It struck me as a trivial, but irritating error; the dust-pan would have been

conspicuous not only from the five ground-floor doorways opening on to the hall,

but also from the staircase and the first-floor balconies. I crossed the hall

and had actually picked up the offending item before realizing its full

implication; my father, I recalled, had been brushing the entrance hall a

half-hour or so earlier. At first, I found it hard to credit such an error to my

father. But I soon reminded myself that such trivial slips are liable to befall

anyone from time to timer and my irritation soon turned to Miss Kenton for

attempting to create such unwarranted fuss over the incident.

 

Then, not more than a week later, I was coming down the back corridor from the

kitchen when Miss Kenton came out of her parlour and uttered a statement she had

clearly been rehearsing; this was something to the effect that although she felt

most uncomfortable drawing my attention to errors made by my staff, she and I

had to work as a team, and she hoped I would not feel inhibited to do similarly

should I notice errors made by female staff. She then went on to point out that

several pieces of silver had been laid out for the dining room which bore clear

remains of polish. The end of one fork had been practically black. I thanked her

and she withdrew back into her parlour. It had been unnecessary, of course, for

her to mention that the silver was one of my father's main responsibilities and

one he took great pride in.

 

It is very possible there were a number of other instances of this sort which I

have now forgotten. In any case, I recall things reaching something of a climax