Page 57 of The Fortunes of Ashmore Castle

Mrs Terry said crossly, ‘Don’t put it down there! I’m just about to roll out pastry. Over there on the side table.’

Ivy, one of the kitchen maids, was a better audience. ‘What d’you mean, police?’

‘I saw the police wagon going down the hill. And the cows was making a hullabaloo, like they’d not been milked, and I saw Mr Ogg in the yard talking to that yard boy with the hare lip, and he was wringing his hands like he was ever so upset about something.

D’you think Mr Woodrow has been arrested? ’

‘Of course he’s not, and don’t you go spreading rumours about,’ Mrs Terry berated him. Rose didn’t hear any more. She ran out of the back door without even putting on her hat and coat.

She half ran, half walked to Hundon’s, consumed with dread.

She could hear the cows before she came in sight of the yard.

Ogg, the yard man, seemed to be arguing with Beattie Gale, one of the milkmaids, while the other milkers huddled in the doorway, watching.

Ogg looked at Rose with hope as she came through the gate.

‘Have you come with a message?’ he asked. ‘From up the house?’

‘No, I’ve not. What’s up with the cows?’

‘Mr Woodrow’s been took away,’ Ogg cried, wringing his hands. ‘And his sister. All over blood, he was, and no orders given. I don’t know what to do.’

‘Milk the cows for a start,’ Rose said impatiently. ‘What are you waiting for?’

‘But we’ll have missed the collection,’ Ogg said helplessly.

‘Milk ’em anyway! They’re suffering!’

‘That’s what I said,’ Beattie Gale cried, ‘but Mr Ogg’s hanging back.’

‘Get on and milk ’em, for God’s sake!’ Rose snapped. ‘I can’t stand that noise.’ She had no authority there, but a sure demeanour and a sharp voice went a long way.

‘But what’ll we do with the milk?’ Ogg asked feebly.

‘How do I know? Better out than in, that’s all I know.’ Beattie scuttled off in satisfaction. Rose stopped Ogg as he was about to follow. ‘What happened in the house?’

‘I don’t know. All I know, Mr Woodrow came out of the kitchen all over blood and told me to send a boy to get the police, urgent. And they come and took Mr Woodrow and Miss Woodrow away. Oh, thank God, there’s Mr Richard!’

Rose turned to see Richard coming in at the gate almost at a run. His eye brushed over Rose without taking her in, such was his urgency. ‘For God’s sake, get those bloody cows milked!’ he shouted at Ogg. ‘I can hear ’em half a mile away.’

Rose backed carefully out of his line of sight and left, hurrying back to the house, hoping she hadn’t been missed.

She chewed over the meagre information she had.

No doubt word of what had happened would reach the below-stairs community soon – exciting stories always had wings – but until then she could only torment herself with questions.

‘It seems she tried to kill him with a knife. He managed to overcome her, and tied her up with her own apron,’ Afton said to Mrs Webster.

‘I don’t know how seriously he was wounded, but he was able to send someone for the police, and apparently got into the police wagon under his own steam, so perhaps not too badly. ’

Mrs Webster stopped him with a look as Rose passed the door, and he turned, and said, ‘Ah, Rose.’ He beckoned her in.

‘A job for you, if you’re willing. It’s not a very nice one, but it needs to be someone we can trust not to have hysterics.

And not to talk about it, either.’ He paused.

‘Are you all right? You look a bit pale.’

‘I’m always pale,’ Rose said curtly. It wasn’t true. She had felt pale ever since the grocer’s boy burst in. ‘What’s this job?’

‘There’s been an incident at Hundon’s,’ Mrs Webster said.

‘I heard. Something about Mr Woodrow being wounded.’

‘Yes,’ said Afton. ‘There was some kind of – a fight, or struggle, between him and his sister. We don’t know all the details, but Mr Richard says the kitchen is in a mess, and he’d like it cleaned up before Mr Woodrow comes back. He thinks very highly of him, you know.’

Mrs Webster took it up. ‘It seems there was some blood spilled, and he says it wouldn’t be good for Mr Woodrow to come back to it, after such a shock. So would you go and see to it? I can’t force you to, but I’m asking nicely.’

Rose said, ‘Now?’

‘Yes, right away, if you will. Here’s the key. Mr Richard locked the kitchen door when he left. Don’t let anyone else in, will you? Rumours will have got about and there are always some gawkers.’

There was no-one in the yard when she arrived for the second time that day, and the cows must have been let out, because there was no bovine sound.

The dogs had been tied up, and barked as she appeared.

She went across to talk to them, and they looked at her anxiously, wondering if she had come to restore order to their disrupted world.

Fly stood up and wagged his tail. ‘I don’t know what’s come of him,’ she said, as she petted him. Jess, lying down chin on paws, twitched her eyebrows. ‘Good dogs. It’ll be all right,’ she said.

She unlocked the kitchen door, and stood just inside for a moment, taking it in.

The evidence of a struggle was clear. Two chairs had been overturned.

The cloth had been half pulled off the table, and what had been on it had mostly ended up on the floor.

The teapot remained balanced on the edge like a clifftop house that had narrowly survived a landslip.

Some of the crockery was broken. The heel of the loaf of bread had been kicked across the room.

A jam jar was smashed in a mess of raspberry jam, which had been trodden about.

There was also a broken glass by the sink, and some kind of brownish liquid, presumably its contents.

The kitchen range had gone out, and the kettle that had been left on it had boiled dry – she could smell the tang of burned metal.

And there was blood – splashes and drips of it all over the place, and a blood-soaked dish-towel lying on the draining-board, as if it had been used to staunch the wound. Or wounds?

Mr Afton was right to send her, she thought.

Any of the housemaids was physically capable of the job, but which of them would not be overcome with horror, or at least want to rush out and find someone to babble to?

She shut her lips tightly, and started methodically to restore order.

She collected the broken glass and crockery into a box she found in the larder, scraped up the jam and put it, with the bread, into the pig bucket.

She raked out the range, re-laid and lit it, scoured out the kettle – it hadn’t burned through, luckily – and went to refill it, to find no water in the tap.

She went into the scullery to prime the pump and pump it up, then filled the kettle and put it on to boil.

She cleared the table and put the four chairs upside down on it, put the tablecloth in to soak with the dish-towel, and when the kettle was hot, got a bucket and cloths from under the sink and began to wash the floor.

When that was done, she got a fresh bucket and cloth, and went round eliminating all the smears and splashes.

She had just refilled the kettle and put it back on when the dogs barked, and she turned to see Michael Woodrow coming across the yard, his face white and drawn, his arm in a sling.

She avoided his eyes, embarrassed after their last meeting to be found in his house. ‘Mr Richard asked me to come in and clean the kitchen. He gave me the key,’ she said.

‘That was . . . kind,’ he said. He put a hand to his head and rubbed vaguely.

‘Are you all right? You look as if you ought to sit down,’ Rose said. He stepped across the threshold and looked around the kitchen with the air of not really knowing where he was. She pulled out a chair, and said, ‘Sit down. I’ll make you a cup of tea before I go.’

‘You did all this?’ he said hoarsely. ‘You’re very kind.’

She went about making tea without answering. When she put the teapot on the table and was turning away to find a cup, he said, ‘Rose – Miss Hawkins. Please. I want to apologise.’

‘What for?’ she said, her back to him.

He waited until she brought the cup to the table, and said, ‘Please sit down. I must talk to you.’

She sat, but still avoided his eyes, busying herself with stirring the pot and pouring.

‘You won’t look at me. You’re angry with me. I don’t blame you. I should have listened to you.’

She shrugged.

‘She’s my sister,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want to believe she’d . . . How could I?’

‘It’s nothing to me,’ she said.

‘I kept thinking about it. I was angry that you’d suggested it.

But then yesterday I went up to her room while she was out – she sleeps in the attic, right under the roof.

I thought there was a wasp’s nest under the tiles just above.

I moved the small cupboard away from the window so I could reach it and I heard something fall over.

So I looked inside, to make sure I hadn’t broken anything.

It was a bottle of brown liquid. No label. It smelt like mould or mushrooms.’

Now she looked up.

‘I took it away to my room. I thought she’d say something about it being missing, but she didn’t say a word.

This morning, at breakfast, I brought it out, I asked her what it was.

She said it was medicine. So I – I pushed it into her hand, I said, “Let me see you take some, then.” I was rough with her – I was afraid, you see.

Afraid of what I might find out. Then she said it was rat poison.

I asked where she’d got it, with no label on it, and she said she made it herself.

I asked where she was planning to use it, and she said, “I’ll poison any rats that come in this house.

” She said, ‘They’ll not take you away from me. ”’

Rose let out a breath that sounded like a sigh. His face looked so worn she felt sorry for him.

He rubbed his eyes wearily and went on: ‘So I asked her if she’d put the stuff in the cake she made for you.

I asked her quite quietly. I still couldn’t believe .

. . She didn’t answer, but she gave me such a hard look, I knew then.

I said, “Martha, don’t you realise what you’ve done?

Something like that is a matter for the police.

” And that’s when she went wild. She screamed at me.

She threw the bottle at me. I ducked and it hit the floor and smashed.

I tried to grab hold of her to quiet her and she fought me off.

We struggled. Chairs fell over. The tablecloth got dragged off and everything smashed on the floor.

I tried to subdue her but she’s tall and strong and – well, I was trying not to hurt her, which didn’t help.

Then I trod on something sharp and lost my balance and fell.

Cut my hand on a piece of glass as I tried to save myself.

It was while I was trying to get up that she – she stabbed me with the big kitchen knife.

’ He put a shaky hand up to his shoulder.

‘Back here. Twice. I managed to get up. She kept on coming. I – I couldn’t hit her.

Not a woman. Not my sister. I had to try and grapple with her.

I was bleeding and I couldn’t use my right arm properly. I—’

He stopped. Rose said gruffly, ‘I’m sorry you got hurt.’

He shook his head. ‘She kept saying, “I won’t let you leave me.” She said, “I’ll not let her take you.”’

‘You don’t have to tell me,’ Rose said, feeling uncomfortable. Mr Afton – he was a very clever man, wasn’t he?

‘I got the knife away from her. I held onto her in the end, and suddenly she gave up, stopped struggling. She was weeping. I – I didn’t dare let her go.

I tied her apron round her, round her arms so she couldn’t move them, tied her to a chair.

But she didn’t struggle, just sat there, weeping.

I was bleeding and feeling faint. I went outside to call for help. ’

‘I know. The police came.’

He raised haunted eyes to her. ‘What could I do? She’d tried to kill me. She might do it again. How could I trust her? She has to be—’ He didn’t want to say it.

‘Locked up.’ The words were flat as the smell of stagnant water.

He was silent, drawing on his reserves. ‘Down at the station, the doctor came, gave her something to make her drowsy. Looked at my wound. He said I was lucky, half an inch and it would have struck an artery and I’d be dead.’

He stopped. She waited, but he didn’t seem to be going to continue. She said, ‘Where is she now?’

‘They took her to Asham Bois,’ he said starkly.

She’d expected that. It was where the insane asylum was.

He looked at her as if she had accused him. ‘What else could I do? I couldn’t have her here, never knowing if she’d poison me, or stab me in my sleep. But she’s my sister !’ He shook his head miserably. ‘She’s always been a bit strange, but she was never a danger, not to me, not to anybody.’

Rose said, ‘You’re blaming me.’

‘I’m not!’ he protested.

‘Yes, you are. You think it’s you and me walking out that tipped her over. She thought I was taking you away from her. Well, I could have set her right on that score.’

‘Rose, don’t!’

She got up. ‘I’ll get out of your way now. I won’t bother you again. You can have her back here for all it matters to me. I’ll make sure to keep out of the way.’

‘Please don’t be angry. Please—’

‘I’m not angry,’ she said curtly. ‘You and me – that was always daft. We’re from different worlds. What do I want with a man, anyway? They’re nothing but trouble.’

She took her coat from the nail on the back of the door. He said, ‘Please don’t go,’ but she made no answer. She went out and closed the door quietly behind her.

Fly stood with a rattle of his chain and looked up at her hopefully, swinging his tail. ‘I don’t know what you’re laughing at,’ she addressed him. ‘Clown face.’ And she walked off. She felt scoured inside, with the raw satisfaction of one who expects the worst and is proved right.