Calista, Laura Rahme [best ereader for comics txt] 📗

MAURICE looked forward to questioning three of the maids. The fourth had been appointed in the week after Sophie Murphy’s death and it was his opinion that she would be too new to be of any help.

On Maurice’s request, Gerard had prepared biscuits. He thrust a heaped platter into Maurice’s hands.

“It’s a traditional recipe. All homemade, with real butter. Not like those horrible things from Mr. Joseph Huntley’s factory.”

Maurice smiled. On his way to Alexandra Hall, he had spotted the new biscuit factory in Reading Town. “Thank you, Gerard. This is perfect.”

“Mrs. Cleary has already brought the drinks upstairs.”

Maurice nodded. As he headed up to the study, passing the maids in the entrance hall, he sensed their fearful glances upon him.

Seated in Aaron’s study, he began his first interview with the blue-eyed redhead whom Mrs. Cleary had introduced as Shannon O’Sullivan. As she sat down, the first thing Maurice noticed was her eyes, and he knew Shannon had not rapped at his door.

In her mid-twenties, she had been here as long as Alexandra Hall stood, and had even waited on guests at the Nightingales’ wedding.

She answered without fuss while Maurice took notes. No, she’d not seen anything suspect on the night of Sophie Murphy’s death. She was asleep. Mrs. Cleary had found Sophie lying by the stairs. Weeks later, she’d heard Gerard shout out upon discovering Miss Nightingale’s body. In both cases, Shannon had run to the grand staircase like everyone else.

Had Vera Nightingale welcomed any guests during her stay? No. Was there any signs of an intruder at Alexandra Hall on that night? No. It was a night as ordinary as the one before it and the one previous to that.

“And did you get along with Sophie?” asked Maurice.

“I suppose so. As I told the police, she was the sort of girl to get along with everyone. She was lively. She could make you feel like you were her best friend.”

“Everyone’s best friend. I see. So…no arguments?”

“I overheard something but…it was nothing.” Shannon shrugged.

Maurice sensed her reticence. He had already sensed that Shannon was keen to remain on good terms with the housekeeper at any cost. “Miss O’Sullivan, what you heard might be important. And be assured that nothing you tell me will leave this room. You have my word.”

“Well, I heard Sophie and Mrs. Cleary one day. It sounded like they were having a row.”

“When was this?”

“Maybe two months before Sophie died. It was to be expected, really. Mrs. Cleary was awfully upset when Mr. and Mrs. Nightingale passed away. Sophie was her usual self. She often left work unfinished and we all had to pick up after her.”

“What were they arguing about on that occasion?”

“I couldn’t hear. I do remember Sophie shouting at Mrs. Cleary. She was saying something like, ‘you won’t get away with it, Louise.’ But I must not have heard properly.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Mrs. Cleary’s name is Jane, not Louise. Besides, I can’t say Sophie was bothered by that argument at all. Much to the contrary. She was very happy. Right up until she died.”

“You’re telling me she was in high spirits before she died? Why? Did she tell you anything?”

“Did she ever! We were all treated to her airs. She was mighty proud of herself, prancing around like a queen. She gloated about having come upon some money and said she was going to leave Berkshire to live in London. She’d given her notice, you know.”

“I see. I did not know that.” He had noted Shannon’s fondness for gossip and the envy in her voice. And something else: Shannon was ambitious.

“Tell me, Miss O’Sullivan. Why do you think Mrs. Cleary would believe this house to be haunted? Don’t you find this odd?”

Shannon looked uncertain. She squirmed in her chair.

“Why would it be odd?” she asked.

“Come now, don’t you find it convenient?” He knew Mrs. Cleary had been in London at the time of Vera Nightingale’s murder and was less of a suspect. But he wondered if Shannon might take the bait, and turn against the housekeeper.

He was surprised by her response. A frown marred Shannon’s freckled forehead.

“There is something in this house, Mr. Leroux,” she warned. “Everyone, save for Mary and Gerard has felt it. Well, the new girl hasn’t, given she’s only new. But it won’t take much longer for her to see it. Even Miss Vera was afraid.”

“How would you know what Vera Nightingale felt?”

“I attended to her room on the nights before she died. I’m quite sure she sensed something in the house.”

“Did she tell you anything?”

“Well the nights before, she kept asking questions. Things like, are you certain the doors are properly locked? Then she made me go downstairs near the servant quarters and she’d tug at the bell cordons in her room to ensure I could hear her ring. She was terrified the bell might not work. It wasn’t just her incessant questions. I caught her staring around her room like she might find something hiding there.”

“Are you telling me Vera Nightingale was troubled by a presence she had seen in the house previously?”

“I don’t just think it, Mr. Leroux. I know it. She was afraid.”

“Why was she not in her room on the night she died?”

“Well, she was at the start. I’d brought her a bed warmer to heat up her sheets and she told me she’d not stay in her room that night. She preferred to remain in the parlour. I didn’t think it was a good idea but she looked so frightened, and she claimed she couldn’t remain a moment longer in that bedroom.”

Maurice took note. “Anyone else aside from you know that she was in the parlour that night?”

“I don’t think so.” She paused. Her voice darkened, “I say,