A Death in the Wedding Party

by Caroline Dunford

  ‘Nope. None whatsoever. Your girlfriend knew me though. Took her a while, but she figured it out. Very good about it she was. I’ll say that for her, but as I said she ain’t offered me no job and with the other one gone I’m on me uppers.’

  ‘And we can’t have that,’ said Tipton. He took something out of his coat and passed it to Suzette, who immediately stuffed it down her bodice. ‘It’s on account,’ he said. ‘I won’t get my hands on the money until after the wedding.’

  ‘And the job?’ asked Suzette.

  ‘I know you think you’ve got me here,’ said Tipton, ‘but a fellow doesn’t get to where I am without learning a thing or two. We may be able to come to a financial arrangement, but I think having you on my household staff might be just a bit too dangerous, don’t you?’

  Suzette’s jawline clenched. ‘If that’s the way you want to play it then I want more before the wedding.’

  ‘My dear girl,’ said Tipton, ‘you can ruin me at any moment of your choosing. Wouldn’t it make sense to let me get my hands on the dosh?’

  Suzette lent forward and poked Tipton in the chest with one bony finger. ‘I’ve got brothers,’ she said. ‘Brothers who know where I am and what I’m doing. If anything happens to me then they’ll find you and your new missus.’

  Tipton backed away. ‘Won’t harm a hair on your charming head,’ he said. ‘Word of a gentleman.’

  ‘Well, as long as we understand each other.’

  ‘I think we do,’ said Tipton, nervously fingering his collar.

  ‘And just so you know, I always carry a shank on me. Me brother Bertie learned me how to use it too.’

  ‘I remember,’ said Tipton. ‘Now, I have to get back to the house before I’m missed.’

  ‘Word of advice,’ said Suzette, ‘that girl masquerading for you, that Eulogy or whatever. You need to watch her.’

  Tipton gave her broad smile. ‘All in hand,’ he said. He tipped an imaginary hat to her and made his way quickly back towards the house. Suzette pulled the packet out of her bodice and began to count her cash. ‘Bleeding, tight fisted little sod,’ she said when she had finished and stalked off towards the servants’ entrance.

  I waited far longer than was necessary then gradually stood up. I brushed myself down as best I could and pulled leaves from my hair. I was happy to find both my ears had no unwanted guests. The dinner gong sounded. I knew I would be missed if I went to my room to tidy, so I lifted my chin and prepared to tell anyone who questioned me that I had a deep love of nature and views.

  How Merry would laugh if she could hear me.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  The Earl is Relieved

  The only good thing that could be said about dinner was that the food was delicious. Our seating plan had reverted to that of the first night so I sat between my grandfather and Renard Layfette. My grandfather’s attention was taken up by the lady on his other side. He did attempt to break this off and chat to me, but my monosyllabic answers discouraged him.

  I was thinking over what I had seen in the garden. How could Tipton know Suzette? Why was she blackmailing him, and what relevance, if any, did have it to the murder? Tipton had been very convincing about wishing to save Richenda from the noose. He might have a variable and even violent temperament and be an obnoxious little squirt, but I didn’t think he had the intelligence to lie to me – at least not so long and complicated a lie about fearing for Richenda. I had no idea if he loved her, but I felt sure he felt a deep affection for her money. Halfway through my pigeon squab I decided that Suzette must know something about Tipton’s previous love affairs. It was what the police might call a diversion.

  Having satisfied myself on this point I began to mentally think over possible suspects. Renard Layfette chose that moment to almost choke on a fish bone. I turned to him in concern, but he was already placing the offending article discreetly in his folded napkin.

  ‘Are you quite well?’ I asked.

  He gave a very Gallic shrug. ‘As I said before, the chef is not French. One take one’s life in one’s hands eating English food.’

  ‘I have heard rumours that you and Lady Stapleford were not as good friends as you led me to believe before.’ The words were out of my mouth before I could consider what I was saying.

  ‘Ah, the refreshing bluntness of the continent,’ said Renard. ‘None of the English mimsy-whimsy tiptoeing around. Now if only the Earl would take a leaf from your book and tell the police to, er, bugger off, we could all get back to normal.’

  I waited.

  Another shrug followed. This time so big I thought he was in danger of losing his jacket. ‘Heh,’ he said. ‘The truth is she hated me with a loathing quite intense. I was a wild youth – a sign of spirit I think, but my father did not agree. He banished me and I was forced to make my own way in the world.’

  ‘You told the police you knew Lady Stapleford well and that she had an allergy to oysters.’

  ‘The Earl he said he would smooth things over for me if I did him this tiny favour. I did not see the harm. She was a dislikeable woman. No doubt she did eat something that disagreed with her. There was no need for such a fuss. She was a widow without money. A person of no account.’

  This was said without heat or rancour. ‘Is your father still alive? Did you hope to be reunited?’ I asked trying to think of the most favourable way to take his confession.

  ‘No. No. He is long dead. And I have no need of money. I made a lot, you see, running gambling rooms on the continent. One of the reasons your good Lady Stapleford could not stand me was I, the degenerate one, made far more of a success of my life than her.’

  ‘Where you two once close?’

  Renard laughed. ‘There might have been affection in the past on her side, but I had no money. And as for me, I was not, er, interested in what she could offer.’ He patted my hand. ‘I am sorry, cherie, there is no tragedy of grand passion for you to uncover. I thought only to help the Earl out in return for an entrée into higher circles. My life has been entertaining, but I miss,’ he spread his hands out, ‘gatherings such as this.’

  I could not repress a shudder. Renard laughed again. ‘It is all too much for the nerves of a gentle one such as yourself. You should marry. There are plenty of young men here who would be happy to be wed to a rich, beautiful, royal woman like yourself. Get a ring on your finger then you can really begin to live your life.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘You understand me?’

  I was spared having to answer this as the Earl got to his feet and tapped loudly on the side of his glass.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, I am now able to announce that Lady Stapleford will be laid to rest in our family chapel tomorrow. I am happy to say Chief Inspector Brownly tells me he is confident of closing the case very shortly. After discussion with all family members and the local vicar we have concluded that Lady Stapleford would not have wished the wedding to be postponed. Therefore two days after the funeral the wedding will take place. The police have asked you to remain here until tomorrow evening, and the Countess and I would like to invite you to extend your stay to include the wedding. It will now be a much smaller affair after the recent tragic events and no other family members will be joining us. I do hope you consent to stay and to enjoy what promises to be a very happy day. Can I ask you now to lift your glasses in a toast to our brave bride and groom who have endured so much!’

  Everyone except Richenda and Tipton stood. ‘To the bride and groom!’ Richenda blushed, if not prettily then appropriately, and Tipton grinned from ear to ear. He took her hand and kissed it.

  The Earl had cleverly timed his speech to come before dessert, so when an enormous meringue construction with fruits and sauce was set before each dinner the mood set was brighter than it had been for days. The waiters then bustled about with a very good dessert wine. Even the long windows of the dining room were thrown open to catch the last of the summer evening. There was a strong feeling of relief in the room that a corner had been turned and every
thing would now be all right.

  The confectionary in front of me turned my stomach and I sent the wine waiter away. ‘Do they know who the killer is then?’ I said thinking out loud.

  Renard answered me. ‘Perhaps they have someone. It would be strange to warn us if they thought it was one of us. I expect it is simply being – how do you say – hushed up. Quite right!’

  Bertram sat several seats away from me and across the table. I was glad to see him up and about. His face had lost its deathly pallor, but his lips were pressed together in a thin line. He too avoided eating the dessert.

  We broke shortly after that with the Countess leading the ladies to the withdrawing room. I had earned a reputation for not joining the throng. Whether it was assumed I was shy or thought myself about their company I had no idea. I wanted to talk to Bertram. I could not imagine that he had easily consented to have his mother laid to rest here. I decided to withdraw to the music room. The doors between the music room and the main library room were open. On the opposite side of the room the doors to the billiard room had also been thrown open, so the three great rooms interconnected. The Drawing room was on the other side of the corridor and it was to the library side I assumed that the men often retreated after dinner. Opening the doors between the three rooms must be meant to encourage them to mingle and even allow the ladies license to cross the hall and join them. A baby grand stood in the corner of the music room. It was angled in such a way that the player could see into both other rooms, but remained partly obscured my some sort of potted foliage.

  I seated myself at the piano, raised the lid and laid my fingers on the smooth, cold keys. As my mother is an expert at the piano I can play. I do not do it with enjoyment, but rather out of duty. I doubt I give much pleasure to any who hear me. Rather than draw attention to my presence I decided to leave the piano open, so that if anyone else did enter then I could simply say I was pondering what to play and if absolutely necessary could do so. My fingers were long out of practice, so I determined to leave this as a last resort. Across the hall I could hear the ladies chatting and even laughing. The pall that had laid across this house party had lifted without a doubt. I felt more uneasy than ever?

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Behind a Pot-plant with the Hon. Bertram

  The gentlemen lingered long enough over their port for it to become decidedly chilly. Smelling the evening summer flowers is nice, but not at the cost of turning blue at the edges. If Bertram had kept up with the circuits of port he must be well inebriated now. I was in the point of giving up and retreating to my room and the fire therein when the man himself entered the hallway. I played a quick arpeggio to attract his attention and then beckoned him into the room.

  Bertram sat down next to me on the piano stool. I don’t know if he had drunk too much port to be able to judge the distance, but he sat very close to me. Not touching, but I could feel his body heat through my thin dress. ‘Always full of surprises,’ he said. ‘I had no idea you could play.’

  ‘I don’t play very well,’ I replied, ‘but I thought this was the easiest way to speak to you. Are you content with how things are going?’

  ‘And so careful in your use of language. Tipton asked me earlier if I was happy with what was going on and I damn near punched him. The only thing that stopped me was the knowledge I’d be as likely to severely injure myself with this dicky heart of mine as damage that pipsqueak.’

  ‘He shut me in the Summer House with him.’

  ‘He what?’ interrupted Bertram, half rising from his seat.

  I caught his arm. ‘He did me no harm. Instead he wanted me to help him find someone to take the fall for your mother’s murder. He was convinced it was Richenda.’

  Bertram sat back down. ‘Richenda?’

  ‘But when I told Richenda this, and before you say I should have talked to you first let me say there were mitigating circumstances, she was relieved. She’d been acting so strangely because she thought Tipton had done the murder.’

  Bertram ran his hand through his hair. ‘Good grief, so it was neither of them?’

  ‘If either of them had simply denied it I wouldn’t have believed them, but they are both so obviously relieved and I don’t think either of them is that good an actor.’

  ‘No,’ said Bertram. ‘Richenda wears her heart on her sleeve and Tipton hasn’t the brains.’

  ‘He was very odd when he was with me. Ranting and confused. He didn’t seem right.’

  ‘When has he ever?’ said Bertram.

  ‘No, but …’

  ‘This means we are stuck with the theory that someone poisoned one of the cups and didn’t care who it killed as long as it was one of you three. That’s madness.’

  ‘No, I am not discussing this ANY further!’ Tipton’s voice loud and angry cut across ours. He crossed the Hall and went into the library. Following close on his heels came Richard Stapleford. He face was flushed red with wine and his hands were held by his side clenched into two meaty fists. He followed Tipton into the library and closed the doors to the hall. As one Bertram and I leaned back behind the potted plant, so we could see through the adjoining door and hopefully remain unseen. The view was impeded, but I could make out both men striding around the room. Tipton kept moving away from Richard.

  ‘We can debate this later,’ said Tipton.

  ‘You’ve made one too many remarks about Richenda’s money,’ said Richard. ‘I want to know what you’re planning.’

  ‘I have done nothing of the sort,’ protested Tipton.

  ‘You never do remember what you say when you’re drunk, Baggy. You’ve always been that way.’

  ‘Stop using that ridiculous nickname,’ said Tipton, ‘by God I’ll plant you one right in the middle of your fat face.’

  ‘The worm is turning,’ whispered Bertram in my ear.

  ‘I am not your lackey. I’m not your fag. You can do your own dirty work from now on.’

  ‘Keep your voice down,’ said Richard. ‘This is a family matter.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ said Tipton, ‘and you’d be well to remember that. All your sister is doing is handing over her bank shares to me. It’s not appropriate for her to give you her proxy vote when she has a husband.’

  ‘Do you mean to challenge me for the bank?’ Richard’s face was now a deep violet and I seriously wondered if his heart would burst. However, he kept his voice low.

  ‘That’s rather up to you,’ said Tipton. ‘As you said, it’s all in the family now. What’s the difference between Richenda holding the votes or me? Except that I don’t look like some kind of accessory she’s picked up.’

  ‘You might as well be, you’re so small,’ said Richard.

  ‘Look Richard,’ said Tipton, and his voice was that of a man talking to an angry child, ‘you wanted me to marry Richenda because frankly she wasn’t getting any other offers and you wanted someone who would put the right word in her ear when it was necessary. I will do that. This is the best outcome for all of us.’

  ‘The morning after you got engaged, Richenda started muttering about how she would no longer be under my thumb. And now the wedding’s almost upon us, she has told me plainly that she is going to use you to challenge me for control of the bank. The phrase she used was ‘this is only the beginning.’ I need to know if you’ve got her in hand or worse if you’re working with her?’

  ‘Oh come on, Richard,’ said Tipton, ‘you know men will agree to anything before the marriage contract is signed.’

  ‘The question, is what will you do once you are officially family?’ said Richard.

  ‘Might I point out it’s a little late for this discussion,’ said Tipton. ‘Besides I think we both know each other well enough not to do anything foolish. Our fortunes are linked in so many ways.’

  ‘He sounds perfectly sane to me,’ whispered Bertram. ‘Didn’t think he had that much backbone in him.’

  ‘He thinks he’s home and dry,’ I said. ‘Look at Richard’s face. He is not hap
py. Your half-brother bothers me when he’s not happy.’

  Tipton and Richard had ended their discussion and were now making their way across to the Drawing room with little sign of their previous animosity.

  ‘Richard has done some bad things, I grant you,’ said Bertram, ‘but it’s not like he murders people for a hobby.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ I said. ‘I have two remaining suspects for your mother’s murder and he is one. We’ve just heard him say they’ve been arguing over what will happen with the bank shares for some weeks. The death of any of the three of us would have been thought enough to stop the wedding.’

  ‘Whoever else he dislikes, Richard has a soft spot for Richenda. She’s his twin.’

  ‘Yes, but she’s never challenged him before.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Bertram. ‘Who’s your other suspect.’

  ‘Renard Layfette.’

  ‘Renard? He wouldn’t hurt a fly, unless you count gossiping it to death.’

  ‘But your mother wouldn’t even have his name mentioned in his presence and I know he is keen to get back into English society.’

  ‘My mother wouldn’t have made much difference to that. She’s not the reason he was ostracised.’

  ‘Renard said your mother once even fancied herself in love with him,’ I said stretching a point. To my amazement Bertram started to laugh. ‘Goodness, that would have been difficult for her.’

  ‘Renard said he didn’t want what she was offering. What did he mean?’

  Bertram wiped a tear from his eye. ‘Have you heard the term ‘men who play backgammon’?’ he asked.

  ‘What do games have to do with this?’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Bertram, blushing. ‘Euphemia, there are some men who don’t like the company of women.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘what about that?’

  Bertram took a deep breath, ‘I mean … they prefer men romantically!’

  I thought about this for several minutes. ‘But how can that even work?’

  ‘Good Lord, Euphemia, that’s not the sort of question you should be asking me – or anyone. Just accept that my mother’s death would have made no impact on Renard’s situation.’