A Death in the Family (8 page)

I crossed cautiously to the other side of the bed. He observed my progress with a wry smile. ‘If I had nefarious designs upon you, Euphemia, I would hardly have warned you. Nefarious means …’

‘I know what it means,’ I snapped.

He looked at me levelly. ‘Of course you do. Now come round here where you can see properly.’

I gripped my duster firmly. The stick was quite strong and, if necessary, I could always give him a hearty whack. I came round to his side and stood a shade out of arm’s reach. But Mr Bertram showed no sign of wanting to grab me. Instead he opened the book and pointed to a map showing a passage that ran in from the side of the house, connected to the servants’ staircase and thus through to the passage serving the library. ‘I believe this is what they call a discreet entrance. It would have been possible for Richenda to enter from the side of the property and then gain access to the library. She could even retreat the way she had come without being seen and then arrive at the front door.’

‘Would not the side-door be locked?’

‘I doubt it. This is the middle of the country and this is a gentleman’s house. It is unlikely that someone would attempt to rob the house during the day. At night, of course, it is more likely and that door would definitely be locked. My father has a very fine porcelain collection that could be targeted by thieves, but even the bravest thief would surely flinch at a daylight robbery. Whereas Richenda …’

‘Could always say she had slipped in this way to surprise your parents if she was caught.’

‘I was going to say Richenda has never lacked courage, but you are quite right. If accosted Richenda could claim she had every reason to be in the house.’

‘It would still be a bold plan.’

Mr Bertram nodded. ‘But not impossible, you will agree.’

‘You called it a discreet entrance?’

Mr Bertram fingered his collar. ‘I should perhaps have called it a discreet exit. I suspect the architect included this passage so the master of the house could slip away to see his, er, local female acquaintance without the Mistress of the house being aware of his absence.’

‘But this house is not very old …’

‘Exactly. Another reason I prefer not to show this map to the police. I do not inquire into my father’s affairs and I would prefer it if no one else did.’

I struggled mentally with this information. That one’s father should be such a reprobate! What would it do to the children of the house? How would their young minds be formed under such a situation? If his father had had this discreet exit built into his home, it was not unreasonable to assume this was not a recently acquired predilection. Mr Bertram’s voice interrupted my thoughts.

‘So do I have your word you will not mention this to the police?’

I stepped back. ‘I cannot do that.’

‘Have you no loyalty?’ he cried.

‘I have been in this house less than 24 hours and I would not say it has been a happy experience.’

‘You are in our employ!’

‘You do not buy loyalty, Mr Bertram,’ I said haughtily. ‘You might buy silence, but not loyalty.’

Mr Bertram reached into his inside coat pocket. ‘I thought you better than this. How much?’ he asked wearily.

‘What price is your honour?’

His face positively glowed at that. ‘My honour is not for sale,’ he barked.

‘And neither is mine,’ I said quietly.

He gestured to me to take a seat again. ‘We appear to have reached an impasse.’

‘Not necessarily. Am I incorrect in thinking that if the murderer should transpire to be other than your stepsister you would want justice to be served?’

‘George was an annoying little tick, but …’ Mr Bertram broke off. ‘I am not entirely of a mind that there is a but. In many ways whoever rid the world of Cousin George is to be commended.’

‘It is the hand of God alone who should decide who lives or dies!’ I exclaimed.

‘Or a jury of 12 good men tried and true?’

‘Well, yes. There is that,’ I conceded. Mr Bertram was a most annoying man.

‘Besides, Euphemia, my father is involved in some business deals, which I think I say without fear of compromise are at the heart of the nation’s interest.’

‘So now you are saying that rather than bringing scandal to your family the police may choose to conceal the truth? You confuse me, sir.’

Mr Bertram took out his pocket watch. ‘I confuse myself, Euphemia. Let us say that while I believe the police would be unwilling to look the other way in the face of actual evidence, influence may be brought to bear to close the case quickly, discreetly and without too deep an inquiry.’

‘But that is wrong!’

‘From a moral standpoint I agree, but as a member of the family, should this have been Richenda taking her revenge, I cannot be other than grateful that she will not hang for it.’

‘But what if it was not her?’ I persisted.

Mr Bertram rose, shutting his watchcase with a snap. He frowned heavily. ‘You really are a most annoying girl and I am late for dinner. I only came to find another pair of cufflinks. The chain of this one is broken.’ He took a broken pair of jade-set links from his pocket. ‘And I find myself embroiled in an ethical and moral dilemma.’

‘Please go,’ I responded, quite forgetting myself. ‘A small thing like justice should never get in the way of fine dining.’

The frown vanished in a laugh. ‘I have been a staunch devotee of Mrs Deighton ever since I was old enough to sneak into her pantry by myself and steal one of her currant buns, but I should never call her handiwork fine dining. Hearty and wholesome is a more fitting description.’

I jumped to my feet and stamped my foot. ‘By all means put pies before justice!’

At this Mr Bertram laughed even harder. ‘My dear girl, this has been the most trying of times, but you positively inspire me. I confess in part my unwillingness to come forward with this book has been due to my inability to trust anyone. You, on the other hand, are undoubtedly trustworthy. And again I suggest you are quite in the wrong situation.’

‘I have little choice, sir,’ I responded through gritted teeth.

‘Then, I feel you will be a most refreshing addition to the household.’

‘But the book!’

‘Euphemia, I must go!’

‘But, sir!’

Mr Bertram sighed. ‘I offer a compromise. I suggest we pool our obvious intelligences and see what we can discover between us. That neither of us approaches the police without fully appraising the other of what we have learned.’

‘You are proposing we act as a team?’ I was astonished.

‘Obviously, some of Richenda’s ideals must have rubbed off on me. And you have access to the servants’ hall and their gossip as I do not.’

‘If Mrs Wilson has me dismissed I will feel I must reveal what I know before I leave.’

‘So this is your idea of not blackmailing me? Shame Euphemia!’ I could not meet his eyes. ‘Very well,’ continued Mr Bertram, ‘while we are engaged upon this enterprise I will ensure that you stay on staff. I am not entirely sure how I will do so, but I will.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ I said and curtsied.

‘Don’t curtsy to me, Euphemia. I do not believe you.’ On which obscure utterance, he threw his broken cufflinks into the tray on the dressing table. He then opened the small box and extracted a small silver set. He fitted these into his shirt without a word. Indeed if we had not but recently been in deep conversation I would have thought him ignorant of my presence. My heart sank as I gained yet more understanding of what it was to be a servant. Mr Bertram completed his task. Shot his cuffs and checked his appearance in the mirror. Apparently satisfied with what he saw he turned to exit the room without so much as a glance in my direction. I felt his snub as a dull pain in my solar plexus. It was not unlike indigestion and perhaps appropriately so as he was forcing me to swallow the unpalatable nature of my situation.

As he opened the door, he threw over his shoulder, ‘Do not forget to clean my bath, Euphemia. I want it to sparkle.’

Unfortunately, as I yet had no idea where such cleaning stuffs were stored, I was unable to do more than dust it. Being a man, I doubt he noticed the difference.

I had spent far too long talking to Mr Bertram. I could only hope the family would take their time over dinner. I literally ran from room to room dusting lightly and unfortunately not being able to make the most of my opportunity to understand a little more about the Staplefords.

I do not mean I intended to riffle through the bedchambers as Mr Bertram had accused me of, but now I had the sanction of one of the family to investigate I felt he would not object if I took the time to “notice” things. However, this would have to wait for another day.

I had barely escaped onto the servants’ staircase when I heard the sound of female voices heading upstairs. I surmised they were retreating to the upstairs drawing room, but I thought it more than likely that various family members would also choose to return to their rooms for this or that. Already I had an impression of the family as a secretive lot, who preferred to do much of their own fetching and carrying of personal items. It was a condition I was hardly going to contest, but at the same time it strengthened my feeling that this was not a happy house and that it was full of secrets. Really, if it wasn’t for the raw and rather biological explicit aspects of murder I would have been finding the whole experience rather exciting, rather like an exceptionally good after-dinner puzzle. However, lugging a freshly dead body along a corridor had rather put a damper on the whole business for me.

I presented myself to Mrs Wilson downstairs with a feeling of accomplishment. In return she introduced me to the mending room, where I sat late into the night darning sheets. Fortunately, as my mother had thought it essential that a young woman of breeding be capable of extremely neat hand-stitching and had at almost every opportunity sought to ensure my embroidery progressed, I found the luxury of the comparatively large stitching used in darning both slightly decadent and liberating. It was certainly easy, if lengthy, work.

By the time the female staff were expected to retire I had made significant progress. Mrs Wilson hardly knew whether to be pleased at the work achieved or dismayed at the abilities of her most despised member of staff.

I conjectured that she would have her revenge. I was not wrong. The next morning I rose early with the rest of the staff and set about laying the fires. Naturally, I expected my first family duty of the day would be to take Miss Richenda a hot cup of tea in my capacity as temporary lady’s maid. Accordingly, I presented myself to Mrs Deighton in good time to collect her morning tray.

The good cook seemed unable to look me in the eye. ‘Oh well, dearie, I don’t know. I think Merry will be taking that up this morning.’

I smiled sunnily. The last thing I wanted to do was to step on anyone’s toes in the strange internal hierarchy of the servants’ hall. ‘Not to worry, Mrs D,’ I said in what I hoped was a suitably anything-I-can-do-to-help voice. ‘I haven’t seen Mrs Wilson, but I’m sure she’ll have things for me to do.’

‘She’ll be with the Mistress,’ explained the cook. ‘Getting her orders for the day. Not that they won’t change at least seven times before lunch. Our good Lady Stapleford likes to keep the servants on their toes.’

I smiled encouragingly hoping she would say more and feeling rather like one of those grinning clowns at the travelling festivals. I could only hope my attempt at sunny charm did not look as idiotic as it felt. It seemed to be working.

The cook sighed. ‘Not like our first Lady Stapleford. Mrs Stapleford, of course, she was first. The master got his title for helping the nation in the wars.’

‘Did Lord Stapleford serve in the first Boer war?’ I asked trying to keep the amazement out of my voice.

Mrs Deighton laughed. ‘Lord love you ducks. The master is many things, but he’s no solider. No, me dear. Something to do with finance and his bank helping out the government, I think. All I knows is he told me a grateful nation was repaying its debt in kind and how did I fancy working for a baronet?’ The cook stopped and gazed thoughtfully into the past. ‘The party we had. They all came. All the leaders of finance and industry and Mrs Stapleford – the new Lady Stapleford looked lovely. We were in the London house then. It was so hot we threw open the long windows. They danced till dawn. I always said it was the mist rising up from the river that did it.’

‘Did what?’

‘Brought on that chill what killed her. Fiery-tempered woman, my first mistress, but heart of gold. Worked for half a dozen charities, both before and after the barony was given. There was some as said she was aiming for it, but they had it all wrong. Heart of gold that woman had. Oh, she had a temper like any fire-headed beauty, but she was a kind woman. Not been anyone in the family like her since.’

A slightly smouldering smell rose up from the kitchen. ‘Lord love a duck! What is I doing chatting, young miss. That’s the master’s eggs all spoiled. Away with you, girl! Mrs Wilson will be down in a moment and if you’ve not found work she’ll find it for you.’

I nodded, wondering what on earth I was meant to do. Dusting? Again?

‘Scoot!’ added the cook. ‘Aggie’s unwell today.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said confused. ‘I hope it is not something serious.’

‘If you don’t get out of here it’s liable to be serious for you,’ said Mrs Deighton darkly.

I understood her comment approximately five minutes later. I was backing out of the kitchen desperately racking my brains for something useful to do that would also allow me to uncover more clues, when I collided with Mrs Wilson.

‘Ah, Euphemia!’ Her facial expression was curious. I wondered if perhaps a pin had been left in the lining of her austere black dress.

‘Are you well, Mrs Wilson?’ I asked politely.

The expression stretched and it occurred to me that this could possibly be how Mrs Wilson looked when she attempted to smile. Her next words robbed me of any doubt.

‘How kind of you to ask. Indeed I am very well. Unlike poor Aggie. I’m afraid I will need to ask you to help with her duties.’