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Chapter 22
Abigail was back in the study the following day. This time it was deserted, and she was there as part of her cleaning round. As she dusted the desk, she was thinking about Carys’s visit to the basement kitchen the previous afternoon. It had not gone exactly as she had expected. Lord Somerville’s daughter had been on a fact-finding mission, talking with the staff, finding out what would improve their working day at the hall. Abigail had seen the surprised faces when she suddenly appeared, especially the housekeeper’s. She could tell by the look on her face that she was thinking,what has Abigail done now?
Carys had noted the damp in the kitchen and had said she’d find alternative accommodation as soon as possible. She’d also said she would look into opening up the little café for staff as well as visitors to use.
Abigail had thought the staff would be overjoyed about moving upstairs to the conservatory for their breaks and having access to a café for meals and snacks. Carys hadn’t forgotten Abigail’s suggestion about the games room and gym either, and brought it up with the staff, saying that she would speak to Lord Somerville and her brother about it.
Abigail recalled the negative comments that she’d heard as soon as Carys left. They had surprised her. ‘Fat lot of good that will do,’ one member of staff had muttered. She’d thought they’d be over the moon to discover a member of the immediate family was taking an interest in their welfare and looking to make changes that would enhance their working day. On the contrary, they were of the opinion that nothing would be done.
She thought about the very decent pay, generous holiday allowance, and extra perks like the Christmas bonus that each member of staff received, which amounted to ten per cent of their annual salary. The Somervilles even paid into a private pension with life cover on behalf of their employees. And they had jobs for life, if they chose to stay, which was a rare beast these days. It was little wonder they had such a low staff turnover. Despite these perks, the staff weren’t convinced there would be any changes.
Abigail had defended Carys when most of the members of staff said that she was wasting her time and theirs. Taken aback by their attitude, she’d asked, ‘Why?’ She was trying to convince them that Carys would do something about it. That was when the issue of primogeniture raised its head. She’d never heard of the word. But it turned out that was the reason they’d dismissed Carys’s attempts to change things.
She’d never heard of anything so sexist – the first-born male heir inheriting all the money along with the estate, as though a woman was not capable of managing it. It was as outdated as theirUpstairs, Downstairsattitudes. But it made Abigail understand the attitudes of the staff towards Carys. Unless she could convince her father or brother, nothing would change. It sounded as though she couldn’t do a thing without their permission.
Abigail walked around to the front of the desk, shaking her head at stupidprimogeniture,thinking that someone in government should abolish that whole outdated notion regarding passing down these sorts of estates.
She was dusting the computer keyboard and being a bit too heavy-handed with the feather duster when the screen flicked on. It was still early in the morning. Someone had forgotten to close it down the previous night. She stared at the spreadsheet on the screen. Hadn’t anyone here heard of locking their computer with a password? She sat down in the leather chair behind the large oak desk and flicked her duster around the screen, and then over the framed photo on the desk of a young family.
She stopped what she was doing and reached for the photo. It had been taken in the garden on a sunny autumn day. She could see the autumnal colours, brown, beige and orange, in the fallen leaves littering the lawn, and she could see the Hall in the background. The three people in the photo were in a relaxed pose, the young man standing with a little girl in his arms, perhaps two years old. The woman was holding one of the little girl’s hands and smiling. She was heavily pregnant.
Abigail immediately recognised Lord Somerville. The young woman she also recognised from the portrait in the bedroom. She guessed the little girl was Carys. Staring at the photo, Abigail realised it couldn’t have been long after this picture was taken that Carys had lost her mother – Lord Somerville, his wife. She imagined this might have been one of the last photos taken of them all together before she died in childbirth.
‘How sad,’ commented Abigail. She carefully placed the photo back on the desk, thinking about how quickly life could change.One minute you’re coasting along just living your ordinary life, taking it all for granted, and then something, or someone– Abigail was thinking of the young man who had stabbed her husband –comes along to destroy the little world you have created.
Abigail leaned back in the chair and sat for a moment, staring off into space, the cleaning forgotten. She thought she heard footsteps in the corridor outside and sat up with a start. But it had just been her imagination.
She was about to stand up when her gaze shifted to the screen. The style of the spreadsheet seemed familiar; it was a common program used for doing accounts. Abigail perused the accounts, her eyes shifting down the columns. She put her duster down and grasped the mouse, moving the cursor over the figures. Something wasn’t quite right.
‘Ah, Abigail, Carys wants to see you.’
Abigail was on her mid-morning break. She put her mug of tea down. She didn’t ask what Carys wanted to see her about; she assumed it was to do with their discussion the day before about the café and conservatory. Although the others around the table had been sceptical when Carys had told them she’d talk to her father and brother, and hadn’t believed anything would be done, Abigail, on the other hand, had every confidence that Carys would sort something out. It seemed promising that she wanted to see her about it already.
Abigail smiled as she made her way to the study. When she arrived, she politely knocked on the door. She heard Carys’s voice saying, ‘Enter.’ She hadn’t finished her tea but imagined she’d be offered another one while they discussed the new arrangements for break times up in the conservatory.
Abigail opened the door and walked inside. Her smile dropped when she was confronted by not just Carys, but Lord Somerville, who was sitting behind the desk, and another man she recognised, although she couldn’t quite place where she’d seen him before. She guessed that he must be Carys’s younger brother.
Lord Somerville pointed at the leather seat she’d sat in just the day before while having her friendly chat with Carys. When she glanced at Carys today, that easy familiarity and ready smile was missing. Carys did not welcome her. She didn’t even smile.
Lord Somerville pointed at the leather chair. ‘Take a seat, Abigail.’
She glanced at the young man, still trying to fathom where she’d seen him before. She sat down and shifted uncomfortably in her chair under their gaze.
‘Is this about the conservatory?’
Lord Somerville acted as though he hadn’t heard what she’d just said. ‘Were you cleaning in the study this morning?’
Abigail’s attention shifted to the laptop on the desk. She said in a small voice, ‘Yes.’
‘Did you touch this laptop, other than to clean it?’
Abigail took a deep breath. ‘Look, I can explain …’
‘I knew it!’ The young man turned to Carys. ‘Didn’t I tell you she’d been on this laptop?’
Carys threw Abigail a disappointed look.
‘Look, I said I can explain …!’
