Lady Gwendolen Investigates

‘Don’t work for the blacksmith n’more, Annie. Works for Mr Northbridge now,’ he revealed, looking well pleased with the change of situation. ‘Leastways, I reckon I do,’ he amended, ‘if Lady Warrender, ’ere, ain’t too keen to take me on.’

Gwen wasn’t quite sure what to make of this, and didn’t attempt to hide her puzzlement. ‘I’m sorry. Ben, I’m not altogether certain I know precisely what you mean.’

‘It’s this way, ma’am. Mr Northbridge seemed to s’pose you’d be in need of a groom, ’im not ’aving a good word to say about the man you’ve got now. Said as ’ow ’ee weren’t up to tooling a donkey, let alone a decent pair of ’orses. Besides, ’im being a lazy b—’

His sister’s warning cry was sufficient to remind Ben to mind his language. Gwen had, however, already grasped the general drift, and couldn’t say she was unduly surprised by her affluent neighbour resorting to colourful language. Nonetheless she felt the situation needed some clarification, so didn’t hesitate to take advantage of the big brother’s presence for the time being at least.

Delaying only for as long as it took to collect a cloak, put on a bonnet and secure Gillie’s services, Gwen then set out on what she considered was the most comfortable carriage ride she had experienced in her entire life. Cushioned by thick and luxurious velvet upholstery, she felt not the slightest rut, and arrived at Bridge House in a surprisingly short space of time feeling hugely satisfied with her latest acquisition, completely uncaring as to the amount of money that would be required to reimburse Mr Northbridge, and more than ready to forgive and forget any past grievances she might still have retained with the man himself.

Unfortunately she was denied the opportunity to offer her personal thanks, but wasn’t unduly dejected to discover the master of the house away from home, for the information was relayed by none other than the housekeeper, who showed no unwillingness in allowing the visitor to step over the threshold in order to write a note.

Gwen soon found herself in what was surely Mr Northbridge’s private sanctum. Smelling faintly of leather, cigars and fine old brandy, the room was a representation of its owner’s personality—solid, reliable and wholly masculine.

Settling herself behind the desk, she easily arrested the housekeeper’s immediate departure by saying, ‘Please don’t rush away. It won’t take many moments just to scribble a few lines…It’s Mrs Brice, isn’t it?’

‘Why, yes, ma’am!’ she responded, appearing surprised.

‘I wish to thank you for ensuring that Jane Robbins’s belongings were safely packed away until such time as your master was able to dispose of them. Did you know I was a particular friend of hers?’

‘The master did mention it, ma’am, when he gave orders for the box to be brought down from the attic.’ She was quiet for a moment, then, evidently feeling she ought to say something further, added, ‘All very sorry we were, ma’am. Miss Robbins was a real nice young woman. There wasn’t a servant here who didn’t think well of her.’

Even though Gwen was much moved by the tribute, simply because she believed it had been totally sincere, not uttered merely as a formality, her mind was working rapidly in order to turn the conversation to her advantage, and maybe uncover something, anything, that might offer a clue as to why Jane had lost her life on that particular day in January. Was it simply a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or had she, perhaps, arranged to meet someone in secret, which would necessitate in her having to venture forth alone?

The latter was unlikely, and yet anything was possible, Gwen decided, striving to keep an open mind as she said, ‘Yes, dear Jane always attempted to get along with people, no matter their station in life. I cannot recall anyone who didn’t like her. She was both trustworthy and hardworking. And so sensible too! That’s why I cannot understand what could have possessed her to go out walking on what I’m reliably informed was such a damp and dismal day, by herself and in such a lonely spot.’

Mrs Brice wasn’t slow to agree. ‘Truth to tell, ma’am, it surprised us too. Never mentioned to anyone she meant to go out. Which was most odd, not like her at all. She’d always let one of the staff know, even if she was just going for a walk in the garden. And she was never late for meals. Always so considerate to Cook, she was.’

‘Perhaps something had upset her, and it slipped her mind,’ Gwen suggested, and watched a slightly troubled expression flit over the housekeeper’s face.

‘Now, it’s strange you should say that, ma’am. Because, unless I’m much mistaken, it were on that very day the young parlourmaid happened to catch sight of Miss Robbins coming along the passageway from the nursery. Said as how she looked upset, red eyed and sniffing, and whisked herself into her room without speaking. But I don’t see as how she could have been upset, because she was fine earlier when I spoke to her, and I know for a fact she was looking forward to beginning lessons with the girls again the following morning.

‘She’d done wonders with those girls, ma’am,’ she went on to reveal, her mind seemingly locked in the past, ‘especially Miss Amy, who can be something of a handful at times. Both Miss Mary and Miss Amy had grown right fond of her, so they had. So I can’t see as how a visit to the nursery to see them would have upset her. No, I think it’s much more likely she’d picked up a touch of the influenza herself, and maybe thought to walk it off that afternoon.’

‘Or maybe she’d agreed to meet someone, and chose Marsden Wood so that the assignation wouldn’t be witnessed,’ Gwen suggested, and then watched as Mrs Brice’s expression of gentle concern changed at once into a decidedly guarded look.

She easily guessed the reason for the slight withdrawal. ‘I’m not suggesting for a moment that Miss Robbins’s behaviour was in any way improper,’ she assured the servant. ‘I suppose I’m just trying to think of some reason why she should have taken it into her head to visit such a place alone, when she knew of its unfortunate reputation.’

The explanation evidently satisfied Mrs Brice, because she visibly thawed. ‘That I couldn’t say, ma’am. But what I can tell you is Miss Robbins never had any callers…followers, as you might say. And never received any letters, at least none that weren’t picked up in a proper manner from the receiving office, with the master’s own. And she received a few of those during the many months she were here.’

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