A Death for a Cause

by Caroline Dunford

  Stone reappeared to pour wine. Hans nodded at the bottle and turned to his wife, ‘As you were saying, Richenda, I think life in the country …’

  ‘Pas deviant, the servants!’ exclaimed Richenda.

  ‘My dear, we are hardly discussing a grand family secret.’ Hans turned his attention to me. ‘Euphemia, Richenda and I have decided that after all your recent adventures, and Richenda’s lack of adventure, it would do the two of you a great deal of good to spend a few days in town. Richenda has never really had the experience of sampling London life and I find myself interested to know if it is something she would enjoy.’

  ‘Hans is talking of buying a London house!’ exclaimed Richenda.

  Her husband flicked an annoyed gaze in her direction. ‘It is far from decided,’ he said levelly. ‘Whatever happens, as far as I am concerned this is the family home and where we shall be spending the majority of our time. The estate needs my attention.’

  ‘You have a factor,’ said Richenda.

  ‘And excellent though he is,’ countered Hans, ‘a country estate thrives best with the family in residence.’ His tone was not unfriendly, but it was final.

  Richenda bridled, took a hearty bite out of bread roll, and chewed aggressively. Hans ignored her and sipped at his wine. I began to wonder how I could feign some kind of mild illness.

  Then Richenda swallowed. She gave Hans a blinding smile. I think like me, he also assumed this was indigestion, because neither of us were prepared for the tone and words she poured like syrup across the room. ‘Of course, I perfectly understand. Whatever you wish, Hans. As your wife I will always support you.’

  ‘And I you, my dear,’ said Hans. A little sweat had formed across his upper lip.

  ‘Then you will be delighted to learn Euphemia and I are indeed planning a London trip. I am writing to my chosen hotel to confirm dates this evening.’

  ‘That is excellent,’ said Hans, warily. ‘May I ask when you plan to depart?’

  ‘It is all almost settled,’ said Richenda. ‘Do not worry. I have thought it all through and we will not need to drag you from office. Euphemia and I can manage perfectly well alone.’

  One of Hans’s eyebrows rose. ‘You do not wish me to escort you in town?’

  ‘Oh we will be perfectly fine,’ said Richenda airily. ‘I am a married woman and Euphemia is my companion. There is no necessity for you to take time away from your office or whomever else – I mean whatever else keeps you in town.’

  I shot upright. ‘Excuse me, I feel unwell,’ I said and fled the room. I felt Hans’s eyes on my back and I knew he felt betrayed, but there was no way I was staying to be an awkward third in the conversation Richenda was brewing.

  8 I had already made a friend of one butler. Two would be going beyond folly.

  9 In Richenda’s case this is usually cake.

  Chapter Three

  Dark hints of what is to come abound, but I miss them all

  ‘Do you think Merry will be able to cope with Amy?’ asked Richenda for only the fiftieth time since we boarded the train.

  ‘I think she will be fine, but if there are any problems you left very clear instructions that you were to be sent a telegram care of the hotel. Why, we can be back at her side within a day! The speed of modern methods of communication is quite breathtaking.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Richenda, pressing her face too close to the glass, ‘did you remember to tell cook to put the rhubarb cordial in the picnic hamper?’

  ‘Yes, but I hardly see why we needed the hamper.’

  ‘What if the train broke down?’ asked Richenda. ‘You may be embracing all the advancements of the modern age, but I prefer to trust my travelling to a nice quadruped with sturdy shoes.’

  ‘We will be there in a mere several hours. Railway delays are almost so rare as to be unheard of.’

  ‘Then you had better get the porter to get the hamper down. I don’t want it to spoil.’’

  ‘But what if we break down?’ I asked archly.

  ‘Get the porter, Euphemia,’ said Richenda darkly. Richenda did not appreciate merriment where her food was concerned, but at least I had diverted her away from thinking about Amy. While I was as yet unable to fathom what was going on between Hans and Richenda, and I really did not want to know, in so much as I only wanted information to stay away from dangerous conversations and situations, I did believe a few days away from the never sleeping Amy and the confines of the Muller Estate would be good for Richenda. I pushed to the back of my mind my fear that she had some nightmarish plan of confronting Hans in London with a view to exposing his mistress.

  Richenda’s father had received his minor title for making his money in trade, namely arms manufacturing and running a small bank. As such Richenda had pretensions to ‘society’, and since marrying Hans, and coming into her own inheritance, access to a great deal of money – at least by my standards. She did not, sadly, have the training or temperament to either cope with her current position nor the ability to ascend the slippery social ladder.

  I could help her, of course. My mother’s own training as the daughter of an Earl had more than equipped her to train me in the ways of society I was forever barred from attending. (My mother eloping with the curate, who was to become my father, had upset everyone a great deal. By which I mean she had provided goodly entertainment in smoking rooms and drawing rooms up and down the land to the extent that her mother had banned her name from every being mentioned again in her house. Fortunately she was only a girl and there were brothers to carry on the family name.) But there was only so far Richenda could be helped. She was stubborn and headstrong and although her marriage had brought out the very best in her and I knew her of good heart, I also knew that there was no way on God’s green earth that she would ever be able to hold her own in a duchess’ drawing room. If she had been born into a position of greatness, she would have been thought eccentric, and if noble and rich enough, ‘a great character’. As the daughter of a banker and married to man who made his living ‘working’ in the city – and who did not even own his bank, Richenda and her manners would see her snubbed and excluded from the society she so longed to join.

  Personally, I found it most confusing. I have always found the most congenial people work below stairs, although at the Muller Estate, where I arrived as a companion, I have never mixed socially with the servants below stairs. In fact, I reflected as the porter lugged down our very large hamper, and fields of fluffy sheep flew by, in some ways I was as much a fish out of water as Richenda. I tried to think of a cheering topic of conversation, but there was no need. Cook had included a large Victoria sponge, pre-sliced, and Richenda had already descended upon it, an expression of glee on her face and all difficult matters clearly dismissed from her mind. If only I could do the same.

  The train station was loud, crowded and dirty. I had barely descended from the train and was in the midst of arranging a porter, when a smart young man in a grey, well-pressed chauffeur’s uniform appeared. ‘Miss Euphemia? Mrs Muller? Mr Muller sent me with a car for you to take you to the hotel.’ He flipped a coin at the porter and quietly bade him to ‘follow us, mate’, before escorting us to the waiting the car. Richenda went forward to take his arm, but I nipped her ample waist. ‘Not done,’ I whispered in her ear. Her eyes went wide. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered back unexpectedly. I read in her face an uncertainty I had not seen before. Perhaps it would not be so hard to turn her from her London course and send us both back to the country. There I could show her how to be lady of the manor holding balls, dinner parties and all manner of entertainments that would feed her desire to feel important. At home she could be Queen of all she surveyed. In London, I feared she would be as little appreciated by society as the lingering smell of the stables that all too often hung about her.

  The hotel was charming. The doorman looked smart enough to wait on the King himself. The railings beside the steps which led to the grand wooden doors were brightly polished, and the steps sligh
tly more shiny than it is meant possible for stone to be. Bellboys took our luggage without being asked and loaded it onto brass trolleys. Doors were opened for us. It was made evident that we were to be allowed to breathe for ourselves, but not much more. At the desk the clerk had already been tipped as to who we were by the chauffeur, but Richenda then embarked on telling the bewildered clerk about her special needs. I cut her short. ‘It would be easier, do you not think, Mrs Muller, to have the manager come to our suite?’ I tried to say it as kindly as I could and the clerk jumped on the idea with alacrity. Richenda managed to assent, perhaps a touch too regally, but she exited the conversation with grace. However, I noticed the faint blush on her cheeks. It had not occurred to me that she would never have stayed in a hotel before.

  Once the bell hops had deposited our luggage and promised that maids would attend us shortly to see to our unpacking, the door closed behind us, Richenda threw herself, still hatted, down into a chair. ‘Oh good heavens, Euphemia,’ she said, ‘you’re going to have to tell me how to go on. This is all much more difficult than I imagined. And it is only a wretched hotel.’

  I saw her eyes were shining with unshed tears. ‘Let me order us some tea, while you take off your hat and change,’ I suggested.

  ‘To think I almost took the chauffeur’s arm,’ sighed Richenda, in the manner of a Duchess who has almost inadvertently mistaken Indian for China tea. ‘But tomorrow, you’ll see, Euphemia, it will all be different. It is going to be a great day.’

  ‘What’s tomorrow?’ I asked, but Richenda would only answer with a sly smile. My imagination conjured up the most disturbing of possibilities, but nothing could have prepared me for what was to happen.

  Chapter Four

  Unsightly apparel and brisk exercise lead us into danger

  Breakfast the next morning was a splendid affair. I could almost imagine myself on one of my adventures with Bertram and Rory. Although both of them were thoroughly versed in the ways of the metropolis. ‘It seems inconsistent,’ I remarked to Richenda, ‘that men are expected to be well-versed in the ways of the world from their first entry into manhood, while young women are kept at home and allowed no such worldly education.’ As I’d hoped, my comment was greeted with a broad smile. Richenda had kept to our private suite for the rest of day on our arrival, even having our dinner sent up. She had seemed preoccupied and even forlorn, so I was glad to see her brightening. We were only in London for three days, and lovely though the hotel was, it seemed a great shame to spend all our time in it. We had no society invitations with which to fill our time, despite Richenda ringing down to the desk on the hour, every hour, yesterday. However, I did believe that it was possible to do some genteel sightseeing in this modern age. Certainly we could not join the ranks of the penny-spending day trippers, but a word with the concierge had brought me quickly up to speed with expeditions that would not be considered overly vulgar.

  I had read about the reorganisation of London Zoological Gardens and Dr Mitchell’s radical new concept that the animals could survive outside buildings and in open enclosures. It sounded much nicer for the animals and I was keen to see several exotic species that the Zoological Gardens maintained. I thought that in our less expensive dresses it might pass as a suitable entertainment. And of course, there were many, many theatres, some of which were visited by the cream of society. All this along with indulging in some shopping at the very best shops and taking tea in London’s exquisitely elegant tearooms promised to make this a most jolly visit.10

  ‘Thank you for wearing the clothes I had made up for you,’ said Richenda through a mouthful of hot smoked salmon. ‘I know you are not completely convinced these are your colours, but they are much better than that awful dress you wore at Hans’s ball. (The dress had been a gift and, though I say so myself, had brought out the very best of my features.)

  ‘I quite see that,’ I said equitably. Richenda has been convinced for some time now I should dress in green and purple and often buys me clothing in these colours. They make me resemble a mouldy cabbage, but I know that to some people’s eyes I am the prettier of the two of us and it is natural for a married woman to take steps to prevent her husband noticing the charms of any of the women in her household.11 I had been a little surprised to see that Richenda had again set her heart on my wearing this outfit in London, but looking like decaying vegetation, I told myself, was a small price to pay for the generosity of Richenda allowing me to accompany her to the capital. After all, I was paid an excellent wage and yet the Mullers seemed determined that I should never have cause to spend a penny of it.

  ‘I have had some thoughts of what we might do today,’ I began cautiously.

  ‘No need,’ said Richenda, ‘we are going to meet up with some friends of mine this morning. All arranged.’

  ‘How nice!’ I said a little bewildered. ‘Have I had the honour of meeting them before?’

  Richenda, her mouth full of egg, shook her head. ‘No,’ she said thickly, ‘but you should like them. They are like you. Intelligent.’ She swallowed her mouthful and looked down at her plate. ‘You’ll need good walking boots,’ she murmured.

  ‘Walking boots?’ I repeated.

  Richenda nodded again and rose quickly from the table, leaving her toast and marmalade untouched. ‘Be ready in half an hour,’ she commanded. I regarded the untouched food with astonishment. Richenda most obviously had a plan and equally obviously it was something she felt I might disapprove of. I swallowed the last of my morning tea and tried to push down my concern at the same time. I went to put on my boots, but I felt decidedly queasy.

  Richenda gave me no time for questions when we met, but ushered me quickly into the elevator where I could hardly speak before the bellboy. Once we were in the lobby she set a cracking pace out through the doors and along the road. For a woman who as far as I knew had never visited the metropolis before (except on her charity work which would have been in quite a different district), and who abhorred exercise, her actions were inexplicable. My foreboding grew. I knew Hans trusted me to keep Richenda out of trouble. I was about to catch her elbow and demand what was going on, when a most unusual sight caught my eye. As we rounded the corner into the next street, a woman in her middle years was just disappearing around the edge of the next junction. She was suitably dressed for a mature matron, in a gown whose creator had nodded to modern fashions, but had toned them down in a way that suggested both wealth and class. What was startling about the dress was that it was fashioned in purple and green with a white trim. By now I was used to Richenda’s unorthodox12 colour scheme, but that someone else should share her dubious fashion sense seemed remarkable. I shook my head. The sun was dim this morning and I decided I must have been mistaken.

  As we too took the street the matron had taken I caught sight of yet another woman dressed in similar colours, then another wearing a sash of the same. ‘Goodness me!’ I cried to Richenda, ‘we positively cannot …’

  And then on the wind snatches of a song of hope awakening, sung in the high cadence of unified female voices, reached me.

  ‘Richenda,’ I blurted out, ‘we cannot possibly join a suffragette march!’

  ‘Just watch me!’ answered my infuriating employer, and turned a final corner. In front of us the street was filled with a column of women, five wide, some holding banners, all of them marking time and singing. If I had not been so fearful of what would happen next I would have been impressed.

  Then Richenda did what I had feared the most and disappeared into the throng. My heart began to race. I agreed with much of what the suffragettes stood for, but unlike Richenda I read the daily papers. I was only too aware that, desperate and frustrated when Prime Minister Asquith had yet again torpedoed the bill for the enfranchisement of women in November 1911, some suffragettes had begun a co-ordinated series of violent attacks. It had begun with a window-smashing campaign and moved on to the destruction of telephone boxes, telephone exchanges, railway carriages, and even churches. The a
cknowledged head of the movement, Emmeline Pankhurst, had spoken out against such violence, but her daughters, in particular Christabel, appeared to be embracing it.

  And the establishment had responded. The papers had carried pictures of women being manhandled by police, of women being attacked by police, and stories of the harm done by force-feeding in prisons abounded. Women of all ranks had joined the suffragette movement, and the police had shown no regard for status when capturing and imprisoning campaigners.

  This might be the most peaceful of protest marches, but there was no guarantee that there were not more violent suffragettes waiting within the ranks of women, willing to do violence to make their voices heard. In fact Richenda was hardly the most peaceable of souls herself. I searched my memory to recall if Richenda had taken with her a reticule large enough to conceal a brick.

  I was rather afraid she had.

  I looked at the throng of women before me, cursing my stupidity at not realising why Richenda had dressed me this way. A woman bustled towards me smiling. She took me for a sister in arms. I did not protest as she took my arm to show me where I could walk in line. I had no choice. If I was to find Richenda and take her away from this, as Hans would expect, I would have to join the procession. Once we were moving I could only hope I would manage to catch sight of her and extricate her from the march before anything unfortunate occurred. I had this horrible feeling that Richenda herself would resist me with violence when I tried to remove her, but I knew the constabulary would respond in force to this protest and that when they did this march could become the most dangerous of situations.

  10 I doubt my mother would have attended any of these, but Richenda’s mother was not an Earl’s daughter and Richenda would have to grow accustomed to that fact. Besides, I thought we might have no little amusement from our trip.