
‘When you were little, what did you want to grow up to be?’ I asked, sipping at some lukewarm tea.
‘Rich,’ she said.
‘And how did you hope to achieve these riches?’
‘I didn’t want to become rich,’ she said, spearing a sausage with her fork. ‘I wanted to be rich. You see?’
‘Not entirely, no.’
‘I wasn’t interested in getting money; I just wanted to have it. And I only wanted to have it so I didn’t have to think about it no more. Money wasn’t the important thing; it was never having to worry about it that I wanted. My ma and pa worked every hour, and we just about scraped by. They always quite liked what they did – she was a seamstress and he was a bricklayer – but they had to do it. They never had no time to call their own. They sold all their waking hours to someone else in return for a few bob to pay for a roof over our heads and food on the table. And they had to watch every farthing as it went out, ’less it run out on them. I dreamed of being able to do what I wanted with my time and never have to even think about where the next penny was coming from.’
‘Isn’t that what everyone wants?’ I asked.
‘Most folk, yeah,’ she said. ‘’Cept the really rich ones. ’Less they inherited it, they must have spent all their days trying to work out how to get more money. They wasn’t interested in having money; they was interested in getting money. See what I mean?’
‘Almost,’ I said. ‘And what would you do with your time if you weren’t selling it to someone else?’
‘Not sure, really. That was always the problem. It’s not that I don’t want to work. It’s not even that I don’t want to work in service. I just . . . you know . . . sometimes . . .’ She aggressively speared another sausage.
‘Sometimes, yes,’ I said.
‘But you, you have a great life. You’re busy; you’ve got an employer who respects you. You go places, do things. I heard you even took brandy with the guests last night.’
I laughed. ‘News travels fast. Yes, the ladies invited me to sit with them while they idealized our exploits.’
‘At least you have exploits to idealize. I’m not sure I’ve ever had an exploit. I got locked in a tool shed once by mistake, but the gardener let me out ten minutes later when he realized what he’d done. Not really the sort of story that gets you invited to sit down and take brandy with the ladies, is it?’
I laughed again. ‘Come on, Nora-Never-Done-Nothing,’ I said, standing up. ‘Let’s see what’s keeping Patty with those trays, then we can get off and have some exploits.’
‘Maybe you can . . .’ she said glumly.
To my immense surprise, Lady Hardcastle was once again already awake and sitting up in bed when I entered her room with the fully laden breakfast tray.
‘Good heavens!’ I said.
‘What is it?’ she asked in some alarm, looking up from her journal.
‘You’re awake, my lady.’
‘Of course I’m awake, silly. It’s . . . It’s . . .’
‘It’s almost eight o’clock,’ I said as I set the tray down on the writing desk.
‘Oh,’ she said, more surprised now than alarmed. ‘Now I understand your consternation. It’s not like me to be awake before eight at all. I wonder what it can be. The invigorating country air, perhaps?’
‘We live in the country,’ I said.