A Death Overseas

by Caroline Dunford

  ‘Oh, that happened to my Great-aunt Martha. I shan’t tell you where it stung her, but she had to carry a large feather cushion with her for days,’ said Mrs Brown.

  ‘Why would she carry a cushion?’ asked Bertram.

  I moved ahead to draw level with Rory. ‘Are the accommodations all I might hope for after a long journey with a snoring Bertram and Mrs Brown – er, being Mrs Brown?’ I murmured in his ear.

  ‘You mean she’s always like that?’ asked Rory, horrified.

  ‘Feel for me,’ I said. ‘She’s my chaperone.’

  ‘What did you do for Richenda to foist such a horror on you?’ said Rory equally quietly. Then he turned and handed Mrs Brown into the carriage, giving her, as he did so, his most charming smile. She positively simpered, but then I judged her to be in her early forties and Rory must have been at the very least in his early thirties. There was not so much difference between them.

  The carriage trundled through streets that had what I was to come to know as that European look. The houses crowded together much as they did in England, but here they rose higher and the rooftops often ended in staggered little crenellations. Neither were the Flemish scared of colour, for the houses ran the gauntlet of the spectrum from a bright yellow to a midnight blue. There was no rhyme nor reason I could see for the differences of colour. It appeared that each owner had simply picked a colour they liked. There was also a preponderance of wooden fittings, not only sills at each window but often open shutters and ledges on which stood gaily coloured plants. And all around came the sound of people talking – and talking in a multitude of languages. I have very little French, for the linguistic skills my dear father instilled in me were more by the way of Latin and Greek. Here I was hearing French, something similar but not French, English, what might have been German, and what sounded like German but spoken underwater through hiccups.

  We had arrived early in the day, and by mutual agreement we opted to take breakfast before retiring to our rooms for recuperation.

  It is always astounding to me that travelling by automobile or train, where one is required to do nothing but sit, is so very tiring. Bertram claims it is our brains recalibrating to a new country and culture, but I suspect this is merely his excuse for eating his way through every new menu he encounters.

  I was somewhat shocked to be offered cold meats, bread, and cheese for my meal, but the coffee was superb and the bread, though of a darker colour and coarser texture than I was used to, had an unusual nutty taste that I found most pleasant.

  Mrs Brown, or Eugenie as she begged me repeatedly to call her, observed and commented on everything. The upshot of this was that I began to develop my skill of consigning her to a background noise, much as one does when a house is rattled by wind and rain at night. In fact, I had managed to ignore her so well that towards the end of breakfast I spoke over her entirely, shocking Bertram. Of course, I apologised, but the damage was done. Eugenie regarded me with the eyes of a spaniel that has unexpectedly been kicked. I pleaded a headache and left the room.

  My own chamber was everything that was proper, although a touch more colourful and a little smaller than I had hoped. The maid had already unpacked and hung up my clothing, but I had gathered there was to be no more personal service. There was no bell and meals were taken like clockwork in the dining room. If you were not there within the appropriate times then one should not bother asking for extra service.

  There was a tap at my door. It opened almost at once and Rory slipped in.

  ‘Rory, you cannot do this,’ I began to protest.

  ‘Aye, I know. But this is the only way I can speak to you without that wretched windbag of a besom around. My master,’ the word was said with barely a trace of sarcasm, ‘is already asleep and snoring fit to bring the roof down. He is also most determined to enjoy himself and does not wish to listen to rumour.’

  ‘Whereas I am always keen to listen to gossip?’

  ‘Och, lass, you know me.’

  ‘I do. Come and sit on my one chair. I will sit on the edge of the bed. But we must keep our voices down. I have already upset my chaperone.’ Rory shuddered. ‘What have you to tell me?’

  ‘Mr Bertram asked me to have a look around the fair before you arrived. I was to discover what was likely to be of keen interest to him.’

  ‘The location of the restaurants, you mean?’

  Rory looked a little pained. ‘You’re a wee bit hard on the mannie. It is not my place to tell you but...’ He paused and I waited as one usually does when someone says such a thing. ‘Bertram’s funds are much depleted. He finally has someone decent to put his estate in order and in time I imagine it will fund itself, but he has had to sell shares and is scraping the bottom of the barrel. His main interest in coming to this Fair is to look for something in which he can invest and which may bring him a future living. I know we have both had our qualms about his romantic life, but he admitted to me recently that he feels he is no longer in a position to take a wife, even if one should appear – his phrase, not mine – as his finances are so depleted.’

  ‘That is an extraordinary confidence to make to you,’ I said. ‘I am uncomfortable knowing this. How shall I look him in the face?’

  ‘I have several reasons for breaking his confidence, Euphemia. Perhaps you would allow me to finish before you pass judgement? As you have remarked, our present position is not without its compromising potential. The walls here are thin.’

  ‘Yes, it is not quite the place I would have imagined Hans would have booked.’

  ‘You’re spoiled, lass. It is fine. Clean and with good food and within walking distance of the Fair. Rooms like this are gold dust and priced accordingly.’

  I bowed my head at this admonishment. He was right. I did not need to say so, as he was more than aware. ‘Accordingly I have been taking in much of the more industrial side of the Fair. There are a number of inventors displaying their wares and while financial investment is not the voiced aim of the Fair –’

  ‘Rory, please. Come to the point.’

  ‘I have been made aware that there is considerable tension between the French and German Pavilions.’

  ‘Made aware by whom?’

  Rory ignored my question. ‘I am afraid to say it seems Bertram is not the only Stapleford looking for potential investments in Ghent.’

  I gasped. ‘You mean...?’

  Rory nodded. ‘Richard Stapleford is here.’

  Chapter Six

  Meeting Mary

  Richard Stapleford. Sir Richard, if one wants to be correct. My nemesis. A man who killed his own father, who murdered his sister’s first fiancé (it’s true Richenda would never have been happy with Tippy, but that’s not the point.) An MP and arms dealer. A shady banker and the recent spouse of the naïve and innocent Lucinda. A man who has attacked me more than once and who always, always gets away without paying for his crimes.

  ‘I feel sick,’ I said. I must have looked it too, for Rory passed me the waste paper basket. I took it and put it down at my feet. ‘Are you absolutely sure?’

  ‘I’m afraid so,’ said Rory. ‘I’ve been here a few days and at first when I thought I glimpsed him in the crowd I put it down to imagination. But yesterday, when I was confirming your tea reservation with Miss Hill at the Azalea Restaurant I saw him sitting there with Lucinda.’

  ‘How does she look?’

  ‘Cowed.’

  I picked up the waste paper basket and sat it on my knee. ‘Have you told Bertram?’

  ‘Not yet. I wanted your advice. Bertram is not in the strongest of health.’

  ‘No, he’s not.’

  ‘The Fair is enormous. You may never encounter him.’

  ‘If he saw you in the restaurant he will seek us out,’ I said soberly. ‘Besides, if Bertram has come seeking investment it is more than likely their paths will cross. I cannot think that Richard came here to smell the flowers.’

  ‘Not to please his bride?’

  ‘Please,’
I said. ‘You know what he is like.’

  ‘So do I tell Bertram?’

  ‘I will. I am more likely to have a suitable opportunity.’ Rory gave a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you, Euphemia,’ he said with real feeling.

  I nodded. ‘Now if you would leave me. I feel like lying down.’

  Some time later, not even the thought of vile Richard could rob me of my first rapturous experience of entering the World Fair of 1913. The entrance way was a domed structure reminiscent of the work of Mr Adams with a sweet little arched walkway around the perimeter and with tiny uniform windows following the top edge of the walls before it rose into a dome, smooth and perfect. For some reason as we waited with the queue outside I kept thinking of Richenda and then it came to me, ‘Cake,’ I said aloud without thinking. ‘Yes,’ said Bertram, ‘the whole thing does look as if it has been iced. I hope this queue does not take too long.’

  Fortunately for Bertram’s stomach the system was most efficient. We were quickly and properly ushered through. Urged forward by the crowds behind us, we entered the first court. Immediately the eye was drawn to a great statue of four men seated on an enormous rearing horse in the middle of rounded pond. ‘Bayard and Haymon’s sons,’ whispered Eugenie, who was clasping a guide of some sort.

  Beyond this lay a huge lake of calmness and serenity lined by marble urns filled with flowers and with low pillared walls between where a weary visitor might rest and gaze upon the water. All of this was surrounded by yet more elegant buildings and colonnades, shining white in the late afternoon spring sun.

  The lake ended in a fountain that for all the world resembled a waterfall. And everywhere were flowers of such intense and varied colours they dazzled the eyes. Rolling lawns extenuated the feeling of space. The trees were yet to come in bloom and stood in naked salute behind them. Flags flew and lining the pathways were the latest in electric lights, mounted upon a tall pillar and hung in groups of four lanterns.

  These were not yet lit, but promised an entrancing spectacular come dusk. I shivered slightly at the sight of them. I had not yet become accustomed to the lights Hans had installed at his estate. Eugenie noticed my reaction. ‘Indeed,’ she said. ‘One wonders what they must look like alight. I have heard them described as shining stars.’ She pursed her lips.

  ‘You do not seem enamoured of the new electricity,’ I said. ‘I own to having had misgivings too, but whilst I have on one occasion been overcome by gas lamps. The electricity installed at Mr Muller’s estate is yet to do me any harm. So am I reasonably certain these will present no danger to us.’

  ‘Oh, I am not afraid of them,’ answered Eugenie. ‘I worry how unscrupulous employers will use them to make their work forces work day and night. I am also troubled they are being regarded – as if miraculous. I confess I am uncomfortable when the works of man are compared to the works of the divine.’

  I smiled. ‘I believe my own father might have felt the same, but I can also imagine him telling me to be most careful in my choice of words. It is all too easy to give the wrong impression if one does not choose carefully. For instance here I do not believe anyone would sincerely believe electricity to be a miracle.’

  Eugenie patted my arm. ‘You are a sweet girl,’ she said. ‘Did you know there are more than sixty countries represented here? We shall be able to sample much of the world in this one garden!’

  I was not the only one struck, for all around us were the gasps and sighs of admiration of the other newcomers who were seeing the fair for the first time.

  ‘This is the Court of Honour,’ says Eugenie.

  Bertram too had stopped in his tracks to look about him, but even as I turned to ask his opinion he gave himself a little shake, as if awakening from a dream, and said, ‘Mighty fine. Which way to the restaurant?’

  ‘It is some distance,’ said Eugenie. ‘In fact, if I may dare suggest it, perhaps we could catch one of those sweet little trains?’

  ‘I don’t think we would have time to try the train before tea,’ said Bertram with an expression of concern.

  ‘Oh, I do not mean the scenic ride around the Fair, Mr Stapleford, but one of those dear little carriages things.’ And she pointed to a vehicle that had been dressed up to look like a small train, but did not run on any tracks I could see.

  ‘Oh yes, rather,’ said Bertram with great eagerness. ‘Wonder what they’ve got under the trappings?’

  ‘Please, Bertram,’ I said in his ear. ‘Do not ask the driver if you might take control.’

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of such a thing,’ he said, turning bright red and confirming my suspicions. And so we trundled towards the restaurant aboard a small contraption with Bertram in a very great sulk.

  The Azalea Restaurant brought yet another surprise.

  ‘Good Gad, it’s in a tent,’ cried Bertram.

  ‘I believe the correct term is marquee,’ commented Eugenie as Bertram helped her out of the carriage. ‘One could not expect such a extravagant display to survive without the natural currents of air.’

  ‘I don’t want natural currents of air up my ... erm ... when one is eating, you know!’

  ‘I think you will find that it is the entrance and opening display that is tented – and how beautifully it is done! I am sure the tables themselves will be surrounded by walls.’

  Though the truth was to be that one could not tell, for once one passed through the entrance to the eating place all the walls were draped with fabric in a luxurious way, reminding me of those very naughty Roman parties I had been allowed to read about by my father when I was learning Latin.[8]

  And of course there were azaleas everywhere. If one had been one of those unfortunate individuals who sneeze upon the sight of flowers then one could not have remained a minute here without being overcome. I was still scanning the room when a waiter came up to Bertram and told him our friend was waiting for us. We followed him obediently and there was Mary Hill, seated at a table for four. She rose, manlike, when we approached, which flustered Bertram.

  ‘I was not certain you would come,’ she said.

  I embraced her. ‘Of course. Did I not promise to meet you again at tea?’ Bertram pulled out my chair for me to sit. ‘That it might be overseas had not entered my original calculations, but this is delightful. We have not been within the Fair for a half-hour and we are close to being overwhelmed. You know Bertram, of course. And this is my chaperone, Mrs Eugenie Brown, who has been so kind to escort me this long way.’

  Mary smiled and nodded, but all too obviously dismissed Eugenie of being of little interest. ‘I have left my aunt at the hotel. The heat is distressing to her,’ said Mary glibly. I raised an eyebrow, but she ignored my suspicion.

  Bertram, who, quite frankly, seemed scared of the lady mathematician, was only too happy to turn his attentions to entertaining Eugenie, while Mary and I conversed.

  ‘So you find this place marvellous?’ asked Mary.

  ‘I am told the theme is peace, industry, and art,’ I answered, ‘which with so many countries coming together to display seems of itself quite marvellous.’

  ‘Humph,’ said Mary. ‘The French have taken over an alarming amount of space and the Germans are far from pleased. Complaints have been sent in already.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ I said. ‘But you must find some neatness in the way it has been laid out? The geometrics seem pleasing to my eye.’

  ‘Do you realise that the buildings are but wood and metal with stucco and plaster over the top? When the Fair is ended they will all be demolished with not a wall left standing.’

  ‘The railway station and the grand hotel must be properly built,’ I countered.

  ‘It is all about appearance, my dear Euphemia. You are the one who is always seeking truth. I am surprised you have been so easily taken in.’

  ‘While you seem to have a very negative view of the whole proceedings,’ I challenged. ‘I wonder you came at all.’

  Mary sighed. ‘I do not mean to fight with you. I am not angry wi
th you, but rather with the world the some men are forging. I see petty arguments between nations bolstered by tricks and tomfoolery here, and I fear they may all too soon come to be a reflection of the real world outside.’

  ‘You sound like a friend of mine,’ I said, thinking of Fitzroy, ‘but I am not yet without hope, and I believe gatherings like these hold as much opportunity for the advancement of humanity as for its squabbles.’

  Mary smiled and passed me a large, cream-filled meringue. ‘You remind me we must make use of the good times. You should try one of these. They are excellent and quite the advertisement for abandoning corsets altogether.’

  I laughed and bit into one. Powdery sugar shattered everywhere and cream went up my nose. I giggled again, inhaling cream, and had to drink a large amount of tea before I could breathe properly again. Eugenie was horrified, but Bertram had the forced lips of a man trying his best not to guffaw with laughter. ‘Thank goodness. No one here will recognize me,’ I said as I wiped the cream from my nose.’

  Which, of course, was the very moment a male voice said at my elbow, ‘My dear Euphemia, what a surprise to meet you here!’

  I turned to see Richard Stapleford. This time it was Bertram who choked on his bun.

  Chapter Seven

  The devil you know

  The last of the cream went up my nose, making me splutter. Bertram sprayed crumbs all over the table. Eugenie mumbled a distressed noise. Only Mary seemed completely composed on seeing our visitor. She rose as was her habit to greet him. ‘Why, Sir Richard! What a surprise! Can I hope my cousin Lucinda accompanies you?’

  Richard, like most men, was thrown onto the back foot by the mannish manner in which Mary held out her hand. However, he dealt with it characteristically by ignoring it and drawing up a chair near Bertram. ‘On the spy for some new investments?’ he asked his half-brother.