Sudden Death Read online

  It is true that after the tea things had been removed she did turn to business.

  ‘Mr Grinsmead no doubt told you that you would have full charge and control of the household,’ she began. ‘I don’t know if he gave you any details?’

  ‘He said I should have to take charge under your instructions. Beyond mentioning what the household consisted of, he told me nothing.’

  ‘Quite so.’ An ordinary reply, and yet Anne felt vaguely disquieted with it. Mrs Grinsmead’s voice had a sort of mocking intonation, a dry scepticism which with a little more energy would have been sardonic. There was a slight pause, then the lady continued: ‘I shan’t interfere much. If you can satisfy Mr Grinsmead, you’ll probably satisfy me. I shall give you full control, you do what you think is best, and if either of us don’t like the result you’ll hear about it.’ A slight smile robbed the words of any harshness. ‘Did Mr Grinsmead tell you I should want you to give me a little personal help as well?’

  Anne shook her head. ‘He didn’t actually say so, but of course I shall be only too glad to do anything I can.’

  Mrs Grinsmead looked at her keenly. ‘It’s very little,’ she said, ‘just to write a few letters occasionally. Invitations when we have people and that sort of thing.’

  ‘That’s nothing, Mrs Grinsmead. Of course I’ll do it. I did all my late father’s secretarial work, and though I’m not a trained secretary, I know a good deal about it.’

  Mrs Grinsmead did not ask what kind of work the late Mr Day had required. She repeated, ‘Quite so’ rather coldly and went on with her exposition.

  ‘You will have the whole of your time to yourself, consistant with seeing that household matters are properly conducted. If you are a golfer there is no reason why you shouldn’t join the club. You will be expected to have your meals with us, and I should like you to sit with me here in the evenings. Of course if on any special occasion you want to go out or to sit in your room, you are free to do so. Subject, as I say, to obliging me occasionally on special points and under special circumstances, you can do as you like.’

  Anne was really grateful, and said so.

  ‘I hope you are a bridge player,’ Mrs Grinsmead continued. ‘I get tired in the evenings, and when we have people in I should be glad if you could take my place so that I could go to bed without breaking up the game.’

  ‘I play,’ said Anne, ‘but I’m afraid I’m not very good.’

  ‘Like Miss Cheame. Miss Cheame is the governess. She also plays, but is not very good. Perhaps a little practice may help you. She doesn’t seem able to improve.’

  There was a pause and then Anne said with a little hesitation how much she liked her room and how beautiful she thought the garden.

  ‘You’re fond of gardening?’

  Anne was intensely fond of gardening.

  ‘Well, make friends with Hersey and go and work there as much as you like. It’s supposed to be our garden, but it’s really Hersey’s. That’s the worst of these professional gardeners. They think the whole place belongs to them, and sooner or later it does.’

  ‘Is Hersey also the chauffeur?’

  ‘Yes. He’s supposed to be a good all-round man, but he’s a better gardener than a chauffeur, I should say. Now you had better see the servants. Just ring the bell, will you, please?’

  Gladys answered and was sent for Meakin, the cook. Both were then formally introduced to Anne, who greeted them pleasantly, shaking hands. On a second inspection Gladys seemed less objectionable than Anne had first thought her. She was a young woman, probably in the late twenties, with a rather sulky, bad-tempered expression, but her face was honest and dependable. Not attractive, but one whose bark would be worse than her bite, Anne thought. To Mrs Meakin, on the other hand, Anne took instinctively. She seemed about fifty, and looked a woman who, after passing through deep waters, had reached peace and a certain quiet happiness. Kindliness, sympathy, decency in the best sense and a quiet strength radiated from her, and Anne could have sworn that she was neither incompetent nor in any sense a fool. A woman who, no matter in what station of life, would be worth having as a friend.

  Mrs Grinsmead’s voice broke into Anne’s reverie.

  ‘I wanted to tell you both that Miss Day will act for me, and you will take her instructions as you would mine. I shall expect you both to help her in every way you can. You would like to see the house, wouldn’t you, Miss Day? Meakin will show you the kitchen and then Gladys will take you through the rooms. I’ll see you again later about the household books.’

  When Anne had completed her tour of inspection she found herself more pleased with the house than she had expected. Downstairs the accommodation—service rooms, dining room, study and morning room—was ordinary, though good of its kind. Upstairs there was more approach to luxury. There were two spare rooms, each with bathroom attached. Mr and Mrs Grinsmead occupied separate bedrooms, each again with its private bathroom. In the other rooms, her own, Miss Cheame’s, the night nursery, and the servants’ rooms, there was running water. The day nursery was a delightful room, not very large, but light and airy and full of toys. Anne was struck by the decoration. It was all very light in colour, particularly upstairs. The bedrooms were papered in light shades, while the landing was done in pale cream, with white enamelled doors and woodwork.

  Anne made it a point to talk pleasantly to Gladys while she was being taken round, and the girl thawed somewhat. Altogether Anne thought that if she had had her pick of all the jobs she had ever heard of, she could not have chosen one which would have more exactly suited her.

  She went out to the garden, revelling in the flowers, until it was time to dress for the seven-thirty dinner.

  2

  Doubt

  The governess and children were out when Anne was going over the house, so she had not seen them. But when she came down to the drawing room shortly before half-past seven, Miss Cheame was there alone.

  Edith Cheame was a rather ordinary looking young woman, occupying what might be called the middle range in attributes. She was neither tall nor short, stout nor thin, fair nor dark. Nor could she be described as either beautiful or ugly. In fact, she was of an average type, not unlike hundreds of thousands of other young women of the same age and station. But she looked intelligent and she had an air of leisurely competence calculated to induce reliance on her ability to handle any situation with which she might be confronted. Her expression was neither pleasant nor unpleasant, but she smiled as she rose and came forward to Anne.

  ‘Miss Day, isn’t it?’ she said in a deep contralto voice. ‘I am Miss Cheame, the governess. Have you just arrived?’

  ‘A couple of hours ago, and already I’ve fallen in love with the country and the garden, but particularly the garden.’

  ‘I did just the same. It seemed such a marvellous change from London. I’d been living there for some time.’

  ‘So have I been,’ Anne said ruefully, ‘for nearly seven years. Ever since I left home near Gloucester.’

  They talked of the West Country. Edith Cheame had been at Cheltenham and Evesham, and had loved it.

  Presently the door opened and Mr Grinsmead entered.

  He was one of those men, Anne thought instantly, who does not look his best in evening dress. He somehow seemed too big, too forceful, not to say too brutal for fine clothes. Tweeds and plus fours would better have fitted his personality. He had a trick of poking forward his head as if he were preparing to drive his great shoulders on through all obstacles. He came forward to Anne, hand extended, and smiling pleasantly enough.

  ‘Well, Miss Day, so you’ve got here all right? That’s good. And how do you like the country?’

  ‘Lovely! A lovely country and such a garden! I was just saying to Miss Cheame how much I admired the garden.’

  ‘Very glad if you’ll take an interest in it. Mrs Grinsmead doesn’t care for anything but the finished product and I haven’t time to worry with it.’

  ‘Oh, Mr Grinsmead, how kind o
f you! I’d love to work in it.’

  Mr Grinsmead began a reply, then broke off abruptly and rose to his feet. Mrs Grinsmead had swept into the room. She looked well in evening dress, better and brighter than in the afternoon.

  ‘Dinner’s ready,’ she announced. ‘I met Gladys coming to tell us. Will you come in?’

  She led the way to a second door in the back wall of the room. As she reached it it was opened by Gladys, and she passed through, followed by the others.

  For some time they continued to discuss gardening, then the talk turned to local personalities, and Anne perforce sat silent. Occasionally Mrs Grinsmead made a perfunctory but unsuccessful effort to include her in the conversation. Anne sat listening with a good deal of interest. She was surprised to discover how much one of the family Miss Cheame seemed to be. She had evidently been with the Grinsmeads for a considerable time. She seemed to know all their friends, and discussed them as if they were her own. Mr Grinsmead in particular spoke to her as if she were a relation. Mrs Grinsmead, however, was not so cordial.

  Mrs Grinsmead’s manner, indeed, caused Anne a growing surprise. At first she had thought that between her three companions the best of good fellowship obtained. As the meal progressed she became less certain. She found herself wondering if all was quite so happy and light-hearted as she had imagined. Instinctively she began to sense an undercurrent of strain in the atmosphere, and for this she became increasingly sure Mrs Grinsmead was responsible. But it was all very vague; she was unable to put her finger on any definite word or action to which exception could be taken.

  ‘What about some bridge?’ Mrs Grinsmead suggested when dessert was over. ‘Are you too tired, Miss Day?’

  Anne was not the least tired, but she said again that she was not much of a player.

  ‘I expect what you want is practice. Let us have a rubber. We may go now; the coffee will come to the drawing room.’

  If Anne did not acquit herself with glory, she at least did not cover herself with shame. They played three rubbers, and then Mrs Grinsmead said she was tired and would go to bed.

  ‘After breakfast tomorrow if you’ll come to my room I’ll show you the household books and then you can take over,’ she said to Anne; ‘till then don’t trouble about anything. Good-night. Good-night, Miss Cheame.’

  She disappeared, and as she did so Anne felt the strain go out of the atmosphere. So then it was Mrs Grinsmead. Whatever of unrest or anxiety there was in her mind came out, probably quite involuntarily, but quite unmistakably. Anne wondered what could be wrong.

  Mrs Grinsmead’s retirement broke up the party. With an apology that he had some work to attend to Grinsmead betook himself to his study. Edith Cheame chatted for a moment, then in a marked way took up and opened a novel. Whereupon Anne said she would like to get her unpacking done and excused herself.

  Anne was too much excited to sleep for some time after she got into bed. Her mind was full of the most profound thankfulness for the change which had come over her fortunes.

  A pleasant household, this, she had entered. And yet she could not but feel that there was something wrong. She reviewed her evening, wondering just what had given her that feeling of strain. As she did so, one rather interesting fact gradually emerged. She could not remember a single occasion on which Grinsmead, or Mrs Grinsmead, had spoken directly to one another. Nor had she seen them exchange glances or show any of the little signs of intimacy so usual between married persons. Their communications had been strictly impersonal, and had invariably been made through one or other of their employees, for so she and Miss Cheame were. And now that she came to think of it, Mrs Grinsmead had bidden her and the governess good-night, but she had not spoken to her husband. At the time Anne had thought nothing of this, assuming that they would meet again later, but now she remembered they occupied separate rooms and might not.

  Was this marriage one of those unhappy failures which seem so common nowadays? Anne wondered.

  She wondered also what part in the establishment Miss Cheame really bore. That the lady was familiar with both husband and wife was evident. Did she know and ignore what Anne suspected?

  As her interest in the situation grew, Anne warned herself to be careful. Her employers’ relations were nothing to her. What she had to do was to mind her own business and concentrate on her work.

  Suddenly it occurred to her that she mustn’t do too well in her work. If Mrs Grinsmead had been making a hash of it, she mustn’t pull it straight too quickly. The lady wouldn’t appreciate too glaring a commentary on her own administration. No, Anne would have to walk warily and not be in a hurry to make changes.

  However, next morning she saw that she might have saved herself anxiety on this point. When after breakfast she went to Mrs Grinsmead’s room to be shown the books, she found that things were competently enough managed.

  The mistress of the house was in bed. She seldom got up, it appeared, before midday. But she was not altogether idle. Some letters and several books littered the bed and a fountain pen and blotting pad were on the table at its head.

  At once Anne sensed the same coldness in her employer’s manner. Mrs Grinsmead was polite, but unapproachable. She made a few perfunctory remarks before turning to business, but these were the same as on the previous afternoon, quite impersonal.

  Her system of household books Anne found easy to grasp. Moreover, it was efficient, and Anne felt she could not do better than continue it.

  The financial side of things dealt with, Mrs Grinsmead went on to explain her methods of running the house, ending up: ‘If anything is not clear to you, come and speak to me about it. Otherwise, as long as things go well I don’t want to be bothered. Now hadn’t you better go and see Meakin about today’s meals?’

  Anne spent a busy morning trying to master the details of her new job. Surprisingly easy she found it. The maids had been well trained and carried out their work efficiently. Mrs Meakin was helpful with suggestions about meals, and Gladys willingly gave any information she was asked for.

  Anne was much pleased and not a little surprised that neither of the maids seemed to resent her coming. Indeed she fancied they rather welcomed her. She had spoken nicely to them when they met, but Anne felt it was more than this. Could it, she wondered, be relief at being brought less directly in contact with their mistress?

  At lunch she met the children, who dined with the three women of the establishment. Grinsmead did not come home in the middle of the day. There were two children, a boy and a girl. Anthony, the elder, was just turned six, while his sister, Christina, was four. Charming children, Anne thought them, but rather serious and with too grown-up a manner. Whatever love might or might not be lost between their mother and father, there was no doubt that they and their mother were passionately attached. When speaking to them Mrs Grinsmead’s whole manner changed, and Anne could not mistake the look of intense affection in her eyes. This feeling the children evidently returned. Miss Cheame they seemed merely to tolerate, though there was no sign of active dislike. Anne, who was very fond of children, determined that if she could do so without seeming to interfere, she would make friends with the pair.

  That afternoon she had a walk with Edith Cheame. ‘Mrs Grinsmead likes to have the children from lunch till tea,’ the governess explained, ‘and I usually go out. Would you care to come and explore?’

  Anne, who had finished her own work for the time being, was delighted. She wanted to see the country, but much more she wanted to be on intimate terms with this woman who seemed so much at home in the household.

  She found it less easy than she had hoped. Edith was friendly enough, but she was reserved. She would discuss Anne’s affairs without hesitation, but not her own. Anne, however, could not object to this. She did not, indeed, care for people who were ready too easily to unburden their private affairs. Nor did the two women speak much about their employers. Only one remark the governess made which gave Anne to think.

  ‘I’m afraid, you know,’ s
he said, speaking of Mrs Grinsmead, ‘she’s rather ill. She’s certainly worse than one would imagine at first sight. I have been here over a year now, and she’s not getting any better. Indeed I’m afraid she’s worse. I think Mr Grinsmead was wise to get you, though she wasn’t very keen on it. She wants rest from every form of excitement.’

  ‘Then these bridge parties that I’ve heard of surely can’t be good for her? Though she did say she goes to bed before they’re over.’

  ‘They’re not good for her at all. She can’t sleep after them. I don’t think Mr Grinsmead likes to have them, but she herself insists on it.’

  Anne hesitated, then took the plunge. ‘What is it that you think is wrong?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know exactly,’ Edith Cheame said slowly. ‘She seems to have something on her mind, but I can’t imagine what it may be. I’ve often thought that a psycho-analyst might help her, but, of course, I don’t know.’

  Anne was interested, but she wondered how far the governess was giving her real opinion. Was it not that Mrs Grinsmead was simply unhappy, because she had made an unhappy marriage? This, at all events, was a theory Miss Cheame was unlikely to put forward, at least to a stranger.

  ‘She’s better when we’re alone,’ went on the governess. ‘We’ve had a fair number of visitors staying in the house, and they always seem to upset her. Particularly old Mrs Grinsmead; that’s Mr Grinsmead’s mother, you know. She was here for three or four days a few weeks ago. She’s not altogether easy to pull with, and she rubbed our Mrs Grinsmead up the wrong way.’