The Earl Maid
By Susannah Donim
Martha and the Countess face an enraged Beckett - and the aftermath.
Will the Earl be exposed?
Chapter 7
The sound of breaking glass came from the back of the house.
We leapt to our feet. I slipped mine into my flats and made for the
door, but before I could get there, Jack Beckett burst into the room.
He stopped and looked at me more carefully. I really didn't like the
look on his face.
"It was you, wasn't it, you old bitch?" He was boiling with anger
now. "I thought I recognised you in that hideous yellow car of yours.
You were in my house on Wednesday morning! Spying! What did you
take? Who did you tell?"
Of course - the Polo! He must have seen it at the Hall on one of his
visits to see his sister. I tried to think what a helpless woman
would do in my position, so I started screaming for help. Susie
quickly joined in. It was hopeless of course; there was no one around
for miles, but Beckett didn't necessarily know that. From his point
of view, Estate workers might hear us, even at this hour, and come
running.
Meanwhile I started backing away. He was intimidating enough, but my
main reason for reversing was that every pace took him further away
from Susie. I hoped she would soon have the opportunity to run from
the room. If we could stall him, Empire's security men would have
time to get here, or maybe the police. But he accelerated suddenly
and grabbed me roughly by the arm. I felt the shoulder of my dress
give. A stupid thought pushed itself into my mind: if he carried on
like this, we would shortly find out whether the Transformations
prostheses really were good enough to fool someone when you were
naked.
I struggled to wrench myself free. I could feel my uniform ripping.
To stop my screaming he struck me hard across the face with the back
of his hand. My cap flew off and I lost several hairpins. It hurt a
lot, but I wondered why he didn't hit me properly. Was it some thug
code? You don't punch a woman old enough to be your mother? I
staggered but managed to stay on my feet. I stole a quick glance at
Susie. She should have been edging toward the door, but she wasn't.
Surely she wasn't thinking of coming to my aid? She must know I would
want her to escape.
I hitched up my dress and kicked out at him as hard as I could. I was
aiming for his groin, but my dress and one-inch heels were too much of
a handicap. He was too quick for me. He turned sideways and my kick
to the balls was reduced to a glancing blow at his hip. His eyes
blazed and he punched me in the chest as hard as he could, with all
his weight behind it.
"Get away from me, you stupid woman!" he yelled. "Or I'll really hurt
you!"
Just the momentum of the blow was enough to knock me off my feet. I
heard Susie gasp with horror.
He turned back to her, obviously assuming that one solid punch in the
chest would be enough to end any interference from an overweight
middle-aged woman. Indeed, from his point of view it might have felt
like a satisfactory punch in my breast, thanks to the astonishing
realism of the Transformations prosthetics, but it didn't it feel like
that to me. The padding that I had been resenting on and off for the
last month enabled me to shrug off his blow. No force penetrated to
my chest, concealed and protected as it was by my bra and breast
forms.
But I knew I couldn't best him in a fair fight. He was nearly six
inches taller than me and probably thirty pounds heavier, if you
didn't count my false feminine curves. Also he was surely much more
experienced at fighting, fair or unfair. I looked around desperately
for a weapon. I spied the antique poker and tongs in the fireplace,
purely decorative but potentially solid weapons. Unfortunately, he
was between me and them. I made a snap decision and launched myself
at him from behind, shoulder barging him side-on. All I meant to do
was stop him from assaulting Susie, but I knocked him in the direction
of the fireplace.
I was just in time. If I had let him take one more pace, my charge
would have landed us both on top of Susie. As it was I caught him
completely by surprise. No doubt he'd written me off, assuming that I
would be cowering semi-conscious with pain from his assault on my most
sensitive feminine parts. He tripped over the fireplace surround and
lost his balance, falling head-first into the mantlepiece. There was
a nasty cracking sound, which didn't register with me at first.
Focused on my goal, I grabbed the poker and went to smash him over the
head with it.
"Stop!" screamed Susie. I managed to restrain myself just in time.
"He's not moving!" she said. "I think he's out cold."
We approached cautiously, in case the slimy bastard was shamming.
Then we saw the blood oozing out of the side of his head.
There was no running away from this. Everything was going to come out
now.
I reached for the phone and dialled.
"Emergency. Which service?"
"Police and ambulance," I said. "I think I've just killed someone."
I had used my Martha voice out of habit. Afterwards I wondered why.
* * *
Susie was barely holding it together. I got us both a double brandy
and sat her down in the library. Better for her to try to recover her
wits without having to stare at the lifeless body in the fireplace.
We had lots of visitors in the next hour. The first time the doorbell
rang I had the presence of mind to mutter to Susie, "I'm Martha until
I tell you otherwise, OK?" before I went to answer it. We might as
well try and keep my secret for as long as possible.
The police were first to arrive - two uniformed coppers, one in his
forties, the other possibly twenty years younger. They were concerned
when they saw the damage to my uniform and the disarray of my hair,
but I assured them that I was fine. I showed them into the drawing
room first to view the body, and then into the library to meet the
mistress of the house. They could see that Susie was badly shaken, so
at first they addressed their questions to me, the maid. I told them
what had happened; we had to defend ourselves from a violent intruder,
and he met with an accident. I didn't describe our history with the
Beckett family. That could wait until the plods were replaced by CID.
I had barely started when the younger one got on his radio. He used
all those complicated codes for describing the situation, but the gist
of it was clear. This was well above their pay grade.
"He broke in through the kitchen," said Susie, making a worthy effort
to gather herself. "Well you can hear the alarms, can't you? And the
lights came on outside when he got through the gate or over the fence
or something."
"Can I switch the alarms off now?" I asked.
The two policemen looked at one another. They would obviously have
preferred the scene to remain exactly as they had found it until CID
arrived.
"They're giving me a terrible headache," Susie said.
So the older copper nodded and I took the younger one with me to find
the off switch. I left the outside lights on, as we were expecting
many more visitors. I showed the policeman the broken glass in the
window panel of the back door, which was wide open.
The ambulance was next to arrive. They'd been warned that the subject
was almost certainly deceased, and that it was a suspicious death, so
for the moment their role was limited to verifying that life was
extinct. They would have to wait to remove the body which had to
remain where it was until the Crime Scene Investigators and detectives
turned up, photographs were taken, and so on. Bizarrely, I found
myself taking everyone into the kitchen, where I made tea. Maid
first, murder suspect second, I suppose.
The Forensic Pathologist came next with the CSIs. At this point the
policemen moved Susie and me back to the library. The younger one
stayed with us on guard, although I don't know where they thought we
might go. Perhaps they were afraid that, as the maid, I might try and
clean up all the blood in the drawing room. And weirdly that did
indeed cross my mind. I was afraid my mistress would be very cross at
the mess I had made. I must have been in shock.
Eventually two plain clothes police officers, a man and a woman,
appeared in the library. The man was tall and thin as a rail, with
receding grey hair and glasses. He was clearly the older and senior
and he did the introductions, addressing the Countess, obviously.
"I'm Detective Inspector Giddings, My Lady," he said, "and I
understand you've met my colleague, Detective Sergeant Sharpe?"
Susie nodded.
"Good evening, My Lady," said the woman. "I didn't expect to see you
again so soon, or under such circumstances."
She was early thirties, I guessed. She wore a short waterproof jacket
over black nylon trousers like mine, and a floral top that flattened
her bust and really didn't suit her. She looked more like a housewife
than a police officer.
"Indeed, it's all most unfortunate," Susie said. She turned to
Giddings. "I'm sorry, Inspector. I'm Susan Marsham, and this is my
housekeeper, Martha Manners."
I managed to suppress the instinct to stand up and curtsey. The two
police officers now seemed to become aware of my existence for the
first time. Noticing the damage to my uniform, DS Sharpe expressed
concern regarding my well-being. I reassured her. Somewhat
impatiently, Giddings returned to questioning my mistress.
"May I ask how you were acquainted with the deceased, ma'am?" he
asked.
I noticed he didn't ask if Susie was acquainted with the deceased.
Obviously he already knew that, which wasn't lost on her. She stole a
quick look at me. I tried to look non-committal but encouraging. The
combination was too difficult and I probably failed.
"He was the brother of my predecessor as mistress of Hadleigh Hall,"
Susie said carefully.
"You mean his sister was the previous Countess?"
"Not exactly. My husband's father never married her."
"So the Beckett family lost possession of the Estate when the old Earl
died?"
Giddings had clearly been doing his homework.
"They never had possession. Eleanor was only my father-in-law's
mistress, so she and her son were long-term guests. In fact, Jack
Beckett never lived here as far as I know. The old Earl couldn't
stand him."
"Nevertheless I imagine he and his sister were resentful," Giddings
insisted. "They must have had... expectations from the old Earl's
will?"
Susie glanced at me again. I nodded, hopefully in such a way that
Giddings and Sharpe wouldn't see.
"They had no legal claims on the Estate, but that didn't prevent
Beckett from coming here demanding money with menaces," she said.
"Really?" Giddings perked up. "Did you report this to the police?"
"To what end?" Susie said bitterly. "He was too careful to leave any
evidence behind. He just wanted to show that he could get in at any
time. You couldn't keep watch over us indefinitely, could you? But
he could hurt my husband and me whenever he wanted. That's why we
spent all the money on the security system..."
"Yes, I noticed the cameras outside. We will need access to the
footage, please." Susie nodded. "I saw there was a camera in the
drawing room too," he continued. "Was that running?"
"No, I'm afraid not, Inspector. It's motion and sound activated but
it's only on at night when we've gone to bed. You can start it at
other times using a remote, but I'm afraid neither of us had time to
get it when Beckett burst in."
Was that good or bad? If I'd managed to start the camera recording,
we'd have proof that Beckett's death was an accident and I'd been
acting in defence of myself and my wife. On the other hand, the
police would have a permanent record of the Earl of Hadleigh dressed
as a housemaid, or at least of someone impersonating a woman who had
been twenty miles away and six months pregnant at the time.
"And where is your husband, Lady Marsham?" Giddings asked.
"I'm sorry," she sighed. "I can't tell you that. Not without his
permission."
"Can you contact him?"
She sighed again and looked at me helplessly.
"I can, but I won't," she said.
"Well in that case, I'm going to have to ask you both to accompany me
to the station and..."
I interrupted.
"Please, Inspector," I said. "Lady Marsham never laid a finger on
Beckett. I am entirely responsible for his death. I will gladly
accompany you to the station and answer all your questions. With Her
Ladyship's permission, I promise I will tell you everything. If you
aren't satisfied with what I have to say, you can interview My Lady
later."
Giddings considered. He obviously couldn't see how the maid would
know details of Lord and Lady Marsham's private lives. On the other
hand, loyal family retainers are often the best sources of
information.
"I have to agree with Martha, Sir," said DS Sharpe. "Her Ladyship was
very open and helpful with me yesterday. She does seem to have been
the victim here."
"Fair enough," he said. "I don't want to be unreasonable. This must
have been a terrible experience for you, ma'am. Try and get a good
night's sleep if you can. I will have more questions for you, but
they can wait till tomorrow." He turned to me. "Let's go then,
Martha."
Susie looked at me miserably. I smiled as reassuringly as I could.
They allowed me to put on an outdoor coat and collect my handbag.
Then I followed DS Sharpe out to their car, glad that they had decided
that handcuffs wouldn't be necessary.
* * *
It was nearly one o'clock in the morning now. The interview room was
a grubby olive green, with condensation running down the walls. It
was cold because it was late October, and in police stations, like all
government offices, they don't put the central heating on until the
first of November. The steel-framed canvas chair certainly wasn't
designed for comfort, but the thick soft padding on my backside always
made it feel like I was sitting on a cushion anyway.
The Inspector and his Sergeant regarded me quizzically. That was
fair; I must have looked a sight. I'd lost my cap and most of my hair
pins in the fight, and the permed greying hair of my wig was awry,
large tufts floating wide. My dress was torn at the left shoulder,
showing my bra strap. My apron was ripped and turned half way round
my hips. My skirt had a gash from the hem almost up to my waist,
revealing a long ladder in my tights.
"So, madam," the detective said, clearing his throat. "Despite your
appearance, you maintain you are not the maid and housekeeper of
Hadleigh Hall, but the Earl himself in disguise?"
He sounded incredulous, as well he might.
"That's right, officer," I said, in what I hoped was my normal voice,
which I hadn't had the opportunity to use for some time. It didn't
come out as deep as I would have liked, probably due to the shouting
and screaming I'd been doing to call for help for myself and my
mistress, I mean wife. Nevertheless it was clearly deep enough to
give him pause. He leaned forward to take a closer look at my face.
"I really don't see how that can be," he said. "You look exactly like
this photograph I have of you - that is, of Miss Martha Manners."
He paused. My bizarre claim had momentarily thrown him. He gathered
his thoughts and started again.
"But whoever you are, you're here to answer some serious questions, so
that we can decide whether to charge you with murder or just
manslaughter."
I hoped that was just designed to intimidate me.
"It was self-defence," I pleaded, in what had suddenly become a very
small voice, whether masculine or feminine.
Surely that was obvious, wasn't it?
"I think I'd better hear the whole story, don't you?" he said. He
sounded a little smug. He obviously thought his threats had scared
me. "First, Sergeant Sharpe will take a DNA sample from you, please."
I nodded. There didn't seem much point in refusing to cooperate. The
Sergeant opened a little box she had brought in with her and extracted
a swab. I let her run it round the inside of my mouth. It made me
think back to the first time I'd donated my DNA. That sample had led
directly to my current position. I sighed.
"I don't suppose your - that is, Lord Marsham's - DNA is on file
anywhere, is it? Just in case I need you to prove your story?"
"It is, actually. My solicitor has it. I had to take a paternity
test to prove my right to inherit."
I gave them Smythe's details.
"Are you sure you don't want Mr Smythe to join us?" Giddings said.
"Not for the moment," I sighed. "Look, Inspector, I'd like to keep
this just between the three of us if possible - for obvious reasons.
Suppose I tell you everything, but with no recordings and no other
witnesses? If you're not satisfied, we can go the whole arrest and
formal interrogation route later."
He considered. He might possibly have been thinking that, if I was
telling the truth, pissing off a local bigwig might not be a great
career move. And wigs don't come much bigger in this neck of the
woods than the Earl of Hadleigh. For all he knew I might play golf
with the local Police and Crime Commissioner. (I didn't even know who
that was, and I don't play golf.)
"Well, it's a bit irregular," he said eventually, "but I suppose if
you really are the Earl your situation is about as irregular as it
gets." He came to a conclusion. "All right then. I like a
cooperative witness." He picked up his notebook and a biro, which he
then pointed at me sternly. "But this had better be good..."
So I told them everything.
* * *
I didn't bother with the stuff about my parents, or my childhood, or
our 'dressing up games' which started all of this, in a way. I also
didn't tell them about Transformations. They had done nothing illegal
in my case but as I understood their business practices, they might
have sailed a little close to the wind for some of their other
clients. I really didn't want to put them out of business. They had
saved my life - perhaps literally.
Otherwise I made a clean breast of everything (as it were). When I
came to the Pink Ladies Society, I just described what they did to me
as a make-up demonstration. I threw in a mention of the Army sergeant
and the Police rugby player. I suddenly realised I had been
indiscreet when I saw a little flicker of recognition in Giddings'
eyes. He probably knew the cross-dressing copper, or could work out
who it was from what I'd said.
When I got to the part where I 'borrowed' the shredded paper from Jack
Beckett's waste basket, DS Sharpe looked up from her notebook. She
had realised early on that we had been employing Treacher. Now she
saw where he had got the information he had passed to her. I was
concerned that Giddings might open the question of whether stealing
someone's garbage was against the law, but it seems he was a totally
pragmatic copper. He didn't look gift horses in their mouths.
"That's a very interesting story, your lordship..." he said.
"Call me Rob," I said. Force of habit, really. No way he would do
that.
"...Obviously we'll have to check a few things out. Your disguise is
truly amazing and I'm very curious how you did it."
"I'm afraid I'll have to keep that as a trade secret for the moment,"
I said.
"Well that may not be good enough, but I'll let it go for now. I can
still hardly believe you are who you say you are under it all, but I
suppose it's the most likely explanation for everything. Occam's
Razor, and all that."
"My colleague and I just need to have a private word outside," he
said. He turned to Sharpe. "We have a few loose ends to tie up,
don't we, Sergeant?" She nodded. "We'll try not to keep you waiting
too long, Miss... I mean, Your Lordship."
That was obviously a deliberate error. He chuckled.
I sat back in the uncomfortable chair, which was probably designed
that way to add to the pressure on a suspect. I suddenly realised how
tired I was. I checked my little watch. It was ten to three in the
morning. I'd been up since seven and had cleaned two houses today -
three if you included the work that I did at the Hall in the
afternoon. The happy times working with Fleur seemed like another
life now.
Giddings and Sharpe were back in less than ten minutes.
"OK, Sir, I am satisfied for the moment. It's too late to do anything
else tonight, but tomorrow would you draft a statement for the Earl to
sign, Sergeant Sharpe? And the same for the Countess? Oh, and get
that DNA sample to the lab and ask Mr Smythe for access to His
Lordship's for comparison."
"Yes sir." She was obviously quite used to Giddings delegating the
paperwork to her.
"My next job will be to compare the pathologist's report with your
description of the altercation. If he agrees that Beckett died from
accidentally bashing his head against the mantlepiece, then I will be
prepared to concede that you're only guilty of defending yourself and
your mistress, or wife, or whatever, from a vicious attack by a known
felon. You could hardly have wielded the mantlepiece as a murder
weapon. If that all tallies, there will be no case to answer, and
there will be nothing to be gained from detaining you or the
Countess."
"Thank you, Inspector," I said. "So am I free to go?"
"A few conditions first," he said. He started ticking them off on his
fingers. "One: you don't leave the area without checking with me
first. Two: you surrender your passport; that is, Robert Marsham's
passport. I don't think I need the real Marsha Manners' passport. I
suspect you'd be caught at security if you tried to leave the country
as her..." He paused to consider, inspecting me closely again.
"Maybe not though..."
"I don't have her passport anyway," I said.
"Well, I'll contact her and tell her not to let it out of her sight."
He resumed ticking off his stipulations. "Three: if you want me to
remain discreet about your... cross-dressing, you'll have to stay in
your Martha disguise for the moment."
"What? Why?"
He had to be kidding. I couldn't be Martha any longer. I was already
starting to experience 'identity drift', as Susie had happily pointed
out. I was beginning to think like a maid and cleaning lady.
"Well, it's entirely up to you of course, but for the moment you're a
key witness in a suspicious death, not to mention attempted extortion
and demanding money with menaces. We may want to interview you again
- either here or at the Hall. Other detectives from the Task Force
may want to interview you. You'll need to talk about things you saw
as Martha. If you turn up to an interview as Lord Marsham, the cat
will be out of the bag, won't it?"
That was hard to deny. Worse was to come.
"Of course, if you need to give evidence in court, it will have to be
as your real self, and that means you will have to come clean about
spending the last month or so disguised as your own housekeeper.
Quite honestly, I can't see you being called in any criminal trial
concerning the robberies. Mr Treacher might be, but you weren't
involved, were you? Does he know about... any of this, by the way?"
He meant was Treacher aware that the Martha he knew was really Robert,
Lord Marsham.
"No," I said, although privately I suspected he might have guessed.
After all, why did we first meet him at the Transformations offices?
"So if you stay as Martha, we may be able to keep everything
unofficial," Giddings continued. "I appreciate you were partly forced
into this disguise, and I don't want to embarrass you if that can be
avoided."
"Well thank you for that, Inspector," I said. "It's very decent of
you."
It was, and no doubt many other policemen would have been delighted to
expose a cross-dressing Earl.
"But I'm afraid it's odds-on you will be called to testify at the
Coroner's court," he said. "You and the Countess will have to
describe how Beckett met his death."
That's it, I thought. I'm doomed.
"Does that mean I'd be testifying in front of a jury?" I asked,
terrified - as usual - of appearing as myself in public. It would
almost be worth appearing as Martha so that Robert Marsham could hide
behind her.
"Probably not," he said. "Since the Coroners Act 1988, a jury only
has to be convened when the death occurred in prison, police custody,
or in circumstances which may affect public health or safety." He was
obviously quoting, but he knew his law, this Inspector. "If he
wishes, the Coroner can choose to convene a jury in any investigation,
but it doesn't happen very often. Too much trouble - and too
expensive."
Small mercies, I thought. Cold shivers were still running down my
spine. But the Inspector had stopped to think for a moment.
"Of course, there's no reason why the Coroner should ask how you were
dressed when it all happened, is there?" he said. "And the only other
person who knows is your wife. You might be able to answer all his
questions without giving yourself away or committing perjury." He
laughed again. "Good luck with that."
That was true, wasn't it? The way things panned out didn't depend on
Beckett thinking I was a frail, middle-aged woman. He was much bigger
and stronger than I was, and he would have been just as contemptuous
of Robert Marsham's chances of stopping him as of Martha's. The
pathologist would confirm what I had told them about the incident, but
I wasn't out of the woods yet. I had a nightmare vision of having to
stand up in the Coroner's court, dressed as Martha, and admitting to
being the Earl of Hadleigh.
"Of course, that's all assuming no criminal charges are brought
against you," Giddings summed up. "Then I'd have no choice but to put
the whole thing on the record." He turned to the Sergeant. "DS
Sharpe, could you arrange a car to take... Martha back to Hadleigh
Hall?"
"Yes sir," she said. "I'll do it myself. It's on my way home."
"Good - you can arrange to get hold of the footage from the outside
cameras while you're there. Oh and we'll need all the clothes she's -
he's - wearing now for forensics. Can you go in with him and bag
them?"
"Yes, sir."
The Inspector made for the door.
"By the way," he said, "you and the Countess need to stay out of your
drawing room for the moment. I realise that as the maid you'll be
desperate to clean up the mess, but that will have to wait. It will
remain a crime scene until all the reports are in."
He chuckled. The only thing worse than a policeman with a sense of
humour is a policeman without a sense of humour.
* * *
DS Sharpe was chatty in the car on the way back.
"He's a pretty decent guy, Inspector Giddings," she said.
"I realise that," I replied. "A lot of people in his position would
have taken great pleasure in exposing me."
"Well he still might have to, but I think you can be hopeful. You've
probably realised that he's also on the Robberies Task Force, and
thanks to you and Frank Treacher, we're well on the way to cracking
that. You found Beckett's storage units for us. We probably would
have got there eventually, but time was of the essence. In a couple
more weeks he would have been able to fence all the stolen goods and
move them out."
"So you searched the storage units and caught him red-handed?" I
asked.
"Not at first," she said. "We couldn't get a warrant, so we were
preparing to stake them out. That could have taken ages. But then
Frank put us on to Gopal at Empire Security Solutions - acting on your
information. We were already suspicious of them, but again we had
nothing to back it up. You were the only householder to have changed
your alarm codes from the ones that Empire had set. So when Beckett
or his accomplice tried to get into your place using the old codes,
the leak had to have come from Empire."
"And Gopal set up the codes when he led the installation at our
place," I finished. "No one else at Empire saw them."
"He might still have brazened it out," she admitted, "but he actually
folded quite quickly. He was a 'loose end' and he was terrified of
Beckett. So we struck a deal. He would serve a little time under a
false name somewhere far away, then enter witness protection when he
was released. Even that may no longer be necessary now..."
"...now that Beckett's dead, you mean?"
"Right. Anyway we got the warrant easily on his testimony. The two
units were crammed with the proceeds of the recent robberies. So we
moved to arrest Beckett, but he obviously realised we were onto him
and there was no sign of him at his home or office. We don't know why
he ran to Hadleigh Hall. Perhaps he intended to hide up there until
he could arrange a way out of the country."
"Actually it might have just been about revenge," I said. Sharpe
looked puzzled. "He recognised me - that is, Martha - last Wednesday
when I went to clean for his mother. He probably guessed that
something I took from there led to you finding out about his storage
units."
"Ah, I see," she said. "I suppose that would explain it." She paused
to think it through. "Anyway," she resumed, "We're fingerprinting all
the stolen goods and rolling up all of Beckett's known associates.
The Chief Inspector thinks we'll get everyone involved in the
robberies eventually."
"You don't need to put the part about me cleaning Beckett's house in
your report, do you?" I asked.
"I shouldn't think so," she smiled. "It's only guesswork anyway,
isn't it? We don't really know what was going through his mind when
he broke into Hadleigh Hall, do we?"
We were off the highway now. Sharpe steered the car quickly and
expertly down winding country lanes. There were no street lights, and
all the houses and cottages around us were in darkness. Silence fell
between us. Eventually I broke it with a question that had been on my
mind.
"So how do you know Frank Treacher?"
She hesitated. "He's my ex," she said. "We joined up together; went
to Hendon together."
I knew that was the police training college in London.
"He's a good man," she continued, "but he was thrown out of the Force
for decking a superior officer. Bastard deserved it, and everyone
knew it, but Frank couldn't hope to stay in the Job after that."
She fell silent. I wondered if she might have been the reason why
Treacher hit a superior. There was obviously a lot more to the story,
but we were pulling into the driveway at Hadleigh Hall. The gate
recognised the signal from the RFID transponder in my handbag and
swung open. Most of the house was in darkness, but there was a light
on in our bedroom. As we approached the house the security system
activated. I checked my little watch again in the sudden flood of
light. It was nearly half past three in the morning.
By the time I had opened the front door and cancelled the alarm Susie
had appeared, stunningly beautiful (as always) in nightie and
negligee. She hurried toward me, relief evident on her face. Then
she saw I wasn't alone, decided it didn't matter, and threw her arms
around me anyway. She didn't bother asking questions. She knew I'd
tell her everything soon enough. For now, she just wanted to be held.
DS Sharpe gave us a moment then cleared her throat gently.
"The Sergeant has come in to bag my clothes," I said. "She and the
Inspector have been very kind."
"OK," Susie said, letting go of me. "I'm going to make three cups of
tea for when you've finished."
"Oh I don't think..." Sharpe began.
"You don't have to drink it, but it will be there if you want it."
With that she turned and walked briskly toward the kitchen. Knowing
my wife as I did, I knew she was on the verge of breaking down with a
mixture of shock and relief, and she didn't want Sharpe to see that.
"We'll go up to the maid's room, if that's OK," I said. "I can strip
off there more easily."
"I won't need your coat," Sharpe said, getting some large polythene
bags out of her briefcase. "You weren't wearing that when you were
fighting with Beckett, were you?"
She blew inside a pair of disposable latex gloves to stretch them out
and wriggled her hands into them. I led her up to the maid's room on
the second floor at the back of the West Wing.
I kicked off my shoes and untied my apron, handing both to her for
bagging. I reached behind me to begin unzipping my dress.
"Here, let me help," she said. "The gloves will prevent cross-
contamination, but to be honest this whole exercise is pretty
pointless anyway. It's just to show that no one else's DNA, and no
fibres from anybody else's clothes, are on the body."
I stepped out of my dress and handed it to her. She put it in yet
another bag. I now stood in bra, knickers and tights in front of a
woman who wasn't my wife. Probably better than a man. I noticed that
she was staring.
"Do you need my underwear?" I asked.
"Better had," she said. "I can't believe how realistic all your...
curves are!"
"All detachable," I said, "with the right solvent." I grinned. "You
probably won't believe it, but I'm actually quite thin and weedy under
all this lot."
I sat down on the bed and started stripping off my tights.
"Don't you want to... I don't know... go in the bathroom, or
something?" she said, clearly embarrassed.
"Why? You won't be seeing any of Rob Marsham's private parts.
They're well hidden. There'll only be the same sights you've seen in
any female changing room."
I unhooked my bra and pulled my panties down. I was quite enjoying
the Sergeant's obvious embarrassment. I tossed her all my lingerie,
which she hurriedly bagged. I reached for a plain ladies' dressing
gown. (A maid doesn't have an exotic negligee like her mistress.) I
slipped my feet into a cheap pair of mules.
I caught sight of myself in the mirror. My hair was a mess. I
tutted, sat down at the dressing table, and started brushing it. When
it was in some sort of order, I pulled it up into a tidy bun and stuck
some hairpins in to hold it.
"Are you sure you're not a woman?" Sharpe asked, with a smile.
"I'm not sure of anything just at the moment," I admitted ruefully.
"I know I was Robert Marsham, Earl of Hadleigh once. Hopefully I'll
be him again one day."
We went down to the kitchen and joined Susie for a cup of tea. I
offered something to strengthen it but they both declined.
"Actually, My Lady," Sharpe said, "it will save time for both of us if
you could describe what happened tonight in your own words. I'll type
it up as a Witness Statement tomorrow and bring it round for you to
sign."
So Susie began to recount the whole ghastly experience from her point
of view. While she was doing that I went into the control room to get
the security footage. I browsed for any MPEG files that had been
created that night. There were very clear HD pictures of Beckett
arriving at the garages behind the house and smashing a glass panel in
the back door. He must have come over the fence at the back from the
farm lane. The lights didn't go on till he arrived in the stable
yard. I went to ask the Sergeant for her email address so I could
send her the files.
To my mortification Susie was praising her husband's courage in
defending her. She even used words like 'manly' and 'heroic' with no
embarrassment at all. She paused and looked at me, a totally feminine
image with my grey bun, ladies' dressing gown and slippers, my bulbous
breasts poking out where the gown didn't quite close. The contrast
with her tale of 'manly heroism' made both of them giggle.
"Thank you for that, My Lady," said the Sergeant, draining the last of
her tea and getting to her feet. "Your statements are completely
consistent, so there should be no problem."
I thanked her again and saw her to her car. It was after half-past
four. I went back to the kitchen and as soon as the monitor showed
the gate closing behind her, I reset the alarm system and went
upstairs.
Susie was waiting, desperate for details. I updated her on everything
that had happened, including DS Sharpe's revelations in the car. I
also repeated the Inspector's instructions and his reasoning.
"So I'm stuck as Martha until the police are satisfied," I concluded.
Susie didn't seem too concerned.
"Well at least I don't have to advertise for a new maid," she said,
yawning.
We got into bed and turned off the lights. Dawn was breaking.
* * *
Before we went to bed Susie had texted her secretary explaining that
we'd had a break-in and an accidental death, and therefore she would
not be in the office that morning. I had texted Sally Jackson to say
much the same.
When we eventually surfaced at around eleven, I saw that Sally had
texted back to tell me not to worry. She would find someone to fill
in for the day. Her assistant, Maria, was usually available at short
notice, and she and Fleur had worked together many times. Fortunately
Mrs Beckett had cancelled her early cleaning slot for that morning.
She didn't say why.
Sally said she hoped to talk to me later to hear more. I would need
to tell her whether I intended to carry on with J & J. It still
seemed sensible not to change our routine, but now because the police
might be watching us, rather than Beckett. We didn't want anyone
other than Giddings and Sharpe to see anything suspicious.
Anyway for some reason I didn't want to give up being a cleaning lady.
I tried to rationalise it. I realised I liked both parts - the
cleaning part and the being a lady part. What on earth was happening
to me? I might have to see a shrink when this was all over.
* * *
The police forensic team had done all the time-critical work the night
before while I was at the station with Giddings and Sharpe. They
returned in the morning to take some measurements and collect samples
of paint, carpet fibre, dust, etc. (Dust? Cheek! They wouldn't find
any dust in a house I cleaned!)
They must have been instructed not to bother us too early. They
appeared at about eleven-thirty demanding access to the 'crime scene',
as their CSIs insisted on calling it. That was worrying, as we
thought it was accepted that this was an accidental death. I hoped
that it was just another example of one hand not knowing what the
other was doing. In any case they spent more than an hour crawling
all over the drawing room. When they eventually departed, they
declared the room available to us again, so that I, the maid, could
begin tidying up. Thanks.
I fetched my cleaning materials. Removing the mark where Beckett's
head had hit the mantlepiece was easy enough, but I had no idea how to
get spatters of his blood out of the carpet in front of the fireplace.
It would have to be replaced. I wondered what the insurance company
would say.
At around noon Bill telephoned. Susie answered and put him on
'speaker'. He'd seen the police cars and the ambulance in the
distance the previous night and wanted to make sure we were all right.
Susie told him everything that had happened and assured him that we
were both fine now.
He asked about me; that is, the Earl. Susie explained that I was
still away but that she expected me home soon. He was much too
tactful to say anything specific but I got the impression that he
disapproved of the Master of Hadleigh Hall leaving the Mistress and
her maid to face marauding villains. Quite right. I disapproved too.
Susie asked if he could check the perimeter for her. We still didn't
know how or where Beckett got in and this morning's police visitors
didn't seem to be interested. We could call Empire, but they were
probably in some disarray today, following Gopal's arrest. They would
be fielding irate calls from customers demanding explanations and
wanting their entry codes reset. Anyway there would be a call-out
charge.
I suggested Bill start at the old gate to the farm road, as it seemed
Beckett had come in at the back of the building. He came to report at
about one o'clock, so I laid out a buffet lunch in the Great Hall for
him and my mistress. Then I retired to the kitchen, as I still didn't
feel confident being Martha with Bill. I sat in the pantry,
shamelessly listening in to my betters' conversation via the security
system.
Bill had found a tall step ladder next to the fence, a few yards from
the farm gate at the back. He removed it and put it in the garage
workshop. It meant that Beckett had already prepared to breach our
defences before the police got onto him. He just had to put his plan
into action a little earlier than he expected, and alone. Well we
always knew the fence wasn't really high enough. It was more of a
deterrent than a genuine obstacle to a really determined intruder.
Hopefully that wouldn't matter anymore now that Beckett was dead. Now
that I had killed Beckett, I suppose I should say...
* * *
A Detective Constable appeared at the Hall two days later with copies
of our statements to sign. Fortunately Susie had arranged to work
from home for the rest of the week, so she was able to receive him.
She was working in the library as the drawing room smelt strongly of
cleaning fluid.
I took the DC in to see her. She was on a video call with a client.
She waved the policeman to an armchair by the window while she
finished up. I stood primly between them, my hands clasped in front
of me over my apron.
When she finished her call, the constable explained his mission and
handed her a typewritten form which he said he hoped was an accurate
record of her statement to DS Sharpe. She read it carefully, signed
it with no further comment, and handed it back.
The DC thanked her and extracted a second document.
"Er, is the Earl available to sign his statement, My Lady?" he asked
nervously.
"I'm afarid His Lordship is unwell, Officer," Susie said, thinking
quickly. "But he may be up to signing this. Martha, would you take
this up to His Lordship's chamber and ask him if he is able to read
and sign his statement?"
"Yes, M'Lady," I said, with a curtsey.
I took the paper and left. It seemed sensible to actually go up to
our bedroom in the West Wing, in case my footsteps across the Great
Hall and up the stairs were audible from the Library.
When I got to our room, I sat on the bed and read the statement
through carefully. Sharpe had done an excellent job. It contained
everything I had told her and the Inspector. Every fact in it was
precise, and precisely true. It made no reference to how I was
dressed or the role I was playing. It didn't mention Beckett calling
me 'an old bitch'. Mind you, I hadn't told them that, so it was
hardly surprising. The picture the statement painted was of Beckett
breaking in to Hadleigh Hall and confronting Lord and Lady Marsham as
they were preparing to retire, not of the Countess cuddling with her
maid on the sofa. I signed it 'Hadleigh' in the boldest, most
masculine version of my handwriting that I could manage, just above my
typed full name, Robert, Lord Marsham, Earl of Hadleigh.
I took the paper back down to the Library. I knocked; waited for the
'Come in'; curtseyed; and handed the paper back to the DC.
"Thank you, Martha," said Susie. "Please show the gentleman out. I
must get back to work."
"Yes, M'Lady," I said. "This way, Officer."
And I must get back to my cleaning.
* * *
The fateful night's events didn't make the national news. There was a
brief flurry of articles in the local press, but their emphasis was on
the achievements of the Robberies Task Force. Beckett was identified
as a key figure in the gang and a notorious fence. The last article
merely said that he had gone on the run when he realised that the
police were after him, and that he had broken into a house and died in
an accident after a scuffle with the householder. I suspected I had
Giddings and Sharpe to thank that the press didn't make more of it.
Unfortunately the article did include the date for the inquest - in
six weeks. I hoped the fuss would have died down by then.
It did, at least to some extent. But I was still called as a witness.
* * *
Sharpe telephoned the following week to say that they had checked my
DNA sample against that held by Smythe's firm, and it checked out.
We didn't see Giddings or Sharpe again but more policemen appeared at
the Hall over the next few weeks. There were two separate visits,
both prearranged. In each case I opened the gate from the control
room when they identified themselves, met them at the front door,
bobbed a little curtsey, and conducted them to the drawing room where
the Countess was waiting to receive them. I then retired to the
kitchen (and the surveillance equipment in the pantry) to wait until I
was called. Refreshments were not offered. We didn't want to
encourage them to linger.
Susie was quizzed over Beckett and Tank's first visit, and over our
family's relationship with his. They asked to see the Earl, which was
a scary moment, but Susie deflected their enquiries brilliantly. He
wasn't in when Beckett had called the first time and threatened her,
so he would have nothing useful to offer. Neither she nor her husband
had ever met the Becketts before, apart from at the will reading. Our
tenure of the Estate didn't overlap with theirs at all. She didn't
mention that her maid was present at either of Beckett's intrusions,
and the policemen didn't ask. No doubt they assumed that the highly
intelligent and articulate Countess would give them all the
information that was available from this quarter. The ignorant and
uneducated housemaid would have nothing useful to add.
I went back to work for J & J on the Monday of the following week.
First 'Brusque' Mrs Battersby, then the 'Welsh Comedienne', Myfanwy
Griffiths. (We cleaning ladies give our clients nicknames so we can
distinguish between them easily.)
At lunch Fleur was agog to hear about all the excitement. My story
was well-practised by now and I managed to get through it without
lying to her. Since the key events took place at 10.30 at night,
Martha the maid wasn't around. Beckett had only seen Lord and Lady
Marsham. I had taken the rest of the week off because my mistress was
badly shaken by the experience and needed me.
"Quite a coincidence that Beckett broke into the house where you were
the maid less than a week after you and I were cleaning his house,
don't you think?"
She was watching me carefully.
"Yes, now you mention it," I said. "That hadn't occurred to me.
Eerie, isn't it?"
"What did the police make of that?"
"I'm not sure they knew."
"Shouldn't you tell them?" she said.
"Oh, I think they've got enough on their plates, haven't they?" I said
breezily. "Anyway, how could the two things be connected?"
She had no answer to that.
"Come on, eat up," I said. "We'll be late for Mrs Hanson."
* * *
So I stayed as Martha for the moment. I went to Transformations every
second Saturday morning to have my prostheses removed and my face and
body inspected for rashes. On the bright side, Vera's 'mild hormone
lotion' seemed to be doing its job. My beard growth was now very
light and the waxing much less painful. She offered to arrange to
have all my body hair removed permanently, but I wasn't ready for
that.
Somehow I always felt more comfortable after Vera had replaced my
disguise. I felt vulnerable without a bra and knickers on now, even
though my male body didn't need lingerie.
Finally in mid-December, I gave my notice in to Sally Jackson. Martha
the cleaning lady was going to retire. Fleur and I had a tearful
parting. (I put my tears down to Vera's 'mild' hormone cream.) I
promised to keep in touch - another lie, sadly.
On the last Saturday before the inquest, I went back to
Transformations to have my prostheses removed permanently. Vera was
very professional but I couldn't help feeling it was a sad occasion.
She dabbed the solvent on as usual; peeled the fake flesh off gently;
washed all the pieces carefully with detergent; and rubbed me down
with soothing lotion.
But this time she packed all my prosthetics away in archive boxes when
they were dry, rather than reattaching them. This time I took Rob
Marsham's clothes out of my suitcase and put Martha's back in. Rob's
shirt, socks and underpants felt coarse against my skin, which was
still hairless even though I had undergone no shaving or waxing.
The only remaining sign of my tenure as Martha were my thick lips. I
had asked about having the procedure reversed, but It sounded like it
would be more trouble - and more painful - than it was worth.
When fully dressed in a crisp white shirt (I'd ironed it myself) and
blue jeans, I examined my reflection in the mirror. It was three
months since I had last seen Rob properly. I realised I had lost
weight - working as a cleaning lady was slimming, apparently - but it
didn't look good on me. My clothes were baggy. I looked... wasted.
But I had lost more than weight along with my Martha disguise. I was
afraid I might have lost the better part of myself.
Annie and Ingrid came to see me off. They were glad that our
difficulties with Beckett had been resolved, and that they had been
able to help. I thanked them for connecting us with Treacher, and
they thanked me for not telling the police how my disguise had been
arranged. They didn't need any attention from that quarter. Vera
said she would keep my prosthetics for a while, just in case.
* * *
On the day of the inquest Susie and I arrived at the Coroner's court
early and took our seats while it was still empty. I didn't want to
engage in conversation with anyone. I was confident that no one would
recognise the sad little man in the baggy suit, but that was about the
full extent of my confidence. In any case people might deduce who I
was from the fact that I was sitting next to the beautiful and
increasingly well-known Countess of Hadleigh. But we were left alone,
which was just as well because if someone had come to talk to us, I
would probably have run away screaming.
I looked around the court. It was virtually empty. I had expected to
see Eleanor or old Mrs Beckett or both, but Jack had been exposed as a
criminal by now. They had obviously decided they didn't want to be
associated with him even after his death.
I was glad to see none of the policemen or paramedics who had attended
on the fateful night, apart from Giddings and Sharpe. The only other
witness would be the pathologist, whom I hadn't met as either Martha
or Rob. The Inspector had explained that no one was challenging the
forensic evidence anyway, so the pathologist's statement would be
short and sweet. His office was in the same building so he would be
called when he was needed.
The seating area marked 'PRESS' was also empty, which I found a little
strange. I took it as a hopeful sign. Papers can't send a journalist
to every inquest. Perhaps the editors expected this one to be
routine, despite the involvement of the nobility. They could get the
details later from the court record when it was published, and then
follow up if something interesting came to light. Maybe their lack of
interest was something else I had to thank Giddings for.
While we were waiting for the Coroner, DS Sharpe came over to say
hello. She couldn't help but stare at me.
"Yes, Sergeant, this is my husband, the Earl," said Susie with a
smile, realising that Sharpe didn't know what to say.
"Thank you, My Lady. Inspector Giddings sent me over to check. We're
supposed to have interviewed His Lordship several times after all, but
neither of us would have recognised you." She lowered her voice.
"Your disguise was amazing, My Lord. How on earth...?"
Fortunately the Coroner arrived at that moment. We all had to rise,
and Sharpe had to scurry back to her seat.
* * *
Susie went into the witness box first. The Coroner, who looked like
an elderly academic with a shiny bald head and glasses, began the
questioning.
"I understand that the occasion of the late Mr Beckett's death was
actually his second visit to your house, My Lady?"
"Yes sir," she said. "He and a... er, colleague broke in about three
weeks earlier."
"Broke in?"
"Oh I'm sorry. I mean that they weren't invited in. They rang the
doorbell, but then they pushed past my housekeeper when she answered
the door."
"What did they want?"
"Money, sir. Beckett believed his family were entitled to
compensation because his sister had been my father-in-law's mistress
for many years but had received nothing in his will."
"And how did you respond?"
"I refused."
The Coroner waited, an eyebrow raised. He clearly expected her to
expand.
"They had no legal right to anything of course," she continued, "and
the Hadleigh Estate has very little to spare. The old Earl was not
exactly careful with money and he did nothing to enhance the Estate's
revenues. Even now it is barely meeting its expenses. I might have
been sympathetic to Beckett's sister's situation, but I was assured
that she faced no hardship. Our solicitor believed she had 'put
aside' a substantial sum from the Estate over the years."
She enunciated the quotes around 'put aside' clearly. That could be
taken as slanderous against Eleanor, but Susie had been very careful
with her words. She had said 'our solicitor believed'. The Coroner
took the point. Of course this was establishing that there was 'bad
blood' between us and Beckett, and therefore that we had at least some
motive to kill him. But we had agreed that it would be foolish to try
and conceal this.
"I see. So I assume Mr Beckett's visit was not a friendly encounter?"
"No indeed, sir. Beckett and Tank - I'm sorry, but that's the only
name I was given for him - threatened us with physical violence."
"My sympathies, My Lady." He paused and whispered something to his
clerk. "And where was your husband, the Earl, while you were facing
this ordeal?"
Susie was going to have to box clever now.
"He was... nearby," she said carefully, "on the Estate. But I told
Beckett he was away from home and not expected back for at least two
weeks. I hoped that he wouldn't offer violence to two defenceless
women, but I was sure he wouldn't spare my husband if he could get his
hands on him."
"So Beckett didn't meet the Earl on this occasion?"
"He only saw myself and my maid."
She didn't say 'no', which would definitely have been perjury. It was
true that Beckett and Tank only 'saw' the maid, but that was because
they were fooled by my disguise. Clever, but still very close to the
wind.
The Coroner nodded.
"You didn't think to contact the police?" he said.
"Of course I did, and I told Beckett I would when he made his demands.
But that's when he started threatening to break my and my husband's
fingers, and worse. He also said that it would be my word against
his, and he had arranged convincing alibis for himself and Tank.
Perhaps I should still have gone ahead and called the police, but I
was afraid - for myself, my maid and my husband."
"I sympathise, My Lady. Now let us turn to the night of Beckett's
death. Please tell us everything that happened, as you remember it."
So Susie described Beckett's second and final visit to Hadleigh Hall.
The Coroner let her tell the story in her own words and didn't
interrupt with questions. At half-past ten she and her husband - not
her maid - were sitting in the drawing room, thinking about going to
bed when Beckett broke in. Beckett assaulted her husband, hitting him
in the face. The Earl tried to resist but Beckett, who was much
bigger and heavier, hit him very hard in the chest and knocked him off
his feet. Beckett then advanced on her, but he had underestimated her
husband's resilience. The Earl got back up and, fearful for his
wife's safety, charged Beckett from behind. Beckett lost his balance,
fell sideways, tripped over the fireplace surround, and cracked his
head on the mantlepiece, which killed him.
I was bright pink by now. I hoped no one noticed. But all eyes were
on Susie. Every word she said was true. The Coroner asked a few
questions of clarification and then thanked her for her testimony
I was then called to describe the incident from my own point of view.
I was asked about my injuries. I was quizzed in detail about my
intentions when I struck Beckett from behind, but I said that I had no
objective other than stopping him from hurting my wife. I had no idea
what would happen when I barged him. I couldn't have predicted which
way he would be pushed, or that he would trip. At that point I had
some idea of maybe getting my hands on a weapon such as the poker, but
Beckett was between me and the fireplace. In the heat of the moment I
didn't think of my own safety or the consequences of my actions, only
of my concern for Susie.
Again, every word was true, and again, the Coroner expressed his
sympathy. It seemed he had no sympathy for Beckett.
The forensic pathologist testified that the only mark on Beckett's
body was the head wound that killed him. That was entirely consistent
with the fall Susie and I had described. The abrasion contained tiny
flecks of white paint, identical to the paint on the mantlepiece, on
which the CSI had found an abrasion. The scuff mark had flakes of
skin which were identified as from the deceased.
The only other observation the pathologist made was that there was
some foreign blood and skin cells on the back of the deceased's right
hand, which turned out from DNA analysis to be from Lord Marsham, and
consistent with the deceased having struck the Earl across the face.
Sharpe and Giddings were called, which was a moment of truth for me,
but with their testimony the Coroner focused on the background to
Beckett's flight from the police and break-in at Hadleigh Hall,
presumably to understand his state of mind prior to his death.
Giddings also testified to my interview and subsequent statement, both
of which were entirely consistent with the testimony the Coroner had
already heard.
At no time in the two hours of the inquest did it occur to anyone to
ask how the Earl of Hadleigh had been dressed on the fateful night,
and none of the four people who knew mentioned it.
The verdict was 'Accidental Death' and the inquest was closed.