A Death in the Family

by Caroline Dunford

  I nodded again. His large frame stood between me and the door.

  He sat down on my bed and patted the place beside him. ‘So it is agreed we are to be friends?’

  What else could I do but pretend? I nodded. I attempted to slip past him with the pretence of sitting on the other side – the side nearest the door – but he caught my wrist and pulled me down beside him.

  ‘I feel I should ask, not that it makes any real difference now, but did you know my Cousin George before you worked here? Perhaps in London?’

  I found my voice. It sounded very small. ‘No, sir, I did not.’

  He smiled and caressed my palm with his fingertips. I tried not to be sick. He still had my wrist in a tight grasp. I was overly aware of the strength that lingered beneath his fleshy frame. ‘It is no matter. But I am relieved. It would have been much worse when you discovered the body if you had known him.’

  I swallowed and nodded again.

  ‘It must have been an awful experience?’

  I nodded again.

  ‘I don’t suppose you noticed anything? Something you might not have mentioned to the police?’ he softened his voice. ‘Something that is preying on your mind? You can tell me, Euphemia. Now we are friends. I will be looking after you. You can tell me anything. Anything you might have found. It would be easier this way, much easier.’

  I had the strong impression things would go better for me if I had something to tell him. Unfortunately, I did not have the faintest idea what he was talking about.

  ‘No, sir. I’m sorry.’

  The fingers tightened painfully about my wrist. ‘Think, girl! Things can go well between us or they can go very badly. The choice is yours.’

  He pulled me roughly towards him. That horrendous ginger caterpillar bore down towards my face. He was about to kiss me. I opened my mouth and screamed.

  Chapter Ten

  A Respectable Gentleman

  My courage failed me and I closed my eyes. I readied my knee for the most unladylike of actions, when there was a knock on the door. Lord Richard sprang away from me as if I were a rare contagion. The butler’s calm voice reached us. ‘Euphemia, I’ve arranged for the carrier to come and collect you tomorrow evening. If you could come down now and give directions to his boy it would be most helpful.’

  ‘Of course. I will come at once,’ I almost shouted with relief. I pushed roughly past my tormentor, opened the door and fairly fell into Mr Holdsworth’s arms.

  He very properly set me back on my heels. He did not say a word, but began to walk quickly away. I had a strong impulse to burst into tears. I ran after him. ‘You must not believe what they are saying of me,’ I protested.

  ‘I am given to understand you are no longer a member of our staff and as such your actions and morals are no concern of mine.’

  ‘But it isn’t true,’ I cried. ‘None of it.’

  ‘I hope I am incorrect, but it seems to me as if you were not alone in your room.’

  ‘That wasn’t my fault! I never sought his attentions.’

  ‘That I can believe.’ The butler stopped at the top of the servants’ stair. ‘Dinner is over and I have further duties to attend to.’

  ‘The carrier’s boy? Is he in the kitchen?’

  ‘Neither the carrier nor his boy come today.’

  I looked directly into his eyes. ‘I see.’

  The butler nodded and headed off down the stairs. I followed once more, but more slowly. I had little idea of where to go, but I was afraid Lord Richard still waited for me in my room. His absence would eventually be noticed, so I was hopeful of being able to return later, but where for now? I had no desire to be caught alone, but neither had I any desire to meet any of the inmates of this house, above or below stairs. I had never felt so despised.

  I reached the first floor landing and, without thinking, found my feet turning towards the library. I slipped quietly into the servants’ passage and made my way to the secret door. I do not know what I expected to find. The passageway was ill lit, but in my heart I knew all my misfortune in this house stemmed from the murder I had been unfortunate enough to stumble across. Perhaps, if a solution was found, my name could be cleared?

  I leaned against the secret panel gently. It gave with a soft click. A stream of buttery light cut across the passageway floor. On the other side I could hear someone pacing. I pressed my eye to the crack and saw the figure of Mr Bertram. He had a glass of brandy in one hand and the other was holding a half-smoked cigar.

  I do not know what came over me, but my heart which has always been the most reliable of organs for pumping blood around my body all at once switched to providing me with raw, fiery anger. I plunged through the door not even thinking to care if he was alone.

  ‘How could you do that to me? How could you blacken my virtue? You’ve cost me my position. You may have even cost my family their home. And for what? So no scandal attaches to your pure white family, because if that’s what you’re trying to do I have information for you. This precious family of yours is riddled with deception, vanity and sin!’

  Mr Bertram, who had been startled somewhat at my entrance, waited for me to draw breath. Then he said simply, ‘I know.’

  Feeling as if all the wind had been sucked from my sails I sank down onto the settle, dropped my head in my hands and to my horror began to weep. Mr Bertram, like most gentlemen with a tearful woman, was immediately at a loss.

  ‘Euphemia! No. Please don’t, Euphemia. I was only trying to protect you!’

  This appalling untruth stopped my tears as swiftly as if a valve had been shut off. ‘How dare you! How dare you say such a thing!’

  At this Mr Bertram threw himself down onto his knees and grasped both my hands in his. ‘It’s the truth, Euphemia. I swear.’

  For one heady moment I felt myself the heroine of some fantastical adventure. My heart lurched within my breast as I waited for Mr Bertram’s next inevitable words.

  ‘I think Richard killed them both.’

  Whatever I had thought he might have uttered at this juncture, this was certainly not it. I snatched my hands from him and broke away. In my best Sunday voice I said, ‘I think you should rise, Mr Bertram. You look most ridiculous.’

  ‘This is not the reaction I expected, Euphemia,’ he retorted, levering himself to his feet.

  ‘I think, sir,’ I responded, still breathing hard, ‘that we both find ourselves somewhat at a disadvantage.’

  ‘You really aren’t what one would expect in a maid, Euphemia.’

  ‘You were about to tell me about your brother?’

  ‘I’m pretty certain that Richard had made some bad investments. My father had not only cut off his personal allowance, but was speaking of disinheriting him.’

  ‘But to kill your own father!’

  ‘I know,’ said Mr Bertram, seating himself on the settle. ‘It’s so impossible, but …’

  ‘But?’

  Mr Bertram sighed. ‘Are you aware of the family business?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Father has a small bank, but the greater part of our fortune comes from arms trading.’

  I digested this for a moment. ‘This is what that journalist meant when he said you traded in death.’

  ‘I’m afraid so. I don’t personally work in the business. Father allows this because I have issues with my heart. He prefers to let people think it is my physical infirmity rather than my strength of conscience that inclines me not to work with him.’

  ‘Which is it?’

  ‘I cannot wholly claim it is my conscience. While I have inherited an independence from my late godfather I still live under my father’s roof and eat at his table. All my life I have helped spend his blood money.’

  I felt the unaccountable need to place more distance between us and moved from the settle to a nearby chair. For a servant to sit in her master’s presence is not acceptable, but I felt we were moving outwith the bounds of the normal servile relationship.

&n
bsp; ‘I do not think your actions as a child can be held to account. We do not choose our parents.’

  He nodded. ‘But it changes you. Knowing your father is a party to murder on a horrific scale. If you knew one tenth of what is happening in Africa … I am only glad you do not.’

  ‘One could argue that it is not the weapon, but how it is used.’

  ‘It’s a weak argument at best,’ said Mr Bertram. ‘My family have been instrumental in the development of some of the most terrible of weapons. And we choose who we sell them to. Now, more than ever, we are shaping the future of the world.’

  ‘I know very little about politics.’

  But Mr Bertram was no longer listening to me. It was as if a floodgate had opened within him. ‘Richard overindulged one night. He was boasting of what he and my cousin were doing. If he hadn’t been under the influence he would never have told me, but it made him less than coherent. I knew their mother was vaguely related to the Schnieders – despite the name, it’s a French company. There’s a new field gun, a vile thing that can mow men down like wheat before a scythe, and this company is planning on selling it to both the French and the Germans. The French are still bogged down in the Wadai War, but it’s more than that. They’re investing for the future. There are rumours of heavy artillery tractors. That would be an inhuman abomination. It would change warfare for ever. Of course everyone is saying it is all in aid of the defence of the Trans-Sahara trade routes, but I don’t believe it. I have nightmares of where the world is going – where it is going steered by those such as my father and brother. Our money is made from blood and we spend it to shed more.’

  ‘It might be vile, but of itself it is hardly illegal nor a motive for murder,’ I interjected.

  ‘Euphemia, many people – important people – believe war with Germany is coming. If it happens it will make the Boer Wars look like a brawl in a public house, the Wadai War a mere inconvenience. Russia is in chaos. We assume the French will stand our friends, but … But some of the men in the party favour Germany. Richard favours Germany. He told me that night it is because of his influence that the same technology is being offered to the Germans.’

  ‘Men often say things when drunk that are a little over-egged, do they not?’

  ‘You don’t understand. I come from a family of monsters. They are capable of anything.’

  Mr Bertram’s exposition was arousing a number of conflicting circumstances in my breast. At the best of times these would have been difficult to deal with, but in this moment, in this conundrum of class differential that I had willingly entered upon and was now attempting to extricate myself from, I no longer knew which way was up and which was down. I was overwhelmingly aware of the man’s passion and his desire to do right. That he might know more than me about the state of the world was easy to accept. That the state of world affairs were relevant to these two murders less so. I did the only thing I could do. I doused his ardour with common sense.

  ‘There may be something in what you think, sir. But aside from the deaths of these two men the only circumstances of note I observe are that someone has broken into my room and that your brother’s reaction to me varies alarmingly for no cause I can suppose.’

  ‘You are moderately attractive and a maid in his father’s house. Trust me, that is enough for Richard.’

  I bridled instinctively. I doubt anyone is at their best in a maid’s uniform with their hair suitably braided, but “moderately attractive”? It was little better than being compared to the kitchen cat.

  ‘I meant you need be no more than moderately attractive,’ added Mr Bertram lamely.

  I blushed. It was inappropriate for me either as a maid or as the granddaughter of an earl to seek compliments. ‘If you will recall,’ I said sharply, ‘your brother had more than ample occasion to observe me prior to suddenly finding me an object worthy of his attention.’

  Mr Bertram cocked his head on one side, rather like a raven surveying a worm. ‘You are implying some specific action caused his change in behaviour.’

  ‘I assure you it was nothing I did!’

  Mr Bertram shook his head. ‘No, I was not suggesting that. You have more than enough sense to see my brother for what he is.’

  ‘And more to the point a strict moral code!’

  ‘Yes. Yes, Euphemia. But I think you’ve hit on something here. Obviously it was after Cousin George’s murder, but before my father’s?’

  ‘He tried to sneak a kiss in the pantry from me before your father’s murder. Afterwards he was, as you saw, keen to have me thrown from the house. But not one hour since he offered me a carte blanche.’

  ‘Good God!’ cried Bertram, rising to his feet in indignation.

  ‘I declined, of course, and this is what has set my heart on leaving your house.’

  ‘But you must not! You and I are the only ones who have some sense of this business. Neither man who died was of an estimable character, but this does not justify their killing! I thought you agreed this?’

  I sighed. ‘I do. But my position is extremely difficult.’

  ‘What did Richard say to you?’

  ‘He offered me a carte blanche.’

  ‘I did understand that part. Did he say anything else?’

  I thought for a moment. ‘He did ask me if I had known your cousin before.’

  ‘He thinks you know something.’

  ‘Or I have something?’ I countered.

  ‘You were the first person to come across George. Did you check his pockets?’

  ‘It didn’t occur to me at the time.’

  ‘That’s a pity,’ said Bertram, sitting again.

  ‘I can assure you, sir, the next time I come across an unfortunate murdered relative of yours I will not only search his pockets, but make a quick sketch of the scene.’

  Mr Bertram smiled. ‘Don’t be cross, Euphemia. I’m only trying to make sense of this. I quite understand your desire to leave this house, but if someone – Richard, or anyone else – thinks you have something or know something that might help catch the killer you may not complete your journey home.’

  A sensation of icy coldness washed over me as I acknowledged the truth of his words. ‘But I don’t know anything,’ I said weakly. Suddenly, Mr Bertram was at my side. ‘I did not mean to alarm you.’

  I looked up at him. ‘I can’t see how anyone can think I know anything. It was dark in the corridor and your cousin was very dead. There were no last words. There was no one else there.’

  ‘Then it must be thought that you found something. Richard must think you have something.’

  ‘You imagine in all this if Richard did murder your father then his primary motive was to not be discovered in some shady business deal that involves the armament industry?’

  Mr Bertram nodded.

  ‘If you are right your brother cannot possibly have murdered your cousin.’

  ‘How do you deduce that?’

  ‘If you are right the only possible explanation for Mr Richard’s behaviour is that he fears blackmail. You are right he must believe I found something on your cousin’s body or perhaps I was even involved in a blackmail attempt that went wrong. He may believe I turned up at this house prearranged to meet George and extort money. That I have acted in a manner outwith that of a normal maid will not have helped my case.’

  ‘My dear, you hardly behave like a woman,’ chuckled Mr Bertram. He flinched under the look this comment occasioned and added, ‘I meant only that you display not only a code of honour, but that ability to use logic. Neither of which attributes are customarily regarded as attributes of your sex.’

  I smiled slightly at that. ‘I am a great trial to my mother.’

  ‘Who is she?’

  I shook my head. ‘It doesn’t matter. I think you are right. I think George was being blackmailed and that it concerned some business dealing that he was involved in with Richard. I am very much afraid that Richard panicked and took your father’s life.’

  ‘You
may be giving Richard credit for emotions he does not possess. I think he saw an opportunity to pass off a murder. The inspectors still favours the Bolsheviks, you know. My father’s death has assured his secret – given him a place in the commons where he will be able to use his influence to line his pockets and, of course, avoid my father disinheriting him.’

  ‘But this would mean he did not kill your cousin.’

  ‘No,’ Mr Bertram paused. ‘It also means it is not safe for you to leave this house.’

  ‘I could mention that people do seem to die here with alarming regularity.’

  ‘I know. But you have a greater chance of safety if you stay in sight of others than if you are alone wandering through the countryside on your way home.’

  ‘I would be with a carrier.’

  ‘Would you trust he had not been bought?’

  ‘Mr Bertram, you are becoming ridiculous! This is not some international conspiracy!’

  ‘Maybe not, but I would not be surprised if a carrier could not be bribed to drop you in the middle of the countryside. He might even be told it was a romantic rendezvous.’

  ‘You do have a devious mind – sir.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘But what is to be done? We do not know enough to approach the police inspector. To be frank, I would prefer not to draw further attention to myself unless we had some definite evidence.’

  ‘I think you are right, Euphemia. He may still reckon you as the Russian revolutionary intent on taking down our bourgeois lifestyle.’ He paused a moment. ‘The family lawyer will be attending shortly to start the process of winding up my father’s affairs. I don’t think we can wait. I think you, and perhaps others, stand in considerable danger, until this knot can be untangled. I will go immediately to London to see him. I am my father’s executor, not Richard, so he can hardly object if I look over the accounts. I will also make discreet enquires into any business deals that may have been between Richard and George.’