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The housekeeper glanced at her watch. ‘I think it’s time for a coffee break. You can resume cleaning The Blue Room when you get back.’
‘Where is that, by the way?’ Abigail asked.
‘Ah, you exited the lift and walked in the wrong direction.’ The housekeeper led the way, arriving at a door with a gold nameplate attached that said, ‘The Blue Room.’
Abigail realised where she’d gone wrong. It was only a short distance from the lift. She sighed. ‘I’m an idiot.’
‘Not in my book. You gave Lord Somerville a talking-to, something none of the rest of us working here had dared to do.’
Abigail knew why that was. She didn’t have to be afraid of losing her job, although it was true that she didn’t want to lose Emily her position. ‘I guess it was the thought of him speaking that way to my sister that got my back up.’
The housekeeper mused, ‘I think his wife used to put him in his place. Sounds to me as though he needed someone to come along and give him a kick up the backside, so to speak.’ She put her hand to her mouth, realising she hadn’t lowered her voice before saying that.
Abigail grinned, looking about her. ‘Don’t worry, I think he’s gone.’ She watched the housekeeper park the trolley in The Blue Room. ‘Now, you won’t forget where it is, will you?’
‘No, I think I’ll find it this time.’ Abigail was still thinking of Lord Somerville as they walked towards the lift that would take them down to the basement kitchen where the staff had their breaks. ‘So, what’s his son like?’
‘Worse.’
And that was the end of the conversation, Abigail noticed. However, much to her delight, when the housekeeper went out to do an errand in the middle of the coffee break, some of the other staff were eager to talk to the newbie and share the house gossip. Abigail sat with Milly, a young woman from a nearby village who worked as the cook’s assistant. When Abigail remarked that the house felt like something out of another era in the way they treated their staff, she agreed, saying that it had been her own first impression when she’d started working there. It was veryUpstairs, Downstairs, like the old TV programme her grandparents used to watch.
‘Perhaps a bitDownton Abbey– but not as progressive.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Milly agreed. ‘Apparently, Lord Somerville had wanted to make changes, but his wife liked the old ways, and since she died this is the way the house has been left – stuck in a time-warp.’
Abigail thought of the bedroom she’d ventured into. It had been stuck in the past, in the night of the Great Storm when its occupant left and never returned home.
Milly continued. ‘You know, there’s a lovely old conservatory in the East Wing, with a garden patio outside and tables and chairs. Why can’t the staff sit there for lunch instead of stuck down here in the damp and cold?’
Abigail had glimpsed the conservatory as she walked through the grounds with Joss at lunchtime. It had been empty.
‘I don’t believe the family use it,’ Milly commented.
‘So, why can’t we?’
Milly shrugged her shoulders. ‘Exactly. I suppose one of us would have to ask Lord Somerville. And like that’s gonna happen …’ she said sarcastically.
Abigail stared at her. She would have no hesitation in asking him herself if she ran into him again. After hearing what had happened to his wife all those years earlier, it was little wonder he was – in the words of some of those seated around the table – unapproachable, withdrawn and aloof. It sounded as though his son was no different.
Abigail thought of Toby. Was that what was on the cards, in her future, if she didn’t follow Toby’s request that she should find someone else? Was that why Lili, who only had her best interested at heart, was so intent on fixing her up? So that she didn’t turn into someone like Lord Somerville – or his son?
‘What’s the son’s problem, anyway?’ Abigail asked. Even though she hadn’t had the misfortune to meet him yet, there were plenty around the kitchen table willing to dish the dirt on their future boss and provide some kitchen-table psychology.
The consensus, even though it was just gossip and hearsay, was that Lord Somerville blamed his son for his wife’s death. After all, she had died giving birth to him. Because of that, his son blamed himself and walked around with a big chip on his shoulder as a consequence.
While all the gossip was interesting, and passed the time during the coffee break, it wasn’t shedding any light on Daphne Harris and Toby’s connection with the old lady. Abigail was about to ask Milly what she knew about Lord Somerville’s late sister, Daphne, when Milly returned to the subject of the areas that were out of bounds to staff. ‘We can’t use the café either when it’s open. You know, it’s where the visitors on the tours can get tea or coffee and a simple lunch. They can sit in the conservatory or the patio to eat and drink too.’
Abigail felt they were treated like second-class citizens. From what she’d heard, it sounded as though the Somervilles’ attitude to their staff was outdated and, quite frankly, discriminatory.
One of the gardeners who was on his break overheard them talking about the café. He said, ‘If you ask me, it’s a bit short-sighted of them not letting us use the café. They have it on site to make money, and I’m sure there’re quite a few of us who would stop by for a coffee and a bacon butty at break time. I reckon they’d make more money out of us than their tour groups.’
Milly nodded her head in agreement.
Abigail had a thought. ‘If they opened the café every day, then you guys could have your breaks in the conservatory, and grab a coffee and breakfast or lunch. Has anyone broached the idea with Lord Somerville?’
‘Oh, he doesn’t really run the place. It’s passed to his son, in preparation for when he takes over.’
The gardener scoffed, ‘But no one is going to approach him and ask.’
