Murder and Mittens

Chapter Two - Wilkington Hall

  Etta woke up with a start. The last thing she remembered was the oak tree coming towards them and screaming at the top of her voice. She had never been so scared in her life. She opened her eyes, and looked around. She thought that she would be in hospital, in a hospital gown and in a hospital bed. But this was a large, pleasant, sunny bedroom. How could it be sunny? There had been a thunderstorm. How long had she been asleep for? And where was she? She was in a bedroom with old-fashioned wooden furniture and a fireplace. She felt the garment she was wearing. It wasn’t a hospital gown, because it felt silky. She was pretty sure they didn’t give you silk gowns to wear in hospital. She traced it up and felt spaghetti straps. It was a negligee. She sat up. There were chintz curtains at the large window. Had some kind locals taken them in? But Etta was certain that she and her mother would have sustained injuries from the crash. However, she felt fine, no headache, no aches or sprains, nothing broken.

  Her reverie was broken by the sound of the bedroom door opening. Then to her amazement, she saw her mother come through the door, dressed in a maid’s uniform and carrying a tray, laden with breakfast things: a cup and saucer, a tea pot, a jug of milk, a sugar bowl, a silver toast rack with halves of toast, a pot of red jam and a butter dish. It must be a dream; it had to be a dream.

  Jen walked across the road and deposited the tray on the bedside cabinet next to the double bed. Then she sat on the edge of the bed.

  ‘Budge up,’ she ordered. Her voice had changed, it sounded like someone posh trying to do a common as muck accent. But that sort of thing happened in dreams. Etta obediently made room for her.

  Jen swung her legs up onto the bed and leaned back on the pillows with a sigh of contentment.

  ‘Mum, what’s going on?’ Etta asked. To her amazement, her voice had changed too; it was now a cut glass accent, like someone from one of the old black and white films sounded. What did they call it? Received Standard Pronunciation.

  ‘Beats me,’ was Jen’s reply.

  ‘Where are we?’ Etta tried next.

  ‘As far as I can make out, we’re in some place called Wilkington Hall.’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘No idea.’

  Etta changed tacks. ‘Why are you wearing a maid’s outfit?’ she wanted to know.

  ‘Apparently, I’m a lady’s maid, your lady’s maid.’

  Jen turned her attention to the tray.

  ‘Do you fancy a cup of tea? There’s only one cup so you drink half and then I’ll put some sugar in it. It’s strawberry jam, do you want some?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Etta, feeling like Alice in Wonderland.

  Jen poured out a cup of tea and gave it to Etta then buttered a slice of toast before using a teaspoon to dollop some jam onto it. Etta drank half and then gave it back to her mother. Jen handed a plate with the slice of toast to Etta.

  ‘`If you’re a lady’s maid, am I a lady?’ Etta wondered.

  ‘I think so. Your name is Hetty Ashcroft.’

  ‘Hetty Ashcroft? That’s almost like my real name, Etta Ashcroft,’ Etta commented.

  ‘This is a weird dream, isn’t it?’ Jen asked.

  ‘I know. I can see why you’d dream about being in a country house but why would I?’

  ‘Because you’re in my dream,’ Jen said.

  ‘No, I’m not, you’re in my dream.’

  They did this routine for a few minutes until Etta realised that it was a stupid argument.

  ‘This is a stupid argument,’ she said.

  ‘I know. I’m bored with this dream. Pinch me so I’ll wake up.’

  Etta stared at Jen. ‘What?’

  ‘Pinch me so I’ll wake up. I don’t want to be your maid, I had enough of that with you growing up.’

  ‘It won’t work,’ Etta argued.

  ‘Course it will. All right, I’ll pinch you.’

  She leant over and pinched Etta hard on the arm.

  ‘Ouch!’ Etta yelped. She moved further away from Jen.

  They looked at each other. Nothing happened.

  ‘Try telling me that I’m in a dream and it’s time to wake up,’ suggested Etta.

  Jen looked sceptical.

  ‘It’s worth a try,’ Etta said.

  ‘Ok. Etta, you’re in a dream but its time to wake up now.’

  Nothing happened. Jen leant closer to Etta.

  ‘Wakey! Wakey!’ she shouted into Etta’s right earhole.

  Etta moved her head away and covered her ears.

  ‘There’s no need to deafen me,’ she said. ‘I might have permanent ear damage now.’

  Again nothing happened. They stared at each other and Jen shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘We might as well carry on until we wake up,’ she said. ‘We must wake up sooner or later.’

  ‘It’s weird though that we’re both having the same dream. And it’s a very boring dream, nothing very strange happening in it.’

  ‘Apart from me being a maid. Or is that you having a wish fulfilment dream?’ Jen asked teasingly.

  ‘You know what I mean, normally, I’d have some penguins bouncing out of the wardrobe by now in a dream.’

  Etta watched the large oak wardrobe carefully but the doors remained firmly shut. No cute penguins waddled out of it. Jen got up from the bed.

  ‘I’ll go and find the bathroom so you can have a shower. A lady’s maid helps her lady with her toilette.

  ‘You should know after all the episodes of Downton Abbey that you’ve watched.’ Jen ignored that.

  ’ I’ve already had a wash in my room. A housemaid brought up a can of hot water for me. I didn’t know they did that.’

  After Jen had closed the door, Etta glanced around the room once more. She caught sight of a long oak cheval mirror in a corner that she hadn’t noticed before. She could half see her reflection from where she was. As she stared at it, the glass clouded and rippled and for a moment, she saw part of a different reflection of herself, lying on back, her eyes closed, an oxygen mask over her white face and various tubes attached to her. The glass rippled and clouded again and she could partly see herself, propped up on the pillows in the peach negligee. Etta shivered. She had complained that nothing weird had happened in this dream but that image in the mirror had really shaken her. She looked down to see her hands trembling.

  It seemed ages before Jen returned.

  ‘There isn’t a shower so I’ve run you a bath,’ she announced. She saw the expression on Etta’s face. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Mum, something strange just happened. I saw myself in that mirror.’ Etta pointed to the cheval mirror. ‘And I didn’t see me here, I saw myself unconscious, in a hospital bed.’

  ‘Well, you said yourself that odd things happen in dreams.’

  ‘Yes, but.’ Etta didn’t know how to explain how deep an impression the glimpsed image had made on her.

  She went and stood in front of the mirror and had a good look at herself. She looked different. Instead of her usual hairstyle, long hair, her hair was parted in the middle and waved back behind her ears. She couldn’t remember the time when she had hair that didn’t fall below her shoulders.

  ‘Go and have your bath,’ Jen urged. ‘You’ll feel better after that.’

  Etta got out of bed and Jen helped her on with the matching peach silk wrap. It had orange and yellow flowers embroidered on the back. Etta picked up a blue gingham toiletry bag with a blue cord.

  ‘Where’s the bathroom?’ she asked.

  ‘Third door on the left.’

  Etta went out in to the plushly carpeted hallway and followed Jen’s directions.

  The bathroom was huge; the ceiling was high above her head. The bath was a magnificent claw footed one in the centre of the bathroom. Etta was sorry that she’d forgotten to look for slippers, the green and white tiled floor was very cold to the touch.

  Etta disrobed and got into the bath. She was not used to a bath where the taps were in the middle and not
at the end. There was a chrome bath rack with a large bar of violet soap in a white soap dish and several sponges as well as a large bottle of labelled Drene Shampoo. Etta had never heard of it and decided she wouldn’t risk washing her hair.

  She quickly bathed and dried herself on a fluffy white towel she found on the pine chair next to the bathtub. She put on her negligee and wrap and returned to her bedroom. Jen had laid some clothes out on the bed and was holding a stocking up to the light and looking at it critically.

  ‘This is cotton not nylon,’ she said.

  ‘Stockings! Aren’t there any tights?’

  Jen gave her a look. ‘You’re out of luck.’

  ‘I never wear stockings,’ Etta protested.

  ‘Never say never. I’m wearing stockings.’

  Etta hadn’t thought about what Jen was wearing. It didn’t make her feel any better about wearing stockings. She looked at the clothes. She wasn’t very keen on the bra, it looked pretty bulky and the knickers were very high but she guessed she would get told that was all there was. She reluctantly put on the underwear and Jen helped her with the stockings. Next, she picked up a powder blue blouse. It had puffed short sleeves, a pointed high collar and lots of tiny pearl buttons. Etta fumbled, trying to do these up.

  ‘These are impossible!’ she exclaimed and Jen intervened. ‘Here, let me.’

  She was no quicker than Etta but at least she didn’t seem to get so irritated fastening them.

  At least the grey skirt with kick pleats was easy to put on and zip up. Last was a grey, v- neck cardigan.

  ‘I’ve found you some jewellery too.’ Jen said.

  It only then occurred to Etta that she was not wearing her lucky silver locket. Jen handed her a string of pearls. Etta fastened them around her neck.

  ‘Lets not forget the shoes,’ Jen said and pointed to a pair of beige lace up shoes with low heels. She was ready.

  ‘Off you go,’ Jen said and gave her a gentle push towards the door.

  ‘Aren’t you coming too?’ Etta asked.

  Jen snorted. ‘Not likely. Servants don’t mix with their masters. I’m not meant to use the master staircase unless I absolutely have to. You go downstairs and hobnob with the nobs.’ She chuckled at her pun.

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going to take your breakfast things downstairs and have a chat to the other servants. I might as well enjoy this dream while it lasts.’

  Etta reluctantly left the bedroom and walked along the corridor. Most of the doors were shut although, through one, she could see a maid busily making a bed. She passed on and came to a wide staircase, carpeted in red. She walked down the stairs, looking around her. There were framed portraits on the walls. She stepped onto the hallway and wondered what to do next. There were a number of doors but none of them were marked and she didn’t have any idea what lay behind any of them. This was turning into a horrible dream, she decided.

  Then she heard a soft cough. Turning her head, she saw a short, stout, balding man in a black suit, looking at her.

  ‘Excuse me, Miss Ashcroft but may I be of assistance? Were you looking for the family?’

  ‘Yes,’ Etta said who had no idea if she was.

  ‘Please follow me, Miss Ashcroft; they are in the drawing room. ‘

  He walked off and Etta meekly followed him. He went a couple of doors down and opened the heavy door for her. She thanked him and walked in.

  Immediately, the people in the room stopped talking and looked at her. She started sweating and her hands became clammy. She never enjoyed meeting strange people on social occasions. She could feel herself blush and could think of nothing to say.

  Then a tall, well built man with a moustache got and came over to her.

  ‘Miss Ashcroft,’ he said, ‘how nice of you to join us.’ The level of enthusiasm in his voice surprised her. ‘Now, let me introduce you to everyone.’

  He put a hand under her elbow and guided over to the group sitting in easy chairs.

  ‘Mother, this is Miss Ashcroft. Miss Ashcroft, this is my mother, Lady Stratton.’

  ‘How do you do,’ Etta said. She would normally say, hi but it seemed too informal and wrong in this setting. Lady Stratton was a large woman with abundant grey hair in a pink flowered frock.

  ‘And this is my wife, Marjorie.’

  The same greetings were exchanged. Marjorie was stout with brown hair and large, bright eyes. She was wearing a tweed suit.

  ‘And you’ve met my sister, Dorothy before.’

  ‘Of course,’ Etta said and smiled at the tall young woman who looked like a younger version of her mother, She had never seen her in her life before.

  ‘So glad you could come, Hetty,’ Dorothy said.

  ‘If she’s met her before, why are you bothering to introduce her again?’ asked a short, slim man with floppy dark hair and eyes as black and shiny as beetles in a sarcastic tone. ‘Don’t bother with me, Denny, Hetty and I are old friends, aren’t we, Hetty?’ He smiled knowingly at her. Etta took an instant dislike to him and didn’t reply.

  Dennis flushed and didn’t reply. He turned to an older man with a magnificently bushy moustache. ‘This is the pater, Sir James Mowbray.’

  Sir James stepped forward and shook her hand. ‘You’re very welcome my dear.’

  Next was a couple that were standing near the chairs. The woman was either late twenties or early thirties. She was blonde and very beautiful. The man next to her was older, taller, and inclining to fat with a mop of grey hair and keen, alert eyes.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Lorenzo Spinoza.’

  ‘How do you do,’ Lorenzo Spinoza said. He too shook her hand. He had an American accent.

  His wife didn’t trouble herself to shake hands, she barely glanced at Etta.

  Lorenzo frowned at her and then said, ‘please call us Lorenzo and Evangeline.’

  ‘You should have introduced all the ladies first,’ said a high, sharp voice. It came from a thin old lady, with a shawl around her shoulders sitting in the furthest corner of the room next to a stout one.

  ‘I wanted to make sure you could hear the introductions, Great Aunt Josephine,’ Dennis explained.

  Great Aunt Josephine sniffed, ‘nothing wrong with my hearing.’

  ‘Miss Ashcroft, this is our Great Aunt Josephine. And the lady next to her is her friend, Miss Mittens.’

  Etta felt faint. ‘Miss Margaret Mittens?’ she said hoarsely.

  ‘Why yes,’ said the white haired woman with piercing blue protuberent eyes, who also wearing a tweed suit but one in a flamboyant pink and green pattern. ‘Have we met before, my dear?’

  ‘No, but I’ve heard of you,’ Etta said feebly.

  Miss Mittens looked pleased. ‘Probably from one of my girls,’ she explained to the rest of the group.

  ‘Miss Mittens used to be the headmistress of a famous girls’ school,’ Great Aunt Josephine explained to the Spinozas. Mrs. Spinoza looked like she couldn’t care less.

  Etta couldn’t believe her ears. It was Miss Mittens. It was definitely the Miss Mittens, the famous amateur sleuth of the Winnifred Warlock mystery novels. She was dreaming about Miss Mittens. If only her mother was here, she would be so thrilled. But if her mother was sharing her dream, then all Etta had to do was to go and tell her and Jen could see for herself.