‘Who is old Georgie?’
‘George. Like the king!’
Klaus, still trying to remain polite for the sake of Anglo-German relationships, was becoming so flustered his English understanding was slipping.
‘God save the King!’ said Bertram with a foolish giggle. ‘‘And all that. What do you say we find somewhere to have a snifter and chew the rag?’
At this point something inside Klaus snapped. ‘I do not know you,’ he roared. ‘I never before seen you in my life have. I do not want the rag to chew or to you have a snifter!’
‘I say, old chap,’ said Bertram in a hurt voice. ‘Are you really not Herman the German? Was up at Oxford with my brother Oliver?’
Drawing himself up to his full height and speaking slowly and carefully as one might to an idiot, Klaus said with anger throbbing in his voice, ‘I am not, and I have never been Herman the German. I have never been up Oxford! If this is your idea of some foolish prank…’
Bertram began to babble apologies. He was extensive and profuse. He begged for pardon more frequently than he had claimed to know Herman. He began to offer to show Mr Ritter London. ‘Whatever you want to see, old chap. I know all the sights and I can get you into some damn fine shows and clubs. Whatever you like.’
Poor Klaus simply could not get away. His colour rose, and I began to fear he might succumb to a heart attack. In the meantime, I tuned back to Richenda in case I needed to contribute to the conversation to avoid suspicion. My fears were groundless. She related some story of meeting up with old school friends. One of them had been accompanied by her grown-up daughter. ‘Her skin! You should have seen it, Euphemia. It looked like the cloth Glanville uses to dust my shoes. No one would ever believe we were in the same year. Her with her eighteen-year-old daughter, a gaunt, simpering little thing with about as much femininity to her as a park railing. She looked every inch a grandmother and she had the audacity to say about me having the babies…’ Clearly, she needed no more from me and I did not wish to interrupt her flow.
Then Klaus bowed and snapped his heels together. Bertram managed to block his exit, but Klaus only bowed and snapped his heels together more loudly. Either Bertram would end up wrestling the man to the ground in a bear hug or he was going to have to let him to escape. I twisted and placed my hand on the back of my chair, so I could rise with speed to my feet should I need to act.
‘So anyway, I said I would meet Richard here. He is ten minutes late. Just like him,’ said Richenda. My attention snapped back to Richenda.
‘Richard is meeting you here?’ I said. I felt as if I actually had been drenched with water from the vase on our table. ‘Here? Now?’
‘Euphemia! Have you not been listening to a word I said?’
Yet another time in my life when I could not tell the truth. Honestly, my father brought me up never to lie. Since meeting the Staplefords, I have broken this rule more often than I have drunk tea and I am an Englishwoman through and through. ‘I fainted earlier,’ I said. ‘I hit my head quite hard on the ground. Perhaps it has affected my hearing.’
‘Gosh,’ said Richenda. ‘I wondered why you had me paged. I thought that German fellow was bothering you.’ She cocked her head on one side. ‘Your hair does look a little crushed on the left side.’
‘That is the side I fell on,’ I said. I half rose. I could see Klaus walking determinedly past Bertram, but at the very moment Bertram would have needed to tackle him to the ground to keep his attention, Fitzroy emerged into the lobby and made a beeline for Klaus. Bertram withdrew with a heavy heave of his chest, visible even from this range, as he sighed with relief. I sank back into my seat. Richenda was still talking. ‘Won’t your cake be getting soggy?’ I said. ‘You did ask for extra cream.’
Expressions flowed like a river in full stream across Richenda’s face. Her jaw dropped, her mouth opened, she lowered her brows and finally her eyes bulged out. Cake won out. She reached for the largest meringue, filled with cream, and wedged as much as she could into her mouth. The outer shell shattered sending shards of sugar across her bosom and a significant portion of the table. Cream bulged out of the sides of her mouth. Her eyes filled with horror. She grabbed her napkin and hid her face behind it. Chewing, gulping and a slight choking sound came from behind the linen. Bertram came and sat down beside me. ‘If I never have to do that again I certainly won’t mind,’ he said.
‘I listened to as much as I could,’ I responded, ‘and I thought you magnificent.’
Bertram smiled. ‘It was all I could do not to rush to your side when I saw you fall. I take it that was deliberate, and you are unhurt.’ His eyes searched my face for reassurance. My face met his. For a moment there was only the two of us in the entire world. Unconsciously we shifted forward in our seats, inching ourselves towards each other. His hand reached out to my arm. I believe I may have given a little sigh or some such indication of happiness.
‘Euphemia,’ said Bertram tenderly.
‘BUURRRP!’ uttered Richenda.
The magic ended as we tumbled heavily back to reality. Bertram shot back in his seat as if pulled by a thousand ropes. I felt my face flush so red I thought my hat might catch fire. I do believe this is the closest I ever came in my entire career to kissing in a public space. For all I am a woman now, my mother would have had me beaten with a broom.
Richenda emerged sheepishly from behind her napkin. ‘Good gracious,’ she said. ‘Wherever did that noise come from?’
I turned to Bertram. ‘She’s meeting Richard here. Now.’
‘The rotter’s already ten minutes late,’ said Richenda attempting to draw our attention to Richard’s shortcomings rather than her own digestive ones.
Bertram sprang to his feet. He grabbed my hand and pulled me up. For a moment I thought he would pull me into his arms. I confess, remembering our earlier lost moment, I would not have resisted. But he did not. ‘Dear God, do you realise what that means, Euphemia?’
‘That he needs a new pocket watch?’ said Richenda.
I looked into Bertram’s paled face and the realisation dawned on me. ‘He has no intention of meeting her.’
‘He bloody well better,’ said his twin. ‘I did not come all the way to the metropolis and alienate my husband only to be stood up.’
We both ignored her. ‘It’s a ruse,’ I said.
Bertram nodded.
Neither of us spoke another word, we were too busy running for a cab.
5Please consult my journal A Death in the Wedding Party
6The other Palace.
Chapter Eight
The Worst is Realised
Fortunately, there had been an influx of visitors for the afternoon and, therefore, a lot of cabs were looking for return fairs into town. Bertram and I leaped into one, bypassing the queue.
‘Oi!’ complained the cabbie.
‘Three guineas,’ yelled Bertram. ‘To get as to the Carlton Hotel in one piece as quickly as you can.’
‘Right-o, governor,’ said the cabbie and cracked his whip.
We were both thrown back against the cushions as the cab lurched into motion. Bertram put his arm around my waist to stop me falling and conveniently forgot to remove it.
‘You think he is after the children?’ I said.
‘I fear so,’ said Bertram. ‘I keep telling myself he will only hold them as ransom until the necessary legal documents are signed.’
‘But there is an easier way for him to be sure,’ I said quietly. The horses’ hooves thundered over the cobbled road. ‘No,’ I said my voice fading below the clatter. ‘He would not.’
Bertram took my face in his free hand and turned it towards him. ‘He is an evil man, Euphemia. He has got away with murder once.’
‘But babies!’ I cried. ‘How could he?’
‘He is not made like you and I,’ said Bertram, ‘But let us hope we are both wrong.’
‘We should have known,’ I said. ‘We…’
‘No,’ said Bertram cutting me
off in as firm a tone as I had ever heard him use, ‘you cannot blame yourself. There is only one villain in this piece.’
‘Amy!’ I cried with relief.
‘Termagant that she is, I doubt she could overpower whoever he has sent,’ said Bertram.
‘No,’ I said almost crying with relief, ‘She was sent back to the hotel with Rory. He only has to hold out until we get there. There is hope.’
Bertram rammed with his cane at the roof. ‘Another guinea,’ he cried. ‘If you can go faster!’ I doubted the cabbie could hear us, but his ear must have been attuned for such offers, for the carriage nearly reared. Then it rocked and swayed with such force that no conversation was possible, and I feared I would lose my breakfast. The images in the windows were no more than blurs. Bertram hung grimly onto the strap with one arm and onto me with the other. We were both bounced and jostled to the extent I feared there would not be enough witch hazel in the city to calm our bruises.
Finally, we lurched to a stop outside the Carlton. Bertram flung open the door and kicked down the step. He jumped out and held out his hand to me. I took it and wobbled. I more fell than exited the carriage, but I landed on my feet. ‘Doorman will pay,’ yelled Bertram and sprinted up the steps still holding my hand.
We heard the cabbie cry out behind us. Neither of us paid him any heed. We pelted across the lobby, causing dowagers to drop their pince-nez in their laps and snatch up their little dogs in protest. Bellboys and footmen weaved out of our way. Onward Bertram and I ran. I had my skirts in one hand and my ankles felt a breeze upon them. I caught sight of more than one monocle falling from its moorings, and at least one child cried something inappropriate at us as we dashed past, only for their governess to box their ears. We arrived at the lift and demanded our floor.
Then we had to stand still as it rose up. Both of us leant heavily against the walls. My breath laboured. My heart grew sore enough I thought it might burst. I glanced at Bertram. His face had greyed, but he shook his head at my look of concern. Neither of us spoke. We knew that once the elevator stopped we would be sprinting again.
It stopped. Leaving the un-tipped bellboy with nothing more than disappointment, we launched ourselves towards the Stapleford suite. Bertram stopped at the door. He rummaged frantically in his trouser pockets ‘Do you have your key?’ he panted. ‘Rory has mine.’
I didn’t bother answering. I had seen what I feared most. I pushed lightly against the door and it swung open. The lock had been broken. Bertram gasped in horror. ‘No,’ he whispered, and in that whisper was the echo of a thousand nightmares come to pass.
I stepped forward, but he caught me. ‘Let me go first,’ he said. ‘We do not know what is to be found.’ I opened my mouth to protest, but Bertram spoke first. ‘There is no sound of conflict, Euphemia. Whatever has happened has happened.’
I let him go. I sank down into a heap on the polished marble floor, tears streaming down my face, and prayed and prayed and prayed.
What felt like an eon later, I felt Bertram’s hand under my arm. How I knew it was him I could not say, but I knew before I looked. ‘It is not the worst,’ he said. ‘It is bad, but it is not the worst.’
Inside the suite a sorry scene met my eyes. Furniture lay overturned. Broken glass and shattered crockery littered the fine carpet. One small settle had been righted. On it lay Rory. Blood covered his shirt. The skin around his eyes had swollen so much they were no longer visible. ‘It’s his nose,’ said Bertram. ‘I think it’s broken. He’s breathing. I found him sprawled on the ground. He gave them a good fight.’
‘Where are the children?’ I asked.
‘Not here,’ said Bertram. ‘That’s what I meant when I said it’s not the worst. They’ve taken them.’
‘But…’
‘And they’ve taken Merry. Do you see what that means?’
I shook my head. I could barely take in what was happening. I knew Richard to be vile beyond measure, but I had never dreamed he would hurt infants.
Bertram took me by the shoulders and gave me a little shake. ‘Euphemia. Euphemia. Listen. It means they needed someone to look after the children. They would hardly take Merry with them if they were planning the worst. You can bet that Merry did not make it easy for them. You know what a firecracker she is.’
I gave a slight smile. ‘She would have fought them tooth and nail.’
‘Exactly,’ said Bertram. ‘It would have been far easier for them to knock her out and leave her behind than to get her out of the hotel.’
‘But how did they do that?’ I protested. ‘How?’
‘That’s what I am off to discover,’ said Bertram. ‘It might have been a service lift, or maybe they held a knife to her, under a coat or something, so she wouldn’t protest.’ He ignored my cry of horror. ‘Either way, there has to be a trail. I have to go now. If there is any chance of catching them I will leave a message with reception to call you.’
‘I will come with you,’ I said.
‘You need to look after him,’ said Bertram, indicating Rory. ‘We cannot leave him. He may need medical attention.’
‘I’ll call reception. They can send someone,’ I said.
‘For now, Euphemia, it may be best to keep this between us.’ He looked into my eyes and I saw a thousand fears. I nodded.
‘Come back to me,’ I said and surprised him with a quick kiss. He responded with passion, then tore himself away, leaving me with the unconscious Rory.
I checked again that Rory was still breathing. Then I went to the bathroom and wet a small towel. I came back into the room and placed it across his forehead. I realised I needed another towel to clean up the worst of the blood on his face and I repeated the procedure. I moved slowly, as if I was struggling through waist-high mud. Everything was an effort and took so long it felt as if time had begun to flow backward. I dabbed ineffectively at the blood on Rory’s face. Eventually I thought to get a basin of hot water and continued wiping gently around his mouth and nose. I opened his sodden shirt and saw the blood had gone through to his vest. I pulled at the shirt sleeves, but I could not remove any clothing while he lay on his back. He was too heavy to move. As I dabbed the towel around his nose he gave a little moan. The sound reassured me of life, but I wondered if it really was broken. I ran my finger lightly down it and found an unnatural bump. I had the thought of searching through Glanville and Merry’s possessions. In Glanville’s I found some smelling salts and in Merry’s some bandages. I thought of calling down to reception for a doctor, but Bertram had yet to return. It could be that I would imperil the children further if I drew attention to the scene. We were yet to hear of any ransom demand.
Taking a deep breath, I put my fingers along the sides of Rory’s nose and then, on a count of three, I straightened it. I did not need to use the smelling salts.
Rory’s eyes flew open and he sat up sharply, swinging out with his left fist. I ducked.
‘It’s only me,’ I said. ‘Your nose was crooked. I straightened it.’
Rory made a strange noise between a gurgle and a growl and flopped back against the cushions. ‘Euphemia,’ he said. His voice sounded strange. I offered the bandage to him. He put up a hand to his face and felt his nose. He winced. ‘Give me a hand up,’ he said. I did my best, but I could barely steady him as he made his way to the bathroom. He peered through his swollen eyes at his reflection for a moment. Then he tore his shirt and dropped it on the floor. He did likewise with his vest. ‘At least I wasn’t wearing my jacket,’ he said. He looked down at his trousers and swore when he saw the speckles of blood on them. He peered at himself in the mirror once more.
‘I take it you and the cavalry came back just in time,’ he said.
‘No,’ I replied.
Rory swayed and gripped the edge of the wash basin to steady himself. ‘You mean the children are…’ I watched the colour drain from his face.
‘Are gone,’ I said. ‘As is Merry. We are expecting a ransom demand.’
‘How l
ong?’
‘I don’t know. We came back as soon as we realised Richard had drawn Richenda away. You were unconscious when we found you. Bertram put you on the settle before he ran off to see if he can trace their escape route.’
‘Have the police been called?’
‘No,’ I said. ‘Richenda does not even know yet. I believe she is still at the Crystal Palace tea shop eating cake.’ My voice broke on the last two words and tears ran silently down my face. ‘Should I send her a telegram? It seems so terrible she does not know what has happened.’
Rory suddenly hunched over the basin and vomited. I rubbed his back, but an impatient gesture indicated I should leave him. I pulled the door to but did not close it. I knew it was not uncommon for sufferers of concussion to vomit and then pass out, subsequently choking on their own bile. I listened to hear if he fell, but I only heard repeated retching. It went on for some time. I sat down and watched the door. I told myself the longer Bertram took to return, the greater the chance of him tracing the kidnappers. An evil little voice at the back of my head whispered that it also meant he too might be lying hurt somewhere, or even dead. I sniffed but was determined not to give in to emotion. Once Rory had finished in the bathroom I would need to watch him and then I would need to deal with whatever news Bertram brought back. It struck me then that there was no sign of Glanville. Had Hans’ curse of accidentally hiring nefarious servants struck again? Could she have aided the kidnappers? If not, where was she? Surely, they had no use for a lady’s maid? Could she be, even now, en route to fetch Richenda or even the police?
A Death at Crystal Palace Page 9
