Bread and Butter Miss

Book 88: Murder Room

by Guy Cullingford

Genres: Mystery; Traditional Mysteries

Synopsis

A Victorian family is left high and dry when its lord and master sails off to China to bring back the first tea of the season. Absent for six months at a time, he never ceases to dominate the lives of his wife and children. The yearly race to be the first home with the tea is underway, with every ship vying for both kudos and the prize money. The year is 1866, and as both Ariel and Taeping are surging up the channel, Caroline, the second daughter of the oppressed family, begins her own voyage of discovery.

Release date: November 14, 2015

Publisher: Orion

Print pages: 224

Sample

I knew that there was something not nice between Lottie and Papa. But what it was, was not clear. She was always his favourite, no doubt about that, and she made good use of
the privilege to lord it over us younger ones. I suppose it was natural that he should prefer her. She was not as pretty as me, or so Nurse used to say and, taking feature by feature, I think this
was true. But her looks were bold and handsome and she was very spirited and never afraid to stand up to him and answer him back. If he ever took her to task, which was seldom, she would quell him
with a glance from her snapping black eyes. And then he would laugh, as if they had some sort of secret between them. Of course, Papa was bound to love all of his children, but with her he seemed
positively to enjoy it. He liked to slip an arm round her waist, tweak at her hair or sit holding her hand. Don’t think I was jealous, oh no. The duty kiss once a day was more than I wanted;
I couldn’t abide the feel of his great bushy beard tickling my chin. Besides, I had Mama who doted on me. So there we were equal and everything fair.

I prayed for enlightenment. Nothing came. I don’t believe Lottie ever prayed at all, not about that or anything else. When she was in the night nursery with us, she used to squeeze her
eyes tight shut for a minute and then jump into bed. Now Henry had moved out and taken lodgings in the City to be nearer his work and she had his room. Lucky her.

Nurse said that although Pa went to church when he was home and conducted his own services aboard ship, he was not what she would call a true believer, and so, I suppose, Lottie took pattern by
him. As for their being so thick together, I would have died rather than discuss it with Mama who had enough trials of her own to bear as it was, poor angel. And if I wanted to know more, who was
there to ask?

I knew that I should get short shrift from Nurse. She always complained that I was too nosey by half. Besides, she had so much to do and was never alone. Either she would remark warningly,
“Little pitchers have big ears,” referring to Donald, or simply ward off the question by answering it with a request. “Button the twins into their coats, Carrie, and mind you tie
on their mitts.” Although the twins were six they were bone lazy and never lifted a finger to help themselves.

That left Danby and it is hard to ask favours from those we despise. Danby had been governess with us since my dear Miss Harper left to be married. Anyway she was sly and might tattle to Lottie,
whom she professed to admire. Also she was terrified of Pa and would have stood on her head if she thought it might please him.

Sometimes he would pounce in on her just when the children were making a hash of their lessons. He would hold fire for a few minutes while they stuttered and stumbled along. Then he would let
fly, accusing her of bringing them up to be nothing but dunces incapable of ever earning an honest living. At their age! But I admit that she was a duffer at teaching. Donald had made no headway at
all since he had been in her care; as for the twins, they didn’t yet know their tables and weren’t able to read or to write. When I took it up with Mama, she said with a sigh,
“Miss Danby is an unfortunate and can’t command as large a salary as those with a better background. Your Papa thinks that with all our expenses we should save money wherever we
can.” She had a wry expression, as if she had bitten into a pill instead of swallowing it down.

What was an unfortunate? Mama made it sound as if it were something she could have helped if she’d tried, but I thought that Danby was just naturally silly. Before I had time to inquire,
Mama suddenly switched on her most dazzling smile and went on: “My dear love, no real harm is done by Miss Danby’s lack of superior knowledge. Donald will soon be off to school and I am
sure that you are clever enough to help your little sisters with their sums and their reading.”

Flattery is sweet but it would be false modesty to deny what is true. I was quick at learning, much quicker than Charlotte according to Miss Harper. I should have made a better governess for the
children without costing Pa a penny piece. But I was only thirteen years and a half, plus two weeks. Charlotte was sixteen and eight months. Those three years seemed to set us as far apart as the
poles. I wouldn’t say that thirteen is a good age to be; it is like being out of the bath and not yet into your clothes.

I was not in the schoolroom or anywhere else. When I was not practising scales or dabbing around with a paintbrush, I was either helping out in the nursery or waiting on Mama who liked having me
at her beck and call. She was not at all strong and never strayed far from her couch in the parlour. What did she do with her days? That was another of those little conundrums. There was always a
piece of embroidery or crochet in hand, and often we would choose colours together and I would thread her up needles. But I know for a fact that she had been on the same wreath of flowers for a
year and the crochet never grew by one scallop more. Fine work, she complained, only brought on her headaches, and then I would have to bathe her forehead with a handkerchief damped with
eau-de-cologne. It soothed her to have me brush out her hair or read to her from the books in her bookcase. These books were Mama’s property alone. I never saw Pa read anything but a paper
though he had a shelf full of naval tomes in the Cabin, which was what he called his own private sanctum.

I was allowed to borrow any of Mama’s books that I chose, provided I took proper care of them. Some of them were religious and some were the classics. And some were new novels and those I
enjoyed best of all. We dipped into one after the other and often I thought that she wasn’t paying attention, only lulled by the sound of the words. But what did it matter? It was so
wonderfully peaceful in there, just the two of us, with the blinds half-drawn. It was like dwelling in the heart of a pool.

Of course, when he was at home it was a different story. Then she had to make-believe to be well and to take her place at the end of the table for meals instead of having a tray in her room. The
whole atmosphere of the house changed; he insisted on having the blinds right up in the parlour, and even in there he would be stamping and shouting about. The funny thing was that although he was
so much in love with the sound of his own voice, he wanted the children kept quiet as mice. They never seemed particularly noisy when he was absent but no sooner had he returned than it might have
been Bedlam. I think he had himself to blame for it. He got them excited and then supposed that when he was bored with their racket we could turn it off like a tap. Donald was old enough to
understand but the twins were too little to have any sense. When Nurse slapped them to quieten them down they only yelled like stuck pigs. Often she had to walk up and down half the night to keep
Baby from crying and disturbing his precious slumbers.

With Pa there and on the rampage, I was glad of the days when Mrs. Moggs came and we could shut ourselves up safe in the attic set aside for dressmaking. The idea was that I was to learn what
she could teach me of her trade as well as help out with the work. I liked Moggs better for herself than for what she did; she was so very comical. She had a racy way of talking and telling a tale
and she was as full of them as she was of pins. Often she held several in her mouth by the heads, and I used to sit on the opposite side of the bare wooden table, watching her with bated breath for
fear she would start on another hair-raising anecdote and swallow the lot.

Moggs liked me better than Lottie because Lottie plagued the life out of her, wanting so many frills and furbelows to her dresses and often demanding alterations once they were made. It was not
that they were too difficult for Moggs to tackle; but it was a question of time. There was so much else to be done; smocking for Baby, identical garb for the twins, sailor suits for Donald and
outfits for Mama. Another person, less skilled, took on the mending and patching, putting sheets sides to middles and making aprons and caps for the servants, but even so Moggs was hard pressed. Of
all those in the household I caused her the least trouble in this direction if not in another. My drab school-room garments lasted forever and all that we had to do to them was to keep letting down
tucks.

To revenge herself on Lottie, Mrs. Moggs would take her off killingly, mincing around the attic in a lah-di-dah manner which had me in fits. One morning when my sister had been at her most
exasperating, as soon as she had left the room, Mrs. Moggs went into one of her acts and we were forced to split our sides laughing. When we had sobered up, Moggs gave a sniff and remarked:

“She’ll come to no good for all her fine airs and graces. Don’t think I don’t know the larks she gets up to. There’s things I could tell you . . .” and at
this she stopped and gave me a significant look.

Here it comes, I thought to myself, and I felt a hot blush rising up in my cheeks. She went on:

“She don’t know it but I seen her on one of the public seats in the Park making up to some young spark bold as brass. Mebbe they was sitting up tight to keep warm; you
couldn’t-a got a tape measure between them.” And Moggs winked.

This was not what I had expected, but none-the-less news. I daresay there were plenty of idle young men in the neighbourhood who would not have been averse to a tête-à-tête
with Lottie and I am sure that she would have been ready to flirt.

I had often seen her in church, ogling the males in the congregation when she should have had her eyes on her prayer-book. But Pa was so strict in such matters that he would not let Henry bring
home any of his friends. We had never had a strange man over the threshold, not even the Curate, and I could not think what would happen if he found her out.

“We know where that leads,” said Mrs. Moggs and patted her stomach.

I had no idea what she meant, unless it was that concealing her guilt from Papa would give Lottie a pain.

I resolved to keep a watch on Lottie’s activities out of doors in the future. She had more freedom in this respect than I did, however as she did most of Mama’s shopping where choice
was required. This suited Lottie as she enjoyed giving orders, whether to the rest of us or to tradesmen, and it spared Mama the extra exhaustion of standing at counters and walking to and fro from
the shops.

Moggs and I had not waited long enough before indulging our merriment at Lottie’s expense. For the very next afternoon when she caught me alone she took me to task.

“You sounded like a pair of hyenas,” she observed crossly.

“You laugh loud enough with Papa.”

‘That’s quite different. You never laugh downstairs, only up.”

There was some truth in that. It was stupid to bicker so I held my tongue. But she wouldn’t let go. “Gossiping with an inferior is a sign of bad breeding. I shall tell Papa and
he’ll soon put a stop to it.”

“There’s things I can tell Papa and he’ll put a stop to those too.”

“Then you’ve been spying, you horrid little sneak.”

I did not disillusion her as I did not want to betray Moggs. She looked so much like a gipsy as she stood there confronting me, with her jet-black hair and her slightly protuberant eyes flashing
fire, that I thanked my stars that my hair was fair and my eyes blue. She took after my father’s side of the family and I after my mother’s.

“You need have no fear of being spied upon, as you call it, if you do nothing wrong.”

“Wrong! Who are you to decide what is right and what is wrong, you mealy-mouthed thing? I shall do as I please and what I please is to live life to the full, no matter what comes of it. I
won’t be cooped up here with a houseful of women, day in and day out.”

“You have Papa,” I said.

At that she was silent for a moment, scowling and uncertain. Then she gave a sharp exclamation of disgust. “What do you know of it, anyway? You and Mama have only milk in your veins. No
wonder that he prefers me. All the same, he can’t do with me as he likes.”

“What does he like?”

“Never you mind. He’ll have to give in. I’ll see to that. Oh, it’s useless to talk to you, Carrie. You’re such a ninny. Just keep your mouth shut, that’s all.
We’re different, I tell you. And even if we weren’t I’m that much the older.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with it.”

“You wouldn’t.”

She had me at a disadvantage as she was leaning on the banisters half-way up the stairs whilst I stood at the foot. She was wearing over her skirt the short jacket with the mandarin collar that
Papa had brought for her from Hong Kong. It was the colour of egg-yolk embroidered with blossoms in blue and pink on cherry-tree twigs. No denying that it suited her high complexion and sallowish
skin. It was gay, yet subtle and sumptuous, far too grand for ordinary use. I thought that she had put it on simply because this was one of the extremely rare occasions when my mother and father
had gone out together. In her opinion she should have been the one to be taken and I guessed that this was her way of showing him what he had missed. With the dark background behind her she looked
for the moment as if she might have been posing for a portrait in oils. She came down slowly and when she reached the bottom step and we were nearly on a level, she leaned forward and as if on a
sudden impulse, snatched up my hand and placed it palm downwards on the material where it covered the hollow of her throat.

“Well, how does that feel to you?” she demanded.

It was satin of a superior quality.

“Soft,” I said stupidly. “Soft . . . almost slimy.”

“Slimy! Is that all you can say of it? Doesn’t it give you a thrill just to have it under your finger tips?”

“No, it does not.”

She drew my hand down until it felt a rounded swell under it.

“And what is that, my good child?”

“A part of your . . . your bosom, I suppose.” I tried to take my hand away in embarrassment.

“It’s my breast. Where are your breasts?”

“They haven’t grown yet. You know that.” By now I was a fiery red.

“Then don’t venture to criticise me again until they have,” she said coolly, releasing my hand with a careless gesture.

The very next morning I woke up in a fright and went running to Nurse, who slept in a sort of large cupboard off the night nursery. It wasn’t yet six and even Baby was
still fast asleep. I crept past her cot and the twins’ bed, clutching my night-gown around me, and soon I was shaking Nurse by the shoulders for, although she could stay awake all the night
in an emergency, when she did go off she was dead to the world. At last she opened her eyes and stared at me blearily, as if I had taken leave of my senses.

“What is it, Carrie? Has Baby took sick?”

“It’s me,” I said in an urgent whisper, scared into forgetting my grammar. “You must send for the doctor at once. I am bleeding to death.”

She sat up in bed, using both elbows to lever herself up from the pillow, and gave me an old-fashioned look.

“Rubbish, my girl. It’s no more than is to be expected. I wondered when you were ever going to start.”

At that she took it upon herself to explain matters to me, and after I’d learned that this horrid occurrence was to take place once a month in the future, I thought that becoming a woman
might have been better arranged.

Then she got out of bed and put on her flannelette robe before making certain provisions on my behalf over which best draw a veil.

That same day I was moved in with Miss Danby, which pleased neither party. I might have remembered that Lottie had made the same dramatic exodus several years ago but I must have been too young
at the time to take notice.

Our house was one of a terrace built of brick faced with stone. It had spiked iron railing round the area and a fine flight of steps leading up to the front door. Although it looked tall and
narrow it was really quite large. It went a long way back and it had four floors as well as the basement and attics. But then we were a large household and that is why some had to share. Of course,
Pa having his precious ‘cabin’ made one room the less. It had a bunk, just imagine, as well as two leather armchairs and a desk. And he had a lot of nautical instruments and a
brass bell taken from one of his old ships that had to be broken up. I saw no escape from the present situation until Lottie married, and when would he ever allow that?

Danby was awful. For one thing, I had never realised that she was such a fraud. She used pads to puff out her hair and, would you believe it, pads to increase the size of her bust. She
was proud of her tiny waist which, one had to admit, was her best point. Her arms were scraggy and so were her legs, a thing I had never speculated upon previously as they were well covered up.
Perhaps it is not altogether fair to blame her for her bodily shortcomings as she could not help how she was made, but to add to this she had some disgusting personal habits that made me feel
sick.

She liked to suck toffee in bed and she had a bargain with Cook to make a quantity every week in exchange for taking over the tradesmen’s books and Cook’s private correspondence.
Cook could read enough to puzzle out a receipt but she could not write more than her name so that when she wanted to communicate with any of her relatives, she was glad to avail herself of
Danby’s services. Or sometimes Danby would turn her back to me and propped up on one elbow go on reading by the light of a candle when I wanted it dark to be able to sleep. But worse than all
this was the fusty smell that pervaded our joint abode. Perhaps it was something she stowed away in the drawers to preserve her under-linen—whatever it was, it was certainly not
lavender. What with my sufferings in this respect and the shock that I had received over the affair before-mentioned, I was in no mood to bother about Lottie, except to note that, while I
was in the dumps, she was especially skittish and more striking in her appearance than ever. My father, too, was in a good humour for him, I often heard her and Papa roaring their heads off
together, which must have been murder for Mama’s poor nerves. Cook swore that my father was the most handsome man alive and it may have seemed so to some eyes. He had hair black as the raven,
coming to a widow’s peak in the middle of his forehead, whiskers and moustache and a full beard. His eyes were dark and bold like Lottie’s but harder. And his face was fleshy and he had
rubbery lips.

Papa’s stays with us always conformed to the same pattern. At first he only wanted to sleep, as on the run home when they were racing and every moment was precious, it was goodbye to all
that. Often he could not even go below for a change of clothes or a bath; he had to stay on deck and snatch forty winks whenever he could. While he was making up on his rest, all that we had to. . .