Page 32 of Murder at the Dinner Party
Lord and Lady Whitchurch exchanged glances, but neither corrected her. In fact, it wasn’t the dowager’s house. Not since her son had inherited it, along with the country estate and title, upon his father’s death.
“I didn’t hear the beginning of this interrogation,” the dowager went on. “Tell me, what do your questions about my daughter-in-law’s prior engagement to Rupert have to do with the death of the man named Hardy?”
She addressed her question to Harry, but I answered. “Mr. Hardy was the butler at Sir Ian and Lady Campbell’s residence and I was informed that he recognized Lord and Lady Whitchurch when they dined there recently.”
The dowager’s hand rubbed the end of her walking stick as she glanced at her son. It was the first time she’d looked at him, and her brows raised ever-so slightly. He gave a slight shake of his head.
“And then you had the audacity to ask about…prior events that occurred here years ago,” the dowager went on. “All of that is none of your business and has nothing to do with your case. Now get out. Arthur, see that Miss Fox and Mr. Armitage find the door.”
Lord Whitchurch signaled to the footman, and he stepped forward.
The dowager stamped the end of her walking stick into the floor, causing her daughter-in-law to jump and the footman to return to his position. “I orderedyouto do it, Arthur.”
“Yes, Mother.” He politely indicated that Harry and I should walk ahead of him.
Before I exited, I glanced over my shoulder. Lady Whitchurch sat with her head bowed and her hands clasped in her lap.
The dowager poked her daughter-in-law’s foot with the end of her walking stick. “You lack spine, girl. That’s always been your problem. If only you’d been stronger…”
Lady Whitchurch hurried from the room in tears.
Outside, Harry and I trotted down the steps to the pavement. He indicated the descent to the basement service door. “Do you want to question the staff?”
“None of them worked here when Charlotte died, so I don’t think there’s any point. If Hardy was employed by the Whitchurches at that time, it’s very unlikely he stayed long afterward.” We both mulled on that for a while as we walked back the way we’d come. “Did you notice the dowager didn’t recognize Hardy’s name? It wasn’t until I explained he was the Campbells’ butler that her demeanor changed. I think her son and daughter-in-law told her they saw him at the Campbells that night, but never mentioned his name to her. There’s only one reason they wouldn’t.”
“It meant nothing to them. They knew him by a different name.”
“Precisely. The question is, why did he change it?”
Harry suddenly stopped. “Do you have the list of witnesses my father gave you?”
I dug it out of my bag and handed it to him, but he didn’t want to see it.
“We need to re-interview them,” he said.
“I agree, but how do we find them? The Whitchurches won’t help.”
“You could ask the current staff while I telephone my father. If any of the former staff have committed a crime, their names will be on record at Scotland Yard.” He didn’t sound hopeful, however, and I agreed it was unlikely. “If we both fail, we’ll make inquiries at employment agencies that specialize in domestic staff.”
We parted company, he going in search of a public telephone while I headed to the basement service area.
The Whitchurches’ housekeeper must have heard that we’d been ousted from the drawing room, because she refused to talk to me. With more primness in her tone than her mistress’s, she told me she couldn’t answer my questions.
The butler who’d been present during our exchange with the Whitchurches appeared behind her. “We should help if we can. It’s about that maid who died here years ago.”
It would appear solidarity amongst the serving class counted for something, because the housekeeper nodded. Or perhaps they were curious to get to the bottom of the maid’s murder, too. As Harry had said, servants liked to gossip about their employers.
“How can we help?” the housekeeper asked.
“Do you know where to find the staff who worked here at the time the murder occurred?” I asked.
“Most have either passed away or found employment in other households. I’m not sure where. There’s only one that I have a current address for, but I don’t know if she worked here at that time. Lady Whitchurch organizes a care package to a former maid once a month. It’s delivered to Mrs. Hatch at The Female Servants Benevolent Society in Southampton Row, Bloomsbury.”
I’d looked at the list of witness names so often I knew them all by heart. There was no Mrs. Hatch. I almost gave up, but the butler had a suggestion.
“Perhaps Mrs. Hatch went by her maiden name or first name when she worked here. Do you know it?”
The housekeeper nodded. “It’s Virginia.”
