‘No idea. Batty as a fruitcake if you ask me. But the point is, I can make Muller richer. I can offer him the shares in the bank. I can give him children. And I know how to behave.’
I looked at her blankly.
‘Do I need to spell it out? If he marries me I know how to look the other way should he ever require extra – er – activities.’
It took me a moment to catch on. ‘Mistresses, you mean?’ I gasped.
‘I’m not a beauty,’ said Richenda staunchly, ‘but I could make him a good wife and I think we would make good companions. With all the chaos that has happened to my family and been caused by my family I think he’s my last shot.’
She lifted her chin in defiance, but I thought I saw she was blinking back tears. I looked away. ‘Where is that maid with the tea?’ I said.
Richenda blinked hard. ‘Indeed.’
‘Richenda, would you object if I repinned some of your hair? It has come down a little. A lady should always look her best.’
‘Thank you, Euphemia.’ It was the first time I felt Richenda was being sincere. Who would have thought that an incident with a pigeon in an attic could lead to me feeling sorry for a woman I had, if not hated, largely despised.
I had just finished redoing her hair and discreetly wiping away a smut or two when the door opened again to reveal the extraordinary sight of Muller carrying a tea tray. I hurried to take it from him. I have no very great opinion of gentlemen carrying china. By and large they are far too clumsy, not being trained, because of their station, to do the simple things in life. Their hands also tend to be overly large for delicate work.
‘Thank you, Euphemia,’ said Muller. ‘Would you mind pouring for us? I know enough of your history to believe, of the two of you, that you are the least disturbed by this incident.’
I smiled. ‘Shall I take that as compliment?’
Muller had the sense not to answer, but only smile. I could feel Richenda beginning to bristle at my side. I poured tea for us all and added milk and sugar as necessary. I noted that Muller didn’t know Richenda that well as he had not thought to bring cake or biscuits. Richenda always improves with cake. I was taking my first cup of tea when Muller said, ‘I must confess when I realised it was you two ladies in the attic my first thought was that you were looking for my first wife.’
Richenda snorted tea down her nose. Muller pretended not to notice. ‘I thought it likely that, in an attempt to get you to return to Stapleford Hall, Barker would spread malicious gossip about me.’
I felt myself blushing.
‘I also thought that as Euphemia is very loyal to you, despite what she may personally think she would feel duty bound to pass on your brother’s message.’
You see, he really was a charming man. He had skilfully exonerated me from being a gossip.
‘Why would we think your wife was in the attic?’ asked Richenda, who was far less capable of playing the diplomat.
Muller sat back in his seat. He looked into the empty fireplace for a moment before refocusing on us. ‘There were many rumours around the time of my wife’s death. The fact that my father was German and that there is growing ill-will between our two countries has not helped.’
‘There is?’ asked Richenda. I said nothing. Fitzroy had told me a number of disturbing rumours in order to enforce my complicity in his schemes. I was only surprised that Muller was so aware. As far as I knew he spent all his time in England.
‘I am also new money,’ said Muller. ‘I am a bank director rather than an owner of a bank and while I have invested wisely I am not one of the old school.’
‘But you went to the same school as my brother,’ said Richenda.
‘He means he is not descended from one of the known English families,’ I explained.
‘Neither am I,’ said Richenda. ‘Well, Mama was a Lady, but her links are mainly with France.’
Muller nodded. ‘Socially you are far above me, Richenda.’
‘I daresay my brother will continue in his ways and bring our family name down,’ said Richenda bitterly.
Muller was silent.
‘What were these rumours?’ I asked.
‘Everything from my poisoning my wife to locking her in the attic and faking her funeral.’
‘But to what end?’ I asked.
‘I have no idea what is in the heads of my detractors,’ said Muller flatly. ‘I loved my wife very much. It was not in my mother’s eyes a great match as she came from a respectable, but middle-class, family, and Mother had high hopes for me to do better. But truthfully I always felt it was not a good match for my wife as, for all my upbringing, I am accounted a foreigner. We met when I was building the estate and I had never seen a more pretty and fragile creature. I was some years her senior, but for no obvious reason she fell in love with me and I asked her to marry me. For the few years we were together we were, I believe, both very happy. The only sadness was that we had no children. My wife was pregnant several times …’ he swallowed hard, ‘but God granted us no live children.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said.
‘I fear she was too frail. That those failed pregnancies took too great a toll. I have often felt as if I did indeed murder her. I should have … but she, too, so wanted children.’
‘I thought it was a heart attack that took her from you,’ I asked as gently as I could.
‘That is what our family doctor put on her death certificate, but I have blamed myself these three years for her death.’
Richenda reached awkwardly across the table and touched Muller lightly on the hand. ‘For the little it is worth I think you have nothing to reproach yourself for. I think that your wife was lucky you loved her so much. Few women have the luxury of such a marriage as you describe.’
Muller looked up and into her eyes. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘You are very kind.’
‘And my brother is a pig,’ said Richenda totally breaking the tragic-romantic mood with hard reality. ‘I knew he was a rotter in the nursery, but being twins we always supported each other. But no more. I am only sorry he has been the cause of this distress. I quite understand if you would like us to leave. Euphemia and I.’
‘No,’ said Muller, shaking his head. ‘I won’t hear of it. I will not be the one responsible for sending you back to that man. I know it would be difficult for you to stay here indefinitely …’
‘You mean people will begin to talk,’ said Richenda blushing a fiery red. Fortunately the gas light toned the awfulness of her blush down. Red hair and red skin is not a good look.
‘But until you have some plan for your future I offer whatever protection you require.’
‘Thank you,’ said Richenda.
Goodness. That was the second time she had been sincere in the same evening. Could it be that Richenda was genuinely beginning to break away from her brother’s influence?
Chapter Eight
Misgivings
Richenda and I both came down for breakfast somewhat later than usual. The maid told us Mrs Muller had already completed her meal and had gone out to walk the gardens with Mr Bennie. Mr Muller had also breakfasted. He sent his compliments and regrets that he would not be available again until dinner time as he had to spend the day with his factor attending to estate business. I guessed he intended to give us time to think over our position or he might also be assessing his own intentions towards Richenda. I had liked her better than ever before last night, but she had looked a fright. He could well be testing his resolve to face her gorgon-style night hair in intimate situations. I have no experience of bedroom intimacies. Hope as well as sense tells me a man can love or desire a woman for who she is inside her fleshy shell, but a man, reasonably enough, does not expect to be frightened in his bedchamber.
When the maid withdrew I buttered myself a slice of toast and said airily, ‘So just us, Richenda. Shall we explore the rest of the attics?’
Richenda gave a shudder. ‘I don’t believe I ever want to enter another attic again in my life,
’ she said. ‘But there are some things I think we should look into.’
‘Oh,’ I said, misgivings flooding through me.
‘I think the death of Muller’s wife bears a little more research.’
‘Oh for goodness’ sake, Richenda, haven’t we troubled the poor man enough? He opened his heart to you last night and broached what must have been a very painful subject. This is how you repay his confidence?’ This was a very forthright speech for a companion. I can only offer as my defence that my brain was too tired to censor my words. That and the fact I had found Muller very affecting.
‘Are you attracted to Muller too?’ spat Richenda.
‘No,’ I answered slightly too quickly. The truth was I found Muller surprisingly restful to be around. In recent years I had been surrounded by men who suffered from being murderous, passionate or jealous. Charm proved to be a pleasant change and even I had to admit that when he wasn’t trying to look perfect the English gentleman he was rather attractive. ‘All right, I confess I find him charming,’ I said, ‘but leaving that aside he’d never look as low for a bride as me …’
‘I don’t know why,’ snapped Richenda, ‘Wasn’t his wife the sister of a vicar or something?’
‘I only want to marry for love.’
‘Oh,’ said Richenda. ‘I didn’t realise you were a romantic.’
‘An incurable one, I’m afraid.’
‘So we are not in competition?’
In a thousand years I would never have dreamed that Richenda would ask me such a question. ‘We are not,’ I said with perfect truth.
‘Good,’ said Richenda. ‘Because you are much prettier than me.’ I gasped at this admission.
‘I’m not blind,’ said Richenda snappily. ‘Of course you have neither my fashion sense nor my money, so I have the advantage.’
‘Of course,’ I managed to say in a small voice, keeping a straight face.
‘I need you to help me find out what is going on here.’
‘I don’t think there is anything going on,’ I said. ‘Honestly. I’m enjoying the peace and quiet.’
‘H-rumff,’ snorted Richenda. ‘Why then was I one minute flavour of the month and the next Mrs Muller has no time for me and you’re the one helping organise the ball.’
‘Please,’ I said, ‘take that duty from me. It will be dull and tedious and long. Mostly writing invitations in copperplate.’
‘Oh, I don’t want to do it,’ said Richenda. ‘I wanted her to want me to do it.’
‘Oh.’
‘And that ridiculous display of German-ness the other afternoon. Just as I was getting acquainted with the Duke’s daughter.’
‘Earl’s,’ I corrected automatically. Richenda gave me a startled look. ‘Much lower rank,’ I added, ‘if that’s any consolation.’
‘I suppose so. I never did pay that much attention to that kind of stuff at finishing school.’ I suspected it was more that the daughters of noble houses paid no attention to her, a banker’s daughter, only recently ennobled. No one hated the nouveau riche more than the impoverished nobility.
‘Does it matter?’ I asked. ‘I believe she is not a permanent resident in the neighbourhood.’ Richenda shrugged. ‘It was bizarre and … and mean.’
‘Maybe she is simply old,’ I suggested gently.
‘Batty, you mean? Well, I want to know that too if I end up marrying into this family.’
I gave her a very level look and she returned it. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’
‘As I said last night this may well be my last chance. If you help me, Euphemia, I won’t forget it.’
I didn’t answer simply because I couldn’t think of what to say. Richenda lent forward. ‘I’m sorry we haven’t always seen eye to eye. I have always followed my brother’s lead and that hasn’t been wise. And I haven’t been happy for a long time. You haven’t known me at my best.’
‘Yes,’ I said. Then coughed. ‘I mean no.’
‘Let’s start again,’ said Richenda. ‘I’m sure I will do something awful sooner or later, but this time if I do, it won’t be deliberate.’ She gave me a shrewd look. ‘I am aware that both of us are somewhat adrift in a man’s world. Different rivers perhaps, but we both have to look to our own survival.’
‘Yes, that’s true,’ I admitted. ‘Did you really set up a house for fallen women?’
‘And did I do it simply to annoy my father?’ Richenda studied her bacon closely then shoved the better part of a rasher in her mouth and chewed. I waited for her to speak. Goodness, but the woman made a lot of noise when she ate! ‘Yes, I wanted to annoy my father. When he married Bertram’s mother I was very young, but even then I felt he was disrespecting my mother’s memory. My late stepmother was a hideous snob, who got fed up of living in genteel poverty. She didn’t care for my father and I don’t believe he cared for anything but her money. I have no idea how he felt about my mother, but I have a few memories of her being kind to me. Of a gentle woman, who never raised her voice. So of course I decided that she had to have been the better woman. My stepmother made no pretence that I was anything but an inconvenience and made it clear that my looks were – inferior. How Bertram turned out so well I have no idea.’ Richenda blinked hard. ‘I am getting away from your question. Yes, I disliked my father and I wanted to irk him. I did also feel, and still do, that women have a hard time in this world and that this is generally the fault of men. I had a little legacy from my godmother. Not much, but I endowed a house to help fallen women – and by that I mean everyone from prostitutes to pregnant maids. One of my main aims was to find a way whereby women would not be separated from their illegitimate children. I’m sorry if that shocks you, but I have always felt that every child deserves a loving mother.’
‘Because you lost yours?’ I asked.
Richenda nodded. ‘Now this is getting downright maudlin.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And I was jealous of you. You turned the heads of every man when you entered our house and I thought you were taking advantage of that.’
I spluttered tea indignantly. ‘I know,’ continued Richenda, ‘I was wrong. You are as much a victim as me, except you are so very pretty.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Not for the compliment, but for being so honest with me.’
‘It doesn’t come naturally,’ said Richenda ruefully. ‘But Muller gave me a good example to follow last night.’
I nodded. ‘He is a very good man.’
‘Or does a good job of pretending to be one,’ said Richenda. ‘Being hoodwinked by my brother for years has made me a little distrustful, but you hit the nail on the head when you said how very charming he is. Everyone says it. Richard once told me he is known as the most charming man in the city. He’s never been known to raise his voice or be anything other than even-tempered. Now that isn’t natural. Even if he is a foreigner.’
‘You don’t trust him, but you want to marry him?’
‘I believe that is the normal marital state,’ answered Richenda. ‘But I would like to be totally clear he didn’t have anything to do with murdering his wife.’
‘Other than by getting her pregnant too often.’
‘Euphemia, such things are not spoken of!’
Several retorts sprung to my tongue ranging from commenting how much like my mother she sounded to that such things should jolly well be talked about, but admittedly not by us. Instead, I kept my thoughts to myself for once and only said, ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Not much,’ admitted Richenda. ‘It happened a while ago and she’s buried. We can hardly dig her up.’
‘No!’ I exclaimed in alarm.
‘I said we couldn’t,’ said Richenda reproachfully. ‘I was thinking you could ask around the servants. See if there is any gossip. There must have been something off about it for Richard to get Barker to mention it.’
‘You don’t think your brother was simply trying to cause trouble?’
‘Oh, I’m certain of it,’ responded his loyal sister. �
�But where there’s smoke.’
I sighed. ‘If it will make you happier I will ask as much as I can without arousing suspicion.’
‘Thank you,’ said Richenda. ‘And when I marry Muller I will keep you on as my companion. After all, he is in the city a great deal and this is the country.’ She said the last word with a huge sigh.
I, on the other hand, caught a glimmer of what could be a safe and quiet harbour for the years to come and an assured income for my family.
I should have known my course would never run that smoothly.
Chapter Nine
Secrets and Unexpected Guests
The next day Mrs Muller drew me to one side in the morning room and with much apologising asked me to start on the invitations. ‘I should ask Hans to get me a secretary, but most days there would be nothing for her to do.’
‘I take it you did not expect your son to restart your ball this autumn?’ I asked politely as she handed me a very long list of names and a heavy address book.
‘No, it quite took me by surprise. Since the death of my daughter-in-law Hans has not kept an active social life. In the last year he has started spending time with his old school friends and work colleagues, but he hasn’t …’ She paused delicately.
‘Shown any sign that he might be thinking of remarrying?’ I finished boldly.
Mrs Muller clutched my hands with her own. I barely held on to my bundle. ‘You understand, I am so glad. He loved her, but life must go on and he needs an heir for this fine estate.’
‘Of course. It is only natural.’
Mrs Muller continued to grasp at me. ‘I am so, so glad you understand. I would not want you to think Hans was fickle.’
‘My dear Mrs Muller, I have never thought that,’ I said, wondering why on earth it should matter to her if I did. I am, after all, hired help.
‘Excellent. Please use the morning room for your work. As you see the fire has been lit. I must now go and arrange with the cook what we need to serve and of course what we need to order.’
‘Will you be having flowers?’ I asked. ‘Autumn is not the best time for floral decorations.’
A Death in the Pavilion: A Euphemia Martins Mystery Page 5
