Bertram began to pace. The room was small enough that he could not fit in many steps before he had to turn. This annoyed him further. ‘It tells us nothing.’
I returned to my seat and examined the briefcase. ‘It tells us that someone was in the room with Lovelock before he died. Everyone we have spoken to says he did not let this out of his sight. I think it is even stronger evidence that this is a murder.’
‘She is right,’ said Richenda. ‘Do stop pacing, Bertram. You have your murder.’
‘I don’t want a murder,’ said Bertram crossly, but he stopped pacing.
‘I cannot quite make out the crest on the front,’ I said, ‘but there is a date, eighteen seventy-something. What happened then that a briefcase would be marked to commemorate such a date.’
Richenda held out her hand for the case. ‘I didn’t spot that,’ she said peering at it myopically. ‘But I think you are right.’ Then she shrugged. ‘My knowledge of history is rubbish. Now, if you wanted to know about horses…’
Bertram let out a growl of frustration.
‘Go and ask someone who was alive at the time,’ said Richenda. ‘It is only, oh, thirty-five years ago. There must be hordes of older men who were alive at that time. I mean, even if they were only twenty at the time…’ she paused.
‘They would be fifty-five now,’ I said. ‘An age now not considered so very great. Or at least so my mother tells me. I imagine The Bishop is around sixty.’
Bertram swiped the bag off my lap. ‘Then let us go and ask your new step father about that time. He strikes me as a man who always reads the Times before breakfast.’
‘He does, doesn’t he?’ I said, taking this opening as the sign of an olive branch. However, Bertram got up and left before I had even risen to my feet. I blinked back tears. I said brightly to Richenda, ‘You have uncovered the most useful information. Well done.’
‘Thank you,’ said Richenda. ‘Perhaps one day Bertram will agree that I have slightly more brains than my horse. He might even raise my intellectual status to that of a gun dog, as I do seem to be able to ferret things out.’
‘Oh, more than that,’ I said. ‘You put pieces of the puzzle together we had totally missed. Bertram and I have already made several mistakes. We are not used to working with merely the two of us.’
‘Especially when you are at odds,’ said Richenda gently.
I swallowed hard. ‘It transpires that my fiancé has somewhat taken it to heart the fact that I have been lying to him for a number of years.’
‘He will get over that,’ said Richenda firmly. ‘You could never have told us the truth when you turned up looking for a position as a maid at Stapleford Hall. If nothing else, your mother would have - well I am not quite sure what she would have done, but I am certain it would have been drastic and none of us would have enjoyed it.’
‘She improves upon acquaintance,’ I said.
‘Oh, undoubtedly,’ said Richenda. ‘She is marvellously formidable. I would adore to be just like her. Do you think I should tell her?’
My lips quivered. ‘I think you should. She would, at the very least, approve of your ambition!’
Richenda gave a crack of laughter. ‘Let us go down together,’ she said. ‘I can come back up for the pictures later. The last thing you need is your family weighing in on whether you and my little brother have had a disagreement. We shall make it look as if we have been having a girl to girl chat.’ Then she looked up at me, surprise dawning on her face. ‘We have, have we not? I do not know quite how you managed it, Euphemia, but you have become my dearest friend.’
We embraced, and I sniffed a bit. Richenda sniffed a bit too and scolded me for being sentimental. Then we fixed each other’s hair, which had become somewhat ruffled with all the emotion flying around, and made our way downstairs.
We found Bertram and The Bishop seated at a separate table. Richenda nodded at me and went off into the body of the coffee lounge, an expression of determination on her face. I smiled inwardly, wondering if at last my mother had met her match.
I sat down at The Bishop’s table and smiled brightly. ‘Please excuse my tardiness,’ I said. The Bishop had risen at my approach, but Bertram stayed seated peering closely at the briefcase. The Bishop coughed - a most affectingly disapproving cough, and Bertram leapt to his feet to pull out a chair for me.
‘I am afraid, my dear,’ The Bishop said, ‘that at the moment I cannot think of anything especially significant about the 1870s. I was in the process of emerging from seminary and taking my first steps on the ecclesiastical staircase. My thoughts, interests and aspirations were very much taken up with affairs of the Anglican Church. I could probably still recite from the Church Times important events in the lives of the British clergy, but that is a small world indeed. As I was telling your betrothed, a large part of my addiction to the Times today is to make up for my lack of interest in the world then. I fear the Church has been most remiss in its efforts to bring forth a world of peace.’
‘187-something or another,’ mused Bertram. ‘Or, perhaps, the missing digit is not at the end but at the beginning, say 1187?’
‘It is a ragged bag,’ I said, ‘but I sincerely doubt it is that old.’
‘We could ask one of the members?’ said Bertram.
‘Might you not then be, as they say, showing your hand?’ said The Bishop. ‘Why do not you ask my wife?’
‘Your wife?’ said Bertram blankly.
‘My mother?’ I repeated at more or less the same time.
The Bishop addressed Bertram, ‘As you are engaged to my stepdaughter it should not surprise you to learn that my wife is a lady of extraordinary intelligence and insight. We often discuss the Times editorial together.’
‘And would you agree to that?’ I could not help asking.
‘Ah, well,’ said The Bishop, ‘I have always thought the basis of a good marriage is communication and discussion. Partners in life should always challenge each other a little, don’t you think? As long as you stand together against the world, then a dash of internal dispute keeps a good relationship thriving. I will fetch her over, shall I?’
‘By all means,’ said Bertram meekly. I nodded. For as long as I could recall my parents had been at odds. I had assumed my mother resented my father ripping her from her social sphere, but what if she had been restless and bored as a curate’s wife? I knew that such a pastoral existence would drive me to despair now I was no longer a child. As The Bishop and my mother came across the room I saw her with new eyes. The pinched look about her eyes and mouth had vanished. She had put on a little weight, but it made her seem more feminine and more relaxed. The Bishop was looking down at her and laughing at something she had said. My mother’s expression was a mixture of adoration and irritation. I suddenly thought that perhaps her old phrase, one I always trotted out when I described her, that ‘intelligence in a girl is about as much use as a pair of hooves’, related more to her fear that I too would become restless and bored. I have loved learning, but had my life not taken an extraordinary turn, I could have ended my days in a miserable marriage where my husband, like many men, saw the feminine love of reading books as a sign of madness and grounds for putting a discontented wife into an asylum. Could that have been the future my mother feared for me? As she sat down I gave her a warm smile. She returned a suspicious look but contented herself with smiling back.
‘Now, what are you and young Bertram up to, Euphemia? I am hearing all sorts of stories.’
‘My dear, I did suggest not a moment ago that you did not ask this particular question, if you recall,’ said The Bishop, seating himself beside my mother.
‘There is nothing wrong with my memory, Husband,’ said my mother, ‘but I think a mother has the right to enquire into the actions of her child.’
‘She is assisting me,’ said Bertram. ‘Euphemia is a remarkably intelligent female, as you will be aware. My instructions come direct from the Foreign Office. I am unable to say more.’
&n
bsp; My mother’s gaze moved between us. The Bishop patted her hand fondly. She sighed. ‘You do not intend to tell me, very well. What would you ask of me?’
‘A historical question,’ said Bertram. ‘You would have been a mere slip of a girl at the time as it was thirty-something years ago.’
‘It is not appropriate to make assumptions about a Lady’s age,’ said my mother. ‘However, I believe I would have been around fourteen at the time of the event you are seeking.’
Bertram blinked. ‘Oh, of course. Err, I didn’t… what… hmm.’ He ended this unfortunate speech with a gulp. To my eyes it seemed as if The Bishop gave him a sympathetic look. ‘To what event are you referring, my dear?’
‘After the Congress of Vienna in 1815,’ said my mother. Bertram’s eyes bulged. ‘For which I was not alive,’ said my mother, an acidic note creeping into her voice, ‘there were three major peace agreements. Considering the current state of the world, and because The Bishop and I have taken to discussing such matters over breakfast, I decided to look at the previous efforts to make peace with Germany in the hope such a thing could be managed once more in our time.’
‘I have no such hope,’ said The Bishop sadly. ‘To my mind, matters are set upon a disastrous course that there will be no avoiding.’
My mother regarded him respectfully. I mention this merely because the expression on her face at this time was so unfamiliar to me that it took me a moment to realise what it was. It made me wonder if I had ever shown Bertram that I respected his opinion. Perhaps the whole issue about my concealing my status would fade if I showed him how much I valued his opinion. But my mother continued to speak.
‘The third and most significant treaty was the Treaty of Berlin. This took place between the thirteenth of June and the thirteenth of July in 1878. It involved Austria, Hungary, France, Germany, Italy, Russia and the Ottoman Empire. It redefined Europe as we know it. The Balkans, in particular, were reformed. Russia gave up much of its recent incursions into the area and ceded back the land. The Ottoman Empire gave up its last European holdings. It was a concerted and effective attempt at creating a geopolitical structure to ensure peace in Europe for the foreseeable future. All the countries involved made some sacrifice, but the greatest loser was Bulgaria. They were not then considered a subject of international law, so Russia argued their attendance was superfluous.’
‘Even though, as I understand it,’ said The Bishop, ‘the whole realm of Bulgaria was reabsorbed and could never then become a sovereign state.’ He smiled at his wife. ‘I, too, have been doing my homework for our discussions.’ My mother nodded regally. ‘I would expect no less.’ ‘I remember the Bulgaria thing particularly striking me. Some years back, a group of us at the Holby were discussing world events. This must have been 1910 or so. A member was celebrating some kind of anniversary and we had a bit of a bash. Lots of port with postprandial cigars. We were all quite mellow.’ ‘I see,’ said my mother.
The Bishop sensibly avoided her eye. ‘I remember quite a heated debate about Bulgaria coming up. Someone had lost their home in Bulgaria, or was it that they had Bulgarian ancestors?’ The Bishop rubbed his hand across his eyes. ‘Everything of that night is a bit of a fog.’
‘Can you remember who was involved in the discussion, sir?’ said Bertram eagerly.
‘I can’t say I even remember much of what I myself said,’ said The Bishop dolefully.
‘Or even whose anniversary it was?’ I asked gently. The Bishop shrugged. ‘It may come back to me, but at this time it is a blank I am afraid.’
‘Nevertheless,’ said Bertram, ‘this conversation has been extremely helpful. Although we - I - must keep an open mind, I think it likely this is a briefcase from that time.’
‘That Mr Lovelock held on to it suggests he remembered that time with some fondness,’ said my mother. ‘Perhaps he was involved in the negotiations somehow? It is a diplomatic bag, is it not?’
‘Or he could have been taunting someone, Mother,’ I said.
‘Gentlemen’s Clubs are not my general milieu Euphemia, but I fail to see how one may taunt another with an item of luggage.’
‘I fear your daughter means that something may have occurred at the Treaty of Berlin, and that Lovelock was a witness to someone’s discredit,’ said The Bishop. ‘By talk of writing his memoirs, he could be said to be threatening that person, or perhaps even blackmailing him. Very nasty. Whoever it was must be feeling a great deal of relief now he is dead.’
‘Euphemia! What a terrible thing to think. Unladylike in the extreme. I despair.’ I bowed my head under her stricture. I knew it would be no use pointing out that the deduction had been made by her husband, based on a tangential comment by myself. The Bishop had come close to realising this must be murder. My mother and her new husband were becoming far too involved in what was proving to be a most dangerous game. I looked up at Bertram. He nodded. I felt a frisson as I realised we were thinking the same once more.
‘Mrs Hawthorn, my Lord, you have been most helpful,’ said Bertram rising.15 ‘But we must detain you no longer…’
‘We are finally free to leave?’ said my mother.
‘I am afraid not,’ said Bertram. ‘I only meant that this conversation has taken a turn and I wish to relieve you of the burden of following.’ He tugged at his collar. It wasn’t the neatest phrase, but I had to give credit for originality.’
‘And my daughter?’
Bertram looked at me as if contemplating consigning me to my mother’s care. I looked back, willing him to see the fire behind my eyes and the wrath he would unleash if he shut me out of this adventure.
‘She has still her duty to dispense,’ he said tactfully. Then, with more efficiency than decorum, he left - one might say fled - the table. The Bishop rose and offered his wife his hand. My mother stood and heaved a great sigh.
‘I am only glad Joe is too young to be involved in whatever is coming.’
The two of them exchanged polite goodbyes with me, but at the last moment my mother turned back. ‘Euphemia,’ she said. ‘It is not wise to involve oneself with the Foreign Office. The best of men may be led into difficulties. You should speak to Bertram if you are serious about this engagement.’
‘I have done so today,’ I said, surprise making me blurt out the truth. ‘We have decided to ensure we are not called upon again.’
‘Very wise,’ said my mother. ‘After all, now the police are here, you must be able to hand over your task.’
I looked wildly around the room. ‘The police?’ I echoed. ‘I have no knowledge…’
‘Oh, not in this room, but Richenda was telling us about the very nice policeman she had tea with. She was able to brief him quite thoroughly about the situation. A remarkable woman. I cannot say I like the sound of that husband of hers. I believe he is not English?’
‘German,’ I said. ‘On his father’s side, but he conducts himself with the all the decorum of a gentleman.’
‘I should hope so, as I understand you are a guest in his house. Younger than her, too? I suppose she thought life was passing her by?’ said my mother. ‘The coming war will prove difficult for them both. Perhaps you should speak to the Foreign Office about protecting her. After all, she is a British citizen.’
‘So is Hans,’ I said crossly. ‘He is every bit as English as I am.’
‘Nonsense,’ said my mother. ‘You have an excellent pedigree.’
‘Like a horse,’ I snapped back.
‘Come, Husband, let us find some tea and refined company. I must apologise for my daughter’s manners. She has been regrettably away from my influence for some years and it does not appear she has consorted with the best of people.’
The Bishop blinked at this. He looked between us. ‘Ladies, this is a stressful occasion. I trust we will have a pleasant meal and discussion at another time when all bad feelings will have evaporated in the milk of good Christian kindness.’
My mother and I snorted in unison and turned from eac
h other. I was greatly tempted to turn back and see what The Bishop made of us both. However, I suspected he would have pretended not to notice anything was wrong and would fail to indulge my mother in any gossip over my conduct. He seemed a most diplomatic gentleman, but unlike my father, I had already seen he was more than prepared to stand up to my mother when he thought it necessary. Presumably, when encouraging her to be kinder, he could quote God as being on his side. If only my father had tried that - but he had simply adored her, once.
I did eventually turn and watch my mother walk away, her back straighter than any soldier’s. It was a slight stretch for her to reach The Bishop’s arm with her so tiny and him so tall. She did not turn back. I felt a genuine warmth for the two of them as I watched him slow his pace to hers and lean down to hear her, while she speeded up her walk to a trot and stood on tiptoe to speak to him.16
I shook my head. Police? There was no one present that I could identify as such. Perhaps my mother had been mistaken. I could ask Richenda, but then I risked being drawn into another family conversation. I decided to go and ask Evans at the front desk. Presumably he, of all people, would know if a policeman had been let in by Watts the doorman.
I found Evans at his post. I had not even opened my mouth when he said, ‘He’s through the back,’ and indicated what I had taken to be a porter’s cubby of some kind. Evans raised a section of the desk and I passed through. He ushered me towards the cubby. I entered, about to berate any policeman for not informing us of his presence.
A man sat at a small desk with piles of tomes scattered around him. He carried on scoring out a line in an open volume with an ink pen before looking up. ‘Nice to see you, Euphemia,’ said Fitzroy. ‘How has your day been? Mine has been an absolute rotter.’
15I almost kicked him under the table. It was appropriate for my mother to rise first. He really did not know etiquette beyond what was suitable among bankers and merchants!
A Death at a Gentleman's Club Page 12
