Leaving Everything Most Loved Page 0,24

only that they work hard, keep themselves and their rooms tidy, their conduct above reproach, and that they follow the word of the Lord.” She nodded again.

“I see. Very commendable, Mrs. Paige.” Maisie paused. “I wonder if I might ask about Usha Pramal. How long was she with you?”

“Let me see. Three years it was, perhaps four. Yes. No, now I come to think about it, it was more like four years ago she came to us—1929. She arrived on the doorstep without a place to go, so we took her in. My husband and I live only on this floor, and we’ve given over the upper floors to our lodgers. They generally share three to a room, but Usha was one who had her own room, as did a couple of the others, of longer standing. We haven’t had as many through as we once had, so there’s a bit more space now. More families coming home from India without bringing the ayahs, you see. And fewer families going out there. There’s been some trouble over there, you see—uprisings. There isn’t the respect that there was, not for us, you know.”

Maisie nodded. Yes, she did know, but didn’t want to have a conversation about politics—not yet, anyway. “Did you know that Usha Pramal was not brought here as an ayah, but a governess? She was a well-educated woman.”

“So they said, the police, but she never let on. Of course, I noticed that she had books, and could read English very well. She probably went to an English missionary school.”

Maisie shook her head. “No, she was a graduate of a well-regarded ladies’ college in Bombay.”

Paige seemed surprised, but said nothing.

“Where did she work?” asked Maisie. “You said you found work for the women who live here.”

“Mainly as cleaners, maids, that sort of thing. Miss Pramal worked for two employers, as an extra maid for cleaning.”

“May I have the names of her employers?”

“The police didn’t ask for all this, you know.”

“But I am working with the police, Mrs. Paige—you can telephone Detective Inspector Caldwell of Scotland Yard if you have any doubts. And I would like to know who Miss Pramal was working for.”

Paige patted the back of her bun, then fingered the crucifix at her neck. “Right you are.” She sighed, and seemed to slump a little. “You see, it’s sometimes hard enough to find work for the women here. People are so . . . so . . . so difficult. Of course, I can understand it, looking at it from their point of view. But we vouch for these women, and we teach them to be Christians and not pagans, so that should stand for something. We do our best for them.”

“I’m sure you do, Mrs. Paige. The names?” Maisie had an index card and pencil ready.

“The main ones were Mrs. Baxter of Birchington Gardens, in Kensington, and Mrs. Hampton, of Colbourne Street, also in Kensington. I’ll find the addresses for you when you leave.” As if to underline her point, she looked at the clock. “There’s also been others over the years, but, as I said, those are the ones she worked for most of the time, over the past few years.”

“Well, that’s a start. Thank you,” said Maisie. “Now, tell me about Miss Pramal’s comings and goings. Did she leave on time? Arrive home on time? Can you tell me about her interests, where she went when she had time off?”

“She went out by seven in the morning. That meant she was at her job in time to wash up after breakfast, clean the stove, scrub the kitchen floor, then work her way up through the house. There was generally a housekeeper and a cook, plus a parlor maid—two maids with Mrs. Hampton—so she wasn’t needed until eight, and she was there until three or four, generally, depending upon how much laundry there was to do, and any mending and ironing. She was with Mrs. Baxter on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and Mrs. Hampton on Mondays, and of course, they often needed extra help after guests on a Saturday and Sunday—and then on Wednesdays and Saturdays, plus Sunday morning on occasion. If the women didn’t have work arranged for a certain day, it seemed that something temporary always came up—an inquiry about tidying a house before or after a party, perhaps, or lending a hand cleaning a sickroom. There’s always jobs to do here, or at the church.”

“Like Cinderella, wasn’t she?”

Mrs. Paige seemed to swell with self-importance,

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