A Death in the Pavilion: A Euphemia Martins Mystery

by Caroline Dunford

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, shut up and let me explain.’

  ‘Gladly.’ Bertram scowled fiercely.

  ‘Muller asked me to escape from the party for a little while as his mother wanted to include me in the welcome line-up.’

  ‘Dash it, Euphemia, it’s not done to steal a bridegroom from my sister. Even if she is repulsive at times.’

  ‘Stop dashing me and listen. Neither Muller or I have any designs on the other. We both know Mrs Muller’s intentions and didn’t want her to cause an embarrassing scene.’

  ‘So you and Muller are in each other’s confidence?’ Bertram said this in a more puzzled than angry tone.

  ‘To some extent,’ I admitted, ‘but not in any way that engages our affections. If anything I’ve been trying to help him and your sister get together.’

  ‘Very good of you, I’m sure. Do you smell something funny?’

  ‘There’s nothing funny about it. It’s all been totally above board,’ I said. ‘Richenda has admitted to me she wants to marry Muller. She knows he doesn’t love her, but she thinks they would work well together.’

  ‘Got to be better than her living with Richard. My stepbrother is a cad.’

  ‘Gosh, I think maybe the encounter took more out of me than I thought. I need to sit down.’ I slid down the wall. Bertram did the same so he could continue talking to me on my level.

  ‘Encounter?’

  ‘I came up here to get out of the way. It was dark and I was walking very quickly. I ran into someone.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I don’t know. Someone short, wearing trousers. A man, I suppose. Goodness, do you think those oysters at dinner were fresh? I’m feeling a little unwell.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Bertram. ‘Maybe we should stay up here till we feel better. Don’t want to spoil the party.’

  ‘Exactly,’ I said, resting my head on his shoulder.

  ‘So who did this man turn out to be?’

  ‘No idea. He ran off down the corridor. I came to fetch you. I didn’t want to make a fuss. It wasn’t like that night I ran into Mrs Wilson’s attacker.’ I shivered.

  ‘No, he gave you concussion.’

  ‘Not a polite thing to do,’ I agreed.

  Bertram rubbed his eyes and shook his head. ‘Where was this man?’

  ‘Over there!’ I pointed. It seemed difficult to get my arm steady. As I reached out a waving finger one of the gas lamps guttered and went out.

  ‘Good god, Euphemia,’ said Bertram. ‘Get up! Get up!’

  ‘I’m quite comfortable here.’

  Bertram gave up pulling at my arm and got to his feet. He staggered from one foot to the other.

  ‘Mrs Muller heard you drinking,’ I said. ‘Looks like you had a little too much.’

  Bertram ignored me and lurched over to the nearest door. He threw it open and headed in. Moments later I heard the window being thrown up.

  ‘Muller does have remarkably comfortable walls,’ I said. My eyes were closing. I felt myself drifting peacefully on a quiet sea when a splash of cold water hit me in the face. Bertram stood above me with a tooth mug. ‘Come on,’ he said. He was no longer staggering. He pulled me to my feet. I didn’t remember quite how they worked so he dragged me into Richenda’s room. ‘She looks like a punnet of cherries,’ I said. Bertram shoved my head out the window.

  Several lungfuls of air later I vomited down the side of Muller’s house. ‘Stay there,’ said Bertram. ‘Don’t fall out.’ He ran out of the room. I leaked a more of what had been an excellent dinner down the wall. Around me I heard the sound of windows being thrown open. Another spasm overcame me and I gave my whole attention to emptying the rest of my stomach out of the window.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Murderous Intent

  It seemed that I would be sick for ever, but eventually my stomach stopped heaving. Sweat beaded my forehead and my hair hung loose around my face. Bertram pulled me back into the room and gently wiped my face with a damp cloth. ‘My poor Euphemia,’ he said.

  ‘Oysters,’ I said apologetically.

  ‘No,’ said Bertram, ‘gas. Your intruder turned down the lamps so low they were leaking poisonous fumes.’

  I lent back, feeling terrible. ‘What have I done this time?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Bertram. ‘Whoever it was, I think he was after Richenda. We’re in her room.’

  And on cue, Richenda leaned over and vomited onto the carpet.

  Bertram helped me up. ‘I think we’ll get a maid to deal with that.’

  The hall outside was now completely dark. I shivered with fear. ‘No other way,’ said Bertram. ‘Until the gas clears I daren’t turn on a lamp. I’ve turned them all off and the window in your room is wide open. Yours is furthest away from the leaking lamp, so you should be all right.’

  ‘That one. It was outside Richenda’s door?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Bertram, laying me down on a chaise longue by the window in my room. ‘You should be fine. I’ll summon the doctor in case.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘I’ll say one of the new maids turned the lamps down dangerously low.’

  ‘But the intruder might still be here.’

  ‘He almost certainly is,’ said Bertram. ‘I’ll tell Muller the truth and he can decide what to do. In the meantime I’ll get maids to attend to both you and my sister. You won’t be alone for a moment.’ He rang the bell.

  ‘But Richenda is,’ I protested.

  ‘I’ve got the doors open,’ said Bertram. ‘I can see you both.’

  And with this reassurance I drifted off towards sleep. A cold breeze blew through the window on to my face. The scent from the garden at another time I would have found heavenly. Mrs Muller really had created a wonderful garden. I wondered why this bothered me so much, but before I could answer myself I had slipped into sleep.

  As a first ball I can’t say I did very much dancing. I became dimly aware of figures going in and out of my room. The doctor cursed the gas lamps and all servants. Bertram hovered by my side for a long time. Then Muller replaced him. He bent down to whisper to me. ‘I had to assure myself you were safe. Stapleford will stay with you. Don’t worry, I have everything under control. Rest now.’ I sighed and decided to trust him. He really was such a charming man. My dreams were confused. Hollyhocks chased gas lamps in flat caps through a jungle. At the heart of the jungle roared a lion. It had the face of Richard Stapleford.

  The next morning a maid came to help me wash and dress. I went down to breakfast to find a council of war awaiting me and at the centre of the breakfast table sat none other than Richard Stapleford, master of Stapleford Hall and my long-term adversary. As I entered he was indeed mid-roar.

  ‘You!’ I said as dramatically as any bad actress. Richard barely glanced at me.

  Muller and Bertram were also present. There was no sign of Mrs Muller. Muller got up to pull out a chair for me. ‘My mother sends her apologies,’ he said. ‘She is very distressed by what has happened and feels unable to join us.’

  ‘I think that’s for the best,’ said Richard.

  Muller ignored him. He set my chair for me. ‘The doctor assures me you have taken no lasting ill, Miss St John. Bertram, ring for some fresh tea!’

  ‘Damn the tea,’ said Richard. He speared a rasher of bacon on his plate with unnecessary force. All three gentlemen had helped themselves to the breakfast buffet. Obviously, it was assumed that as a weak and frail female I would not be wanting more than tea this morning. I hated to admit it, but they were right.

  ‘How is Richenda?’ I asked. ‘Why is he here?’

  ‘Richenda is also recovering,’ said Muller. ‘Sir Richard gate-crashed our ball to ask his sister to return home.’

  ‘It was you,’ I said accusingly. ‘You were the man at the window.’

  ‘What is the wench talking about?’ spat Richard. ‘The gas has addled what wits she had.’

  ‘I must ask you to keep a civil tongue in your head, sir,
’ said Muller. ‘Miss St John is an invited guest in my house. You are not.’

  ‘Got you too, has she?’ said the detestable Richard. ‘Don’t know how she does it!’

  Muller scrapped back his chair and stood. ‘Now then, old man,’ said Bertram uneasily.

  ‘Isn’t the most important thing that we work out who is trying to murder Richenda?’ I interjected.

  ‘What do you mean,’ bellowed Richard.

  ‘Only that she was meant to die last night.’

  The room went very quiet. Finally Richard spoke, ‘I swear if this is one your tricks, wench, I will …’

  ‘Enough,’ roared Muller. We all started. Everyone knew Muller never raised his voice. He was famous for it.

  ‘Right, now I finally have your attention, I must tell you I agree with Miss St John. I believe Richenda’s life has been in jeopardy and continues to be so.’

  ‘But who would harm me sister?’ asked Richard, in more of a bleating than an angry tone.

  ‘You,’ said Bertram. ‘On her death her share of our father’s estate reverts to you.’

  ‘I don’t need the money,’ snapped Richard.

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ said Muller more quietly, ‘but you certainly want her shares.’ He sat down again.

  ‘So do you,’ snapped Richard.

  ‘But I would not get them if she died,’ said Muller.

  ‘I think perhaps you had better leave, Euphemia,’ said Bertram. ‘You should leave us to work this out.’

  ‘You mean leave the men to sort it out?’ I said. ‘I don’t think so. While Richenda remains in bed I will be her representative.’

  ‘I can represent my own damned sister,’ said Richard.

  ‘But that’s exactly the point,’ said Muller. ‘You can’t. Your motives are suspect.’

  ‘Did you bring Barker with you?’ I asked.

  ‘What’s my factor got to do with it?’

  ‘You sent him here to threaten me to try and force Richenda to go back to Stapleford Hall.’

  ‘I did no such thing,’ said Richard. ‘I told the damn man to present my compliments and explain I wanted Richenda home.’

  ‘That isn’t what he did,’ I said. ‘And he spread the most scurrilous rumours about Mr Muller.’

  ‘He did?’ said Muller startled. He frowned. ‘It was after this that I found you searching my attic.’

  ‘The pigeon disturbed Richenda,’ I said.

  ‘And did she think?’ asked Muller horrified.

  ‘No, I’m sure she didn’t,’ I answered quickly. ‘She has always believed in you.’

  ‘As I suppose you have too,’ said Richard softly.

  I turned to face him straight on. ‘What is that meant to mean?’

  ‘Only that we might all be overlooking the one person you would genuinely benefit from Richenda’s death.’

  ‘Who?’ I asked.

  ‘You!’ said Richard, pointing an eggy knife at me in a threatening manner. ‘You’ve already got Muller half under your spell. I reckon you thought you’d have a fine life as Mrs Hans Muller!’

  Neither Bertram nor Muller sprang immediately to my defence. I gave them both a hard look. Bertram dropped his gaze and Muller half shrugged an apology.

  ‘You’ve made a career out of convincing respectable men you are better than you are,’ continued Richard. ‘You are a viper in any household.’

  Bertram sat up straighter at that. ‘Oh, I say, that’s not on!’

  ‘I must request you again to keep a civil tongue when you address my guest in my house,’ said Muller firmly.

  ‘Listen to you both,’ exclaimed Richard. ‘She’s got you both wrapped around her little finger.’

  ‘Entertaining as your suspicions may be,’ I said reverting to my natural accent, my voice sharp as glass, ‘they are merely a diversion from the real issue. It seems unlikely that even a weak-witted female would gas herself rather than her victim. Or manage to push Richenda into poison ivy while being with witnesses in the house.’

  ‘You could have paid someone to do it,’ snapped Richard.

  ‘I am not the one with hired help on hand,’ I replied.

  ‘The poison ivy couldn’t have killed her,’ said Bertram, ‘could it?’

  ‘Probably not,’ I said. ‘The doctor did say there was always the danger of infection if a patient scratched the scabs.’

  ‘Or of a worse reaction,’ added Muller. ‘I don’t think whoever arranged for her to fall would have minded if she had died, but at the time I do not believe it was the main motive.’

  ‘They wanted her not to go to the ball,’ I said. Muller paled.

  ‘You had a new dress,’ he said.

  ‘Your mother ordered it for me. I didn’t know anything about it until last night.’ I paused. ‘She sent Richenda to fetch some blooms, but she claimed she had to give Richenda directions because she couldn’t remember the name. But she designed the gardens. You said they were her life’s work.’

  ‘They are,’ answered Muller, very quietly.

  ‘Bennie has been with you a long time?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. I know. He’s not tall.’

  ‘What has that got to do with anything?’ snapped Richard.

  But a deeper revelation had broken in on me. I spoke without thinking who was present. ‘The chimney,’ I said, ‘she would have heard every word when I told Richenda that Lucy had offered to sell us information about the death of the late Mrs Muller.’

  ‘Lucy said what?’ gasped Muller.

  ‘She said your valet had told her something.’’

  ‘What?’ pressed Muller.

  ‘I have no idea. She died before she could tell me.’

  ‘The maid by the driveway?’ said Bertram. ‘Are you suggesting that …’

  ‘Can a poisoning be made to look like a fit?’

  ‘No.’ Muller was shaking his head. ‘If she was killed it would mean …’

  ‘That there was a danger she knew something about the late Mrs Muller’s death.’

  Hans Muller sat there, ashen-faced, as if his world had fallen in around him.

  ‘You fiend!’ cried Bertram leaping to his feet. ‘You lady-murderer … I mean, murderer of ladies … I mean – Fiend!’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Final Farewells

  ‘She can’t have known,’ muttered Muller. He looked at me in appeal. ‘He must have done it for her. Done what he thought she wanted.’

  ‘Fiend!’ cried Bertram again. Richard sat between the two men. ‘Mad house,’ he grunted. ‘Bloody mad house.’ He applied himself to his sausages and bacon once more.

  I too rose, a little unsteadily. ‘You have it wrong, Bertram,’ I said and I could hear my voice shaking. ‘Mr Muller is entirely innocent. If anyone here is at fault it is me.’

  ‘No,’ cried Muller. ‘None of this is your fault.’

  ‘But if I hadn’t come here,’ I begun.

  ‘Told you it would be this wretched wench’s fault,’ said Richard as he decapitated a boiled egg. ‘Now, won’t you all sit down and explain to me exactly what Euphemia has done.’

  Bertram sank slowly back into his seat, an expression of total bemusement on his face.

  ‘You will have to excuse me one moment,’ said Muller tightly, ‘there is something I must check on.’

  ‘I will go with you,’ I said. Muller made as if to protest, but I cut him off. ‘This is not something for you to do alone.’

  ‘Should I telephone to the police?’ asked Bertram, still confused but trying to join in.

  ‘I suspect, unfortunately, that will not be necessary,’ I said.

  Further understanding dawned in Muller’s eyes. Then he ran from the room. I followed as fast as my skirts would let me.

  Even so, I met him on the landing as he closed his mother’s door behind him. He clutched a note in his hand. He looked stunned.

  ‘I am so sorry,’ I said.

  ‘Did you know that she would do this?’ he asked in a l
ow voice.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘The pieces only came together when we were talking now. Then I remembered you had said she had declined to come down to breakfast. She knew we would work it out. She’s gone, isn’t she?’

  Muller nodded. Then he took my wrist. His fingers were gentle but unyielding. ‘Come with me. I must talk to you.’ He pulled me along the landing and into his bedroom. He let me go as soon as we were inside, but he shut and locked the door. My heart began to beat a little faster. After all I had no proof my theories were right. In the centre of the room stood an enormous four poster bed, hung with green curtains. Muller dropped the door key in his waistcoat pocket and I began to feel even more uneasy.

  ‘Can I see the letter?’ I asked.

  Muller shook his head, but held it out to me. ‘It won’t help you. She wrote in German.’ I took it. He told the truth. None of the words held any meaning for me. Muller sank down on the edge of his bed. ‘I think you had better tell me what you think is going on,’ he said in a level voice.

  ‘And if I don’t?’ I said.

  ‘We will sit here a long time.’

  ‘And if I do?’

  ‘Then we can decide what to do.’

  I hesitated.

  ‘I am not going to hurt you, Euphemia, but I would very much prefer it if you would piece this puzzle together for me.’

  ‘I can assume Mrs Muller is dead?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Does it matter then?’ I asked. ‘She’s gone. Once Bennie is apprehended it will all be over.’

  ‘My mother and her gardener were very close. I doubt he will survive her.’

  ‘Oh my God, you mean he too would take his own life? Then we must go to him. Prevent him.’

  ‘No,’ said Muller firmly. ‘If he has chosen to take the gentleman’s way out then that is for the best.’

  ‘You would sit here while he might be dying?’ I asked.

  Muller nodded. ‘Tell me what you think happened, Euphemia. I am driving myself mad with my thoughts.’

  ‘I have no proof,’ I said.

  ‘Tell me!’ shouted Muller.

  I backed up against the door. ‘It’s every bit as bad as you fear,’ I said quietly. ‘You told me your mother loved her garden, but you didn’t disagree when I said she would rather have grandchildren. It’s a family obsession to continue the line.’