Death in Kew Gardens Read online

In truth, I had no idea whether Daniel had money or not. He assisted the police in addition to his various jobs, but he’d never said whether he assisted them for pay. Daniel at present let a small house on the far side of Kensington, but while the house was comfortable and perfect for himself and James, it was hardly a mansion.

  Grace’s question troubled me in spite of my teasing, because it reminded me how little of Daniel I truly knew.

  I spoke no more about it as we observed the astonishing palms in the very wet air, until I decided we had better depart. I spied Daniel as we exited—he had left the Palm House and was striding along behind Mr. Chancellor toward the Temperate House.

  We made for the main gates. The constable who’d admitted us saluted us with a cheeky grin as we went out.

  Grace and I turned to start for the train station. In the next moment, I stumbled, gasping, and nearly lost my footing.

  “Mrs. H.? Good Lord, I didn’t mean to knock you down.”

  She hadn’t touched me. Lady Cynthia stood before me, in her man’s clothes, her friend Bobby—Lady Roberta Perry—next to her, her femininity buried behind a fine tweed suit.

  Lady Cynthia’s gaze snapped to Grace beside me—Bobby hadn’t been looking at anything else. Cynthia took in Grace, me holding her hand, and the obvious resemblance between us.

  No one in the Mount Street house knew about Grace—no one knew of her but Daniel and the Millburns.

  And now Lady Cynthia stood before me, her fair brows climbing, as she discovered my darkest secret.

  7

  I stood for a long moment, uncertain what to do. A respectable, unmarried cook should not have a child, much less an illegitimate one. The fact I hadn’t known Grace was illegitimate until my husband, who’d proved to be a bigamist, had drowned, did not make her less of a by-blow.

  I’d once worked for a house where a maid had been turned out when it was discovered she had a husband and a young son, because the mistress had wanted only unmarried misses in her parlor. That maid’s marriage had been legal, but it had made no difference. Maids at another place had been dismissed for even a suggestion of a lover in their pasts.

  If I’d been older, my daughter grown with children of her own, my illegal marriage and ignorance about my husband might be overlooked. But I was young for a cook, barely thirty, and any indiscretion would be held against me. I was acquainted with a few cooks who were not happy that I could walk into any post I wished because of my skills. If they knew my secret, they’d be pleased to use it to their advantage.

  Lady Cynthia was not a traditional woman, by any means, but she did not actually employ me. My contract was with her brother-in-law, Lord Rankin, in whose house we dwelled. Mrs. Bywater now decided who stayed and who went.

  Should I say nothing and pretend that Grace, who was clinging tightly to my hand, did not exist? Introduce her and admit I was not the unstained woman I was supposed to be?

  Bobby made all points moot by stooping to Grace. “And who might you be, young lady?” she asked brightly.

  Grace was a cautious child, not about to blurt information to a stranger. She looked to me for guidance, and I cleared my throat.

  “This is my daughter, Grace.” I paused, then added, “Holloway.”

  Bobby had taken on the fond look of those who dote on children. “Well, aren’t you a bonny one? Did you like the gardens?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Grace said courteously. “We saw the Palm House. It was very beautiful.” She stared up at Lady Cynthia, far less apprehensive about her presence than I was.

  “This is Lady Cynthia,” I explained, keeping up the politeness. “And her great friend Lady Roberta Perry.”

  For the second time today, Grace executed her curtsy. “Pleased to meet you.” She gazed unabashedly at Cynthia, having heard all about her from me. “You are very pretty, your ladyship.”

  Bobby laughed. “Cyn, you look poleaxed. Why shouldn’t Mrs. Holloway have a daughter? And a lovely one at that. Here you are.” Bobby produced a silver coin. “Buy yourself a dolly, or if you’re too old for dollies, a hair ribbon or some such. A present from me. Your mum’s a good egg.”

  Grace didn’t much want to take the half crown from her—she had dignity and did not like charity. But my daughter was also polite and sensitive to others’ feelings.

  She closed her hand graciously around the coin. “Thank you, your ladyship. You are kind.”

  Cynthia finally found her voice. “We came to have a look at the gardens. And Mr. Chancellor. And to see if we can discover what he stole.”

  In the back of my mind, I wondered if she’d had the chance to speak to Mr. Thanos about the cuttings, but I did not like to ask her for particulars on the street, in front of Bobby.

  “Sleuthing hard,” Bobby said. “Such fun. Good day to you, Mrs. Holloway. Cynthia sings praises about your meals, but she won’t invite me to partake of one.”

  “That’s entirely down to Auntie,” Cynthia said, her briskness restored. “She doesn’t approve of you, Bobby, and you’d have to wear a frock.”

  “Botheration to that,” Bobby said. “Nice to meet you, young lady. You do your mother proud.”

  So saying, she strode in through the gates, leaving Cynthia behind.

  Cynthia and I studied each other. I, the servant, was not supposed to look her full in the eyes, but these were extenuating circumstances.

  Cynthia at last gave me a nod. “Never fear, Mrs. H. See you at home.”

  She breezed past me to the gate, calling for Bobby to, for God’s sake, wait for her.

  I silently led Grace away, and to the train, shaking so hard I could barely hand the conductor our tickets.

  * * *

  • • •

  When I reached home, Tess was in a foul temper. She threw greens into a pot along with so many cloves of garlic I had to fish most back out.

  “She came in here, sweet as you please, and told me I was using too much foodstuffs,” Tess growled. “She’d tell Mrs. Bywater, she said, and Mrs. Bywater wouldn’t like it one whit.”

  Tess banged a bunch of carrots to the table and viciously chopped off their tops. I stopped her before she threw the greens into the bin—carrot greens made a fine addition to a salad.

  I did not need to ask who “she” was. “Ignore her, Tess. Mrs. Bywater agreed I was to have full command in the kitchen. We discussed it when she first came to live here.”

  Mrs. Bywater had at first wanted a full accounting of every scrap and every drop used below stairs every day, from Mr. Davis and me both, but we soon persuaded her otherwise. She agreed on an accounting once a week, and quickly learned that on some expenses, Mr. Davis and I were adamant.

  Tess’s knife rammed through the carrots. “Well, I don’t want her standing over me watching me measure flour and scolding me for dropping a grain. Telling me it’s not the way she used to cook. If she were so good at cookery, why ain’t she still doing it?”

  Why not indeed?

  “I will speak to Mrs. Daley,” I said. “But your annoyance at her is no reason to abuse the vegetables. I want an even slice on the diagonal.”

  Tess heaved an aggrieved sigh, but at least she calmed her knife. She began cutting more neatly if viciously.

  The rest of the kitchen staff were subdued. Elsie scrubbed dishes in the scullery, but her cheeks and neck were flushed, and she didn’t sing. Charlie, who usually played quiet games in the corner, hunkered there with his arms around his knees. Sara, the upstairs maid, stalked in, fetched a basket from the servants’ hall, and stalked out again without a word. Mr. Davis never appeared from behind the closed door of his pantry.

  I resumed my apron and fell to helping Tess prepare the evening meal. I tried to let the mundane tasks of rubbing the simmering beef with pepper and salt and creating a potato and cheese dish calm my agitation. I was less worried about Mrs. Daley’s mi
nute inspection of the kitchen than I was about the fact that Lady Cynthia now knew about Grace.

  She had hinted before she’d rushed into Kew Gardens that my secret was safe with her. I believed her, though I was not so certain about Bobby. Though that lady had appeared to see nothing wrong with a cook having a child surreptitiously tucked away, would she spread the tale? Not deliberately perhaps, but she might mention it to an acquaintance who might find the story too delicious not to repeat.

  I would have to lie, of course. I’d believed with all my heart I’d been married lawfully, so I would claim widowhood and be done. I’d say I left Grace with friends because I could not look after her while I worked in a kitchen. Every word true.

  Cynthia would not betray me, I was certain. But she would expect to speak to me about it.

  Tess and I finished preparing the meal in silence. I was not happy that Mrs. Daley, as welcome as help in the house would be, had disturbed our tranquility. We worked hard, Tess and I, with Elsie and Charlie assisting, but we also chatted and argued, laughed and were silly. I did not mind Mr. Davis sitting at the table in his shirtsleeves, reading interesting bits from the newspapers while I chopped and sautéed, diced and basted.

  Tonight we were sullen and out of sorts, talking little except for me to give instruction or for Tess to ask a brief question.

  This could not continue. You cannot let a difficult person gain the upper hand, or you will be checking your behavior every second, even when that person is not in the room. Once that happens, you will be in thrall, your own mind trapped. It was best to nip such things in the bud.

  Once Tess and I had sent up the dinner and carried food into the servants’ hall for their much-needed meal, Mrs. Daley wandered in and sat down.

  Tess made a face but said nothing. She kept her gaze on her plate and shoveled in her food, as though afraid Mrs. Daley might at any moment yank it away.

  Mrs. Daley, clad in serviceable black, sat up straight in a chair and folded her hands on the table.

  “I’ve left your meal in the kitchen,” I said. “It’s on a covered plate on the back of the stove. Have it here or in your parlor, as you like.”

  “Nothing for me,” Mrs. Daley said. “A biscuit perhaps, before bedtime. I take little in the evening.”

  Tess coughed, but Mrs. Daley didn’t notice. “Did you enjoy your half day, Mrs. Holloway?” Mrs. Daley asked me.

  “I did. Very much. I went to Kew Gardens. Did you know they have a palm tree that was brought to England in the 1700s?”

  Tess looked up. Any other day, she might make a comment or a joke, but today she only sent me a glance and returned to eating.

  Mrs. Daley looked uninterested in Palmae. “I spoke to Mrs. Bywater at length today, about my duties and about the staff here. I told her that a day and a half out for a cook was excessive. I had no more than one afternoon a week at my last place. You wouldn’t be so run off your feet and shorthanded if you took only your Monday afternoon and not the other day. You were able to have a nice holiday today in only a few hours, weren’t you? There is no reason you could not do so every week.”

  Tess jerked her head up. For a moment, all was silence.

  “Mrs. Daley,” I said crisply, “my days out are my business. They were agreed upon when I first took employment here, with Lord and Lady Rankin. My acceptance of the post was contingent upon it.”

  “Lord and Lady Rankin ain’t here anymore, are they?” Mrs. Daley said. “Mrs. Bywater is mistress of the house, and she’s got her hands full dealing with that hellion, Lady Cynthia. Mrs. Bywater don’t need an absent cook as well.”

  I laid down my fork. “Perhaps it was different in your other places, but in this house, the kitchen is up to me, and my days out are a condition of my employment. I am an excellent enough cook that any number of ladies would leap at the chance to employ me. That is not a boast—I work very hard, have learned much, and take great care in preparing meals. Lord Rankin wanted my skills enough to grant me my wishes, and Mr. Bywater agrees that my abilities are worth my expense. Since Mrs. Bywater needs to please her husband’s stomach, I will continue my days out, and we will speak no more about it.”

  Tess listened in awe, and when I finished, she shot me a look of triumph.

  Mrs. Daley pushed back her chair and got to her feet. “Well, we shall see what the mistress decides, won’t we?”

  “Indeed,” I said. “I shall speak to her myself.”

  Mrs. Daley looked down her nose at me. “See that you do.”

  She walked out, not hurrying. We watched through the doorway as she entered the larder, scraped and banged through a cupboard, then walked out with a few water biscuits on a plate.

  When the door to the parlor thumped closed, Tess turned to me. “She takes little in the evening, my foot. It’s because she were in and out of the kitchen all day, sampling this and that, slicing off a big piece of cold meat pie, and that after she ate a hearty meal at midday. She’s a glutton, she is, even more than me.”

  “Hush,” I said, but I had already noticed the lady liked her meat and drink.

  When Mr. Davis descended with the rest of the footmen after dinner, chiding one of the lads for some discrepancy, he paused in the kitchen, where Tess and I had returned to prepare bread and other things for tomorrow.

  “The mistress has sent for you,” Mr. Davis said, both a warning and apology in his tone.

  “What for?” Tess asked. “I bet that harpy has been filling her ears with tales.”

  “Never you mind,” I said to Tess, but not unkindly. “Finish here, and I will be back down to say good night. Thank you, Mr. Davis.”

  Mr. Davis hesitated. “I can go up with you, if you’d like.”

  I was touched by his offer, because Mr. Davis severely hated any conferences with the Bywaters. He considered them hoi polloi and lacking taste, and Mrs. Bywater’s parsimony upset him. I declined, declaring that I had no fear of our employers.

  I removed my apron, dusted off my sleeves, and climbed the stairs to the main floor. The others watched me go, a bit like fellow Christians in Roman days as one of their own was sent to the lions.

  I did not often venture beyond the green baize door in this house, preferring to keep to the downstairs. I used the scullery door to go into and out of the house, and the back stairs for journeying to and from my chamber. I was satisfied with my domain, in large part because it was under my rule, and I would not allow Mrs. Daley to change that.

  Mr. Davis had told me Mrs. Bywater awaited me in her private sitting room on the second floor. I climbed to it, remembering my first day when I’d emerged onto that floor with much indignation to beard Lord Rankin in his den. Many unexpected things had happened since that encounter.

  To my dismay, I found Mrs. Daley ensconced with Mrs. Bywater in the warm room, Mrs. Daley standing stiffly upright while Mrs. Bywater reposed on the sofa, teacup in hand.

  “Thank you for coming, Mrs. Holloway,” Mrs. Bywater said as I entered and curtsied politely. “I will come straight to the point. Mrs. Daley tells me you are unhappy with my decision to limit your days out.”

  I was not pleased that Mrs. Daley remained for this interview, and not pleased at all that she’d rushed up here to split to Mrs. Bywater when I’d told her I would speak to the mistress myself.

  “I always have a day and a half in any place,” I explained, forcing my voice to remain calm. “I am quite capable of maintaining the kitchen, as I have shown since I began here.”

  Mrs. Bywater’s mouth pinched, and she set her cup and saucer on a dainty table. “To the contrary, you and Mr. Davis complained all summer that you are overworked, which is why I hired Mrs. Daley.” She shot the housekeeper a conspiratorial look, which alarmed me. “Mrs. Daley has come up with the perfect remedy—if you take fewer days out, you will not fall behind in your work. We might be able to do away with your assistant a
s well, now that we have a housekeeper, which would be a savings.”

  Send Tess away? I switched my gaze to Mrs. Daley, knowing full well Mrs. Daley had suggested sacking Tess because she did not like her—nothing to do with economies. Mrs. Daley must have recognized she could not bully Tess, who would never grovel to one she did not respect.

  “Nonsense,” I said heatedly. “I need Tess. Me spending an extra day in the kitchen will not make up for all Tess does. Things have run much more smoothly since her arrival, and it would be foolish of me to agree to do without her.”

  Mrs. Bywater frowned. Had she expected I’d meekly capitulate? That I’d agree to cut my days out and toss Tess on the rubbish heap?

  “Tess works for me,” I went on. “I will keep her in the kitchen and out from underfoot of Mrs. Daley if necessary.”

  “That is all very well,” Mrs. Bywater said. “But I agree with Mrs. Daley that your days out are excessive. Maids have half days. Cooks, housekeepers, and butlers have one.”

  Mr. Davis did have a full day out a week, though he rarely took it. His obsession over the wine and silver made him not want to let it out of his sight for long, so he said. He showed no interest in or ever spoke about meeting friends at a pub or walking out with a young lady. In some ways, Mr. Davis was as enigmatic and mysterious as Daniel.

  “Perhaps,” I countered. “But my agency has down in their books that I have a day and a half. They search for places that will expressly agree to this.”

  Mrs. Daley wanted to respond, I could see, but a housekeeper could not speak as though she were an equal to the mistress. She folded her lips, her eyes on Mrs. Bywater.

  “I am surprised you find places, then,” Mrs. Bywater said. “Ladies of my acquaintance would not stand for such things.”

  Ladies of her acquaintance, Mr. Davis would sniff, were middle-class nobodies with no idea how to treat servants.

  “On the contrary,” I said. “I am one of the best cooks in England. I never have to wait long for a post. Lord Rankin did not object to my requests when he employed me.”