"Not a single one. Not a single blasted one! All the way up there and for what? Absolutely nothing!"
I'd rarely seen Brooks in such a temper. He'd forgotten all about his tea sitting untouched on the table in front of him. His hands jerked and flew as he spoke and his face was was flushed in a most unhealthy fashion. He still had on his travelling coat and cap, as he'd not even bothered to take them off since he and Morris had rushed into the house a few hours after dinner and demanded to talk to me immediately.
I'd still been upstairs, plotting our future and had quickly thrown on the first dress I could lay hands on, slapped some make up on my face and rushed down the stairs. I hadn't expected them back for days and I was eager to see, or at least hear about, our new men. What aid would they need? We'd have to send for the doctor, certainly, but would they need new crutches or a wheelchair or . . .only when I'd arrived in Edward's salon did I realise I was still in my slippers and had forgotten my stockings altogether.
Neither one of them seemed to notice.
Morris sat staring vacantly at the sugar pot, taking occasion sips from his cup. He seemed dazed from the journey and I wondered if he'd had to listen to Brooks' raging all the way down from Hertfordshire and at some point had just shut off entirely.
"It's not like we don't have anything to tend to here! Surely not, what was her Ladyship thinking? Just sent up any spare men you might have lying about to tend to my dreadful problem! And be quick about it, if you please. Damned toffs."
"Brooks, please. Do calm down. Now, the other servants, I'm still not completely clear on what they said. No Tommies had ever been by?"
"That hysterical, miserly sow of a cook! I wish you'd been there, Olivia, you wouldn't have believed your ears! Only one Tommy comes to the kitchen door asking after scraps and suddenly it's the Somme! They're overrun! Beggars everywhere aiming to make off with the last ham in the larder and leave them to starve. Judging by the size of her, I'd say she's the one aiming to make off with not just the ham, but half the larder when no one's looking!"
Morris snorted. Ah, so he was still with us.
I let Brooks rage for a little while longer. There was no use in stopping him until he'd blown off most of the steam. Although, if he'd been like this for hours. . .
From what I could piece together out of the tirade, it sounded as if Elizabeth had taken the exaggerations of her cook literally and called in the cavalry without bothering to look into the situation herself. Either one or no Tommies had ever been on the Boyd-Scathby estate, let alone hoards of them dossing under her raspberry hedges.
When Brooks paused for breath, I turned to Morris.
"What was your impression?"
Brooks snapped his mouth shut and jerked himself around on his chair to stare at poor Morris, as if daring him to contradict what he'd just said. Morris took a deep breath, and looked to be judging his words carefully before he spoke.
"I see it similarly to Mr Brooks. There was never an onslaught of roaming Tommies on the estate, nor in the village. That we got confirmed by an number of old boozers at the only pub. They could only remember seeing one vagrant in a scruffy Army coat come through and that was ages ago. Hard to say if that one ever went up to the estate or not. None of the other servants could remember anything or didn't have time to talk to us."
"Too busy scouring pots to spare a minute! Elbowing us out of the way as if we were annoying children getting underfoot," Brooks piped in, waving his hand about. I was afraid he was going to slam his fist down on the table and slosh the tea, but he didn't.
"Well," continued Morris, "if you want my opinion as a salesman, I'd say Mrs Landon --that's the cook -- is generally dishonest, Miss. Sure as carts to horses, a portion of the monthly kitchen allowance disappears straight into her apron pocket. And she's most assuredly been serving up the Boyd-Scathbys steaming hot dishes of lies for years, knowing the Lady herself can't be bothered with petty details. I reckon the story about the hoards of Tommies fit into one of her schemes somehow. The other servants are terrified of her, that's why they didn't want to talk to us. Too afraid of her making up shite about them and being let go."
For some reason, the image of Mrs Thrower popped into my mind, but I quickly shooed it out again.
"Could Landon have got the details wrong for any other reason?"
"It hardly matters, Olivia! There weren't any men there! She falsely represented the whole situation and wasted our time!" Brooks protested, but I raised my hand to quiet him.
Morris took a sip of his tea. "No, I don't think so. I'm sure about that because of a story I heard from the stable lad when I was out having a gasper. Seems as if Landon got the chief ostler chucked out a few years back over something the lad said he never did."
"She did? And what did she claim?"
Morris peered down into his tea cup and said, "Something no decent man would've been doing."
Ah, ha. "Having it off with the stable lad, was he?"
Morris looked up at me, and a grin spread across his face once he'd realised I wasn't offended. "Worse. With the Lady's favourite mare."
"What!" cried Brooks, "That shrew claimed the ostler was about it with one of the horses?" He nearly leapt up off his chair, but only barely contained himself, wrapping his arm around the backrest like a drunken sailor instead. "Now I've really heard everything!"
"Not only claimed it, got away with it, too. Got 'im chucked out on his ear after almost twenty years of service. Said the stable lad. And sold the mare shortly thereafter, by the by."
While the accusation was comical, it was also disturbing. Was Elizabeth really that naïve? Or that apathetic to what really went on around her? If she was, who knew what lies about Brooks and Morris this Landon woman could be concocting at this very moment to dribble into Elizabeth's distracted ear. That they made off with a few silver spoons? Seduced a scullery maid? Certainly, if she feared she might be caught out in a lie, there was no telling what she would do. Or say.
"And how much did that information cost you, Morris?" I asked, curious as to exactly how much of his charm had been involved or if I needed to add a few extra coins to his monthly pocket money.
Morris grinned again. "Not much. Two gaspers and a kiss."
Brooks stared gap-mouthed at him, eyes big as spring eggs. I couldn't help but giggle when I spotted the the devilish twinkle in Morris' eyes as he took another sip of his tea. If he was having Brooks on or not, who knew, but it was important information he'd brought home, nonetheless. Thank you, Morris.
"What did you say to Lady Boyd-Scathby before you left? Does she know her cook was lying?" I looked from Brooks to Morris and back again.
"We didn't have the opportunity to say anything," answered Brooks, one eye still on Morris who was paying rapt, gleefully smirking attention of the last of the tea in his cup. "The Lady was unavailable to speak with us. We were dealt with by the butler, a Mr Owen."
I nodded. "And what did you tell Mr Owen?"
"That there were no Tommies to collect, and that we'd wasted both our time and our employer's money coming up when there was no reason. And that he could tell that to his employer with our best regards."
"And what did Mr Owen say to that."
"He sincerely regretted our inconvenience," Morris answered, and took to staring at the sugar pot again. Ah, ha. That might also have been telegraphed directly back to Mrs Landon.
I sighed and took a sip of my tea, the hot liquid burning the place where the lip was split. "Well, you're both back home now. I want to thank you for going up on short notice even if it was a false alarm. At least you had a bit of change of scenery."
Brooks crossed his arms over his chest. He didn't look taken in by my consoling words. I thought it was time to relate my own news.
I told them what had happened to Montgomery.
"Poor bastard," Morris whispered, shaking his head.
"Do we know who laid those snares?" Brooks asked, his tone now a pinch more annoyed. I shook my head. "No, but Carter has been looking into it. I don't think he's found anything yet. It's probably too early."
"I'll go and speak with him tomorrow when it's light. Maybe he could use some help."
"That would be most kind of you, Brooks, thank you."
I turned to look out of the window of the salon where we were sitting and met my reflection captured in the glass against the blackness outside. I looked pale and rather ghostly in my loose dress. Without thinking, my reached up and gently touched my face.
When I turned back, I found Brooks contemplating me with narrowed eyes. "Is that the only thing that happened while we were gone?" he asked. His voice was quiet, but I heard the same iron tone that Agatha had used when she'd seen the damage.
"We'll speak later. And Morris, I want to see you bright and early in the Hutch tomorrow morning. We have business to discuss."
"Yes, Miss."
"Then good night, gentlemen. I believe Daniels has keep some dinner warm for you in the kitchen."
And with that, I rose and left.
Upstairs, I washed off the make up and sat down to take another long and fascinating look at myself in the mirror.
When Agatha had seen the damage, she'd applied an arsenal of ointments and salves to my face and body, tutting and muttering under her breath through it all about if only Father were there to see me what would he say. In some strange fashion, I thought Father might have been perversely pleased by the whole affair.
I could imagine him saying Quite right, Olivia. If you like what they say, smile. If you don't, knock them in the bonce. Perfectly fitting for an Altringham," and my not knowing if he were praising or chiding me. Or both. Or simply making a joke.
With Father, one never could tell.
I had a split lip, a nasty looking red welt on my puffy left cheek, a scrape straight across my forehead and countless bruises both large and small decorating my whole body in a palette of lurid colours. Did James look worse? I hadn't seen him since he'd hobbled stiffly back to the Infirmary two nights ago. Something in me hoped he did -- but then again hoped he didn't.
I could understand why men were so proud of their bruises and scars now. I'd earned these in one of the most emotionally exhausting fights of my life and I was shockingly proud of them. To hell with the make up. Who was I really hiding the bruises from?
Agatha wanted me to stay in my room for at least a week, but I couldn't. Morris and I needed to chat about my ideas and there was Mr Stevenson's job offer to be filled. I had a lot of work ahead of me and I'd rested about as long as I was willing to.
Was I ready for the challenges to come? I didn't know. And the moonlight seeping through the curtains and onto the rug on my bedroom floor didn't know, either. But that didn't stop me from staring at it for far too long until I fell into a fitful sleep that had me tossing and turning all night.