As Mrs. Dewhurst had said, the other household staff were either getting on in years or were already rather ancient. Two of the male members, old Mr. Smith and old Mr. Pritchard, merely sat conversing together in the kitchen on wooden chairs and watched the women work. Pamela gathered that their presence was more a social ritual than having any practical value. But she found herself enjoying their company. They were funny and irreverent, exchanging quips with the women in what was obviously a timeworn and comfortable routine.
Besides Mrs. Pascoe and her husband Brian, there were three middle-aged women who Pamela had only seen in passing before. There were the two Moor sisters, tall thin women with sharp faces, named Ellie and Doris, and there was plump, forgetful Mrs. Noreen Smith, Mr. Smith's wife, or Norrie as she was called. She was easily a decade and a half younger than her husband, and wore a permanently baffled expression, as though she couldn't quite make out what life was about.
'I'm sure one of us should bring Mr. Dewhurst his apéritif,' she said as though the matter bore some urgence.
'Mr. Dewhurst has been dead these past eighteen years,' said Ellie in a fruity, bombastic, matronly sort of voice which was most incongruous with her appearance. She was grating Parmesan, and didn't blink an eye.
'Oh, dear,' said Norrie. 'I'm afraid it will go to waste, then.'
'It would if you'd poured it,' put in Doris. 'Now Norrie, do be a lamb and go fill this with water.' She handed the vacant Norrie a large, battered, aluminium pot. 'Now,' she said to Pamela, 'if you'll be so kind as to julienne those vegetables by the cutting board. You do know how to julienne, do you not?'
When Pamela nodded, she was mystified by the broad smile the two sisters exchanged. But only momentarily.
'Mrs. D. was quite right, you know. She is a breath of fresh air. She's so young.'
'She'll have to watch out for young Mr. Theo, though,' Ellie said, in a voice obviously pitched for Pamela to overhear.
Pamela couldn't help but notice the ironic stress in her voice. 'What do you mean?'
The two sisters exchanged a humorous look. 'What we mean,' said Doris, 'is that you'd have to club Mr. Theo over the head just to get his mind off his work! Even then, I'm not sure you'd have his full attention. But we do hope that you'll help him regain his sense of humour. He seems to have misplaced it- you're not done already? By Heaven, so you are! Well, see if you can find out what's happened to Norrie. She's probably forgotten that we have indoor plumbing and made her way to the stream, poor thing!'