Snobbery with Violence by MC Beaton Page B

cocoa?’
    ‘That would be very welcome. Press the bell.’
    ‘It’s all right, my lady. I’ll go to the kitchens myself. Got to find my way around.’
    Daisy left and went down the stairs. Once in the hall, she could hear one of the ladies singing in a high reedy voice while someone accompanied her on the piano.
    She went straight to the dark recesses at the back of the hall and pushed open a green baize door. Then she moved down the winding stone staircase and into the vast kitchen, where plates of sandwiches were being piled up. ‘Not more food, surely,’ said Daisy.
    The butler looked across at her in surprise. ‘Our guests always have sandwiches before they go to bed.’
    ‘I came to get a cup of cocoa for my lady,’ said Daisy.
    ‘I’ll fix it for you,’ grumbled the cook.
    Just give me the tin and show me where the milk is and I’ll do it myself,’ said Daisy.
    The butler, Curzon, had heavy eyebrows and they nearly disappeared under his hair-line. ‘You are lady’s maid to Lady Rose Summer, are you not?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And you are?’
    ‘Daisy Levine.’
    ‘Levine, I suggest in future you remember your place. You should have rung the bell.’
    ‘Now I’m here, I may as well get it,’ said Daisy pertly.
    ‘Oh, let her get it,’ snapped the cook. ‘We’re all exhausted.’
    She took down a tin of Bournville cocoa and placed it with a jug of milk on the table, along with a small pan.
    ‘Ta,’ said Daisy.
    Curzon headed off out of the kitchen, followed by three footmen carrying trays of drinks and sandwiches.
    ‘You got on the wrong side of him,’ said the cook.
    ‘Don’t care. Don’t live here, thank God,’ said Daisy. ‘You’d think they’d have built a modern house instead of this castle.’
    ‘It’s not bad. There’s a lot of help and the stove’s gas. The last place I worked they hadn’t changed anything in the kitchen since the eighteenth century. And gaslight everywhere here. No need for oil lamps.’
    ‘Some houses in London have electricity,’ said Daisy.
    ‘I’m Mrs Mason,’ volunteered the cook. ‘Your young lady got herself a bit of a reputation.’
    ‘Wasn’t her fault,’ said Daisy.
    ‘Lady Rose should be careful. Some of these young men like to roam the corridors when they’ve had too much to drink.’
    Daisy carefully measured cocoa into a cup, lifted the pan from the stove, and carefully filled a cup.
    ‘Thanks,’ said Daisy, heading for the door.
    ‘Ring the bell next time,’ said Mrs Mason. ‘Old Curzon is a stickler for etiquette.’
    Daisy made her way rapidly back up to the tower. But when she entered Rose’s room, it was to find her mistress was fast asleep. Daisy turned off the gaslight and sat down in a corner and sipped the cocoa.
    It would be the way of the world, she thought, if Rose were regarded as some sort of fallen woman. Men never got the blame. She finished the cocoa and went out again and listened. The guests were beginning to retire for the night. Daisy sat and waited and waited. It might be as well to take precautions.
    ‘Jolly useful having cards on the doors,’ whispered Freddy to Tristram an hour later. The bed candle he was holding dripped hot wax on his hand and he swore. All the gaslight had been turned off for the night.
    ‘I say,’ said Tristram, staggering and holding on to the wall for support, ‘we won’t go too far, will we?’
    ‘Bit of a kiss and a cuddle. Say she asked us to call. With her reputation, who’s going to believe her?’ Freddy giggled and hiccupped. ‘Hold the candle up so as I can read the card on the door. I thought this was her room.’
    ‘No, it’s that old fright, Mrs Jerry Trumpington. Try the one below.’
    They staggered together back down the staircase. ‘Here, let’s try this door,’ said Freddy. ‘Ah, got it. Here we go.’
    He opened the door gently and they both approached the bed on which a silent figure lay asleep.
    Freddy lay down on one side of the figure and Tristram