“The housemaid, chiefly, and Miss Norris, and of course, Mrs. Monkhouse. But he didn’t usually want much but his food, his medicine, a few books from the library and a supply of candles for his lamp. His bell-push was connected with a bell in my room at night, but he never rang it.”
“Then, practically, the housemaid did everything for him?”
“Not everything. Miss Norris cooked most of his meals, we all used to give him his medicine, I used to put out his books and keep his fountain pen filled, and Mrs. Monkhouse kept his candle-box supplied. That was what he was most particular about as he slept badly and used to read at night.”
“You give us the impression, Mr. Wallingford,” the coroner said, dryly, “that you must have had a good deal of leisure.”
“Then I have given you the wrong impression. I was kept constantly on the go, doing jobs, paying tradesmen, shopping and running errands.”
“For whom?”
“Everybody. Deceased, Mrs. Monkhouse, Miss Norris and even Dr. Dimsdale. I was everybody’s servant.”
“What did you do for Mrs. Monkhouse?”
“I don’t see what that has got to do with this inquest?”
“That is not for you to decide,” the coroner said, sternly. “You will be good enough to answer my question.”