The Scent of Murder Read Free Page B

you have been taken ill and that you will be sleeping on my bedroom floor. I will treat your hair and you will remain in here until the treatment is complete.’
    ‘And Edith?’
    ‘Someone will have to have a word with the workhouse authorities. The inmates will have to be inspected and, if necessary, treated.’
    Dody left Annie softly weeping at the dressing table and moved into the bathroom to report the situation to Florence. Tired of waiting for Annie’s assistance, Florence was wrapping herself in a fluffy dressing gown. She took the news with barely a shudder and allowed Dody to inspect her dark locks. After being told what to look for, she did the same for Dody and they pronounced themselves clean.
    The footman was sent for and asked to procure a tin of paraffin. When that had been delivered, Dody ordered Annie into the bath, saturated her hair with the evil-smelling liquid and wrapped her head in a bandage.
    ‘Keep that on for twelve hours and don’t go near any open flames,’ Dody instructed.
    While Dody was attending to Annie, Florence had summoned Mrs Hutton and explained the situation.
    The middle-aged housekeeper’s simple black satin belt was weighed down by a chatelaine of keys and button hooks, indicating her lofty status in the household, and providing an incongruous jingling accompaniment to her grave, measured footsteps. Dody vacated the bathroom to find an expression of scorn on the tall, imperious woman’s face.
    ‘We would appreciate it if our maid’s problem could be kept from the other staff, please, Mrs Hutton,’ she said.
    Annie did not seem to be the cause of the housekeeper’s concern. ‘I can’t afford to send Edith back just yet. There is far too much work to be done. I will have to treat her myself.’
    ‘Very well, here you are,’ Dody said, handing the housekeeper the paraffin.
    ‘Conditions like this are a fact of life for someone of Edith’s station. All the same, the workhouse must be informed and standards improved.’ Mrs Hutton touched her own hair, severely drawn back from her ears. ‘I will have to tell Lady Fitzgibbon. She is on the Workhouse Board of Guardians and will take particular interest in this,’ she said.
    ‘Of course.’
    Mrs Hutton affixed an icy smile to her handsome, haughty face. ‘Meanwhile, if I might offer my services to both the Misses McCleland? I am an experienced hairdresser and important guests are expected for dinner. I am sure you would not wish to let down your gracious hosts.’
    ‘Oh, yes, thank you. That would be wonderful!’ Florence gushed before Dody could get a word in.
    Dody retreated to the bathroom and sat with Annie while Florence was being attended to. Dody had always thought Annie’s fingers were like hay rakes, but if Florence’s stifled yelps were anything to go by, Mrs Hutton’s must be even worse. Dody swallowed and waited for her turn.
    The dining room reflected the house itself: a mixture of Classical and Gothic styles, dominated by a heavy oaken dresser at one end of the room and a stained-glass window depicting the family crest at the other. The dresser would have blended into the dark oak panelling around it, if not for the dancing reflection of lights on the pewter plates propped upon its shelves. All around were signs of an ancient family lineage: shields and swords on the walls, heraldic crests and thick-oiled family portraits.
    Tristram had confided in the sisters, however, with no small amount of shame, that Sir Desmond, his uncle by marriage, came from new money — Sir Desmond’s father having been knighted in recognition of the profitability of his iron foundries. The family crest, and even some of the portraits, had been purchased from the previous owner of Fitzgibbon Hall, along with acres of the local countryside. The family’s chief source of income now was farming; the Fitzgibbons were landed gentry, but only just.
    A luxurious, red-berried creeper twisted around the several pairs of silver