Page 14 of Evidence of Evil
“At least the Nialls are gentry,” Mrs. Haslett muttered. “And local.”
“If you want to seek another post, Mrs. Haslett, I’m sure her ladyship would give you an excellent character.”
Another sniff. “I’m not at that stage yet. I suppose she’ll learn in time how to put a decent menu together. And I suppose she doesn’t skimp on the things that matter. I just wish she’d take more advice.”
The housekeeper’s voice came nearer, as though she were about to step out of her sitting room, so Constance walked rapidly toward Solomon. Ruefully, she reflected that Elizabeth’s life was not free from struggle, even without the murder to contend with. If Mrs. Haslett was as disrespectful to her mistress’s face—or before the lower servants—Elizabeth should dismiss her.
Catching sight of Constance, the servants about Solomon largely broke apart. Constance took the proffered cup of coffee from him, fervently saying, “Bless you!” to the cook, who beamed back at her.
She devoured the cupful in a few swallows. “Now I can face the day. Shall we walk?”
“The girl will bring you a cup to your room tomorrow, if you like,” the cook offered.
“Wonderful,” Constance said with a smile, and followed Solomon out of the back door. “Learn anything?” she murmured.
“Only that they seem to respect their master and mistress, like their positions, and had nothing at all to do with the poor lady who died. There is also a disapproving housekeeper called Mrs. Haslett.”
There is indeed. “What does she disapprove of?”
“Everything, I should guess—certainly me, although we did not discuss it.”
“She disapproves of Elizabeth, too,” Constance said, “mostly because she’s not the first Lady Maule, from what I can gather, but also because she was a mere governess. She would have preferred Frances Niall step into those shoes.”
Solomon raised his eyebrows. “Indeed? That is interesting.”
“And not very pleasant for Elizabeth. The woman doesn’t like us either, probably because we are Elizabeth’s friends. The good news is, she appears to be the only one who feels that way. I had the impression the butler had heard it all before and wished she would pull herself together or give notice. Did you learn anything else?”
He shrugged. “The Willows servants are on good terms with most of their fellows at Fairfield Grange, though one is apparently foreign.”
“From India?” Constance asked with interest.
“Yorkshire, apparently. They didn’t ask where I come from.”
Mrs. Haslett did, though Constance chose not to tell him so. “You’re Quality, so you don’t count.”
“I’ve never been called that before.”
“I doubt you ever will be again, so make the most of it. Is that the gardener disappearing around to the front of the house with his wheelbarrow?”
They found him raking the light scattering of leaves from the front lawn and surrounding flowerbeds.
“Good morning,” Constance said cheerfully when the man, a red head perhaps in his late thirties, tugged his cap in their direction. “One of the more annoying tasks of autumn.” She indicated his rake and the pile of leaves already in his wheelbarrow.
“I don’t mind. The boy does it usually, but he’s cut his hand and can’t work much with it yet. Or so he tells me.”
“When did he do that?” Solomon asked.
“More ’n a week ago now, which is why I think he’s at it!”
“Must be a nasty cut,” Solomon agreed. “You’re Cranston, aren’t you? The head gardener.”
“I am.”
“You haven’t had much luck around here recently, I hear. Sir Humphrey has been telling us about the poor lady you pulled out of the lake.”
“That were ’orrible,” Cranston said with a shudder. “And now they’re saying she didn’t fall in by herself, neither.”
“I know you were the first to find her,” Solomon said. “So what I want to ask you—”
