A Death in the Asylum

by Caroline Dunford

  ‘If you ask me nothing in their world is right. That’s why we’re well advised to leave it alone.’

  ‘You really think if I do nothing this will all go away.’

  Rory nodded. ‘Trust me,’ he said.

  ‘You’re about the only person I do.’

  He grinned at that and dropped a swift kiss on my forehead. Then he blushed, muttered about his duties and left.

  I was left alone for much of the day. Merry stopped by with food and chattered with much excitement about the goings on. But as far as I could tell nothing had happened and no one knew more than they had last night. It must have been early evening, and I was dozing by the fire, enjoying what must have been the laziest day of my life, when Mr Bertram came to visit me alone.

  ‘How are you, Euphemia?’ he asked, offering me a glass. ‘I thought a sherry might help.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, accepting what was obviously meant as a peace offering with as much grace as I could muster.

  ‘I’m sorry about earlier,’ said Mr Bertram. ‘Beatrice is very passionate about her work.’

  I nodded, remembering my discussion with Rory, and kept my mouth shut.

  ‘It can take her to some shady places from what she’s told me,’ continued Mr Bertram. He was standing awkwardly, shifting slightly from foot to foot. ‘I don’t believe she is used to meeting servants of your calibre.’

  ‘Not ones as well educated perhaps,’ I said before I could help myself.

  Mr Bertram sat down. ‘I never said that. She misunderstood. I never described you as almost educated. I commented on your intelligence and, well, she took me up wrong.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, sir,’ I said politely.

  ‘But it does. She feels terrible that you might feel insulted. She’s such a sensitive soul. Amazingly so for the work she does. She says she has to positively steel herself to ask questions at times.’

  ‘Poor lady,’ I said barely managing not to choke on my sherry.

  Mr Bertram’s face lit up. He had it badly. ‘I knew you’d understand, Euphemia. You’re very alike, the pair of you. Both independently minded, strong women. Of course, you’re different stations, but if your life had been different I’m sure you would have made a fine journalist.’

  I tried to take this as a compliment and smiled.

  ‘You’re not saying very much.’

  ‘There isn’t a lot for me to say, sir. I honestly don’t know anything about Mrs Wilson’s past. I saw the same as you that she was upset by the message and something Dr Simpson once said to me did make me wonder, but,’ I shook my head, ‘I don’t know anything and I think in situations like this knowing is the important thing, isn’t it? Whoever attacked her was very serious about it and I wouldn’t want to mislead the police in any way with unfounded stories,’ I said biting my lip.

  Mr Bertram gave me a hard look. He knew exactly what I meant. ‘It’s been our experience, hasn’t it, Euphemia, that the police aren’t often up to the mark? Last time I tried to stop you interfering it put Rory’s neck on the line. If you hadn’t ignored me and gone your own way then he wouldn’t be with us today.’

  ‘That was an exceptional circumstance,’ I said as levelly as I could. It was extremely trying to have one’s own arguments used against one. ‘Has anyone been accused for Mrs Wilson’s attack?’

  ‘The whole house is under suspicion. It’s intolerable!’

  ‘Not you or Rory. And surely not the ladies?’

  ‘The figure was not especially tall and reasonably slight.’

  ‘Which will let out your brother,’ I said with a smile.

  ‘I don’t think the police are taking my description that seriously,’ said Mr Bertram glumly. ‘It’s not as if any of us saw anything that was defining.’

  ‘But …’ I started then stopped. ‘But you and Rory were up close with the man – person – didn’t you see eye colour or hair colour or anything?’

  ‘Sergeant Davies told me that no one could give him any particular details.’

  I frowned.

  ‘Do you know something, Euphemia?’

  This was the point to tell Mr Bertram about seeing the assailant’s eye colour; the clear opportunity to tell him about my conversation with Dr Simpson.

  I struggled to find the words to tell him his own family doctor suspected his own father, who it’s true he had had no cause to love, had fathered a child upon his own housekeeper.

  ‘You see,’ I began. I swallowed. For many reasons, not least our own unusual, if innocent, relationship, it was hard to find the words.

  Mr Bertram edged forward. ‘Yes, Euphemia?’

  Sergeant Davies and Rory’s warnings rang in my mind. My impulse was to tell him the truth.

  ‘You see …’

  His eyes were alight with anticipation, waiting for me to crack the mystery or at least offer up the first clue. I hesitated. There was so much danger here, for all of us, and I was unsure how well he understood this.

  ‘Should I get Miss Wilton? Is it something she should know?’

  I considered then saying my piece about his new friend. The good Lord knew Mr Bertram and I had argued many times, but always he had stood in my corner and I in his. But our unorthodox relationship had shifted with the arrival of Miss Wilton on the scene.

  I made my decision.

  ‘Euphemia, do you know something? You must tell me.’

  ‘You see, sir, as I told Miss Wilton, I don’t know anything at all.’

  5 Rory had almost been lynched by the house guests when a shooting had taken place. I had helped pull the pieces together, although it was Mr Fitzroy who had “sorted” the situation. For details see my journal A Death in the Highlands.

  Chapter Five

  London Bound

  Mr Bertram sat back with a heavy sigh. ‘I thought if anyone would have spotted anything it would have been you. I suppose Miss Wilton was right.’

  ‘Right?’

  ‘She said I was foolish to place so much expectation on your shoulders.’

  I immediately had a strong impulse to confess not only what I knew, but everything I suspected, but my mother’s training must have been better than she ever suspected. I held my tongue.

  ‘I’m worried about staying on in the house,’ said Mr Bertram. ‘I don’t like the risks. I was thinking of going away for a while.’

  ‘Of course, sir, if that’s what you need to do,’ I said coldly. I wasn’t accustomed to considering Mr Bertram a coward.

  ‘Miss Wilton’s heart isn’t equal to another shock so soon and your infamous tendency to meddle is doubtless putting you in danger.’ Mr Bertram stood and began to pace. ‘There is no other answer, I shall have to take you both away. Do you think you could act as a lady’s chaperone, Euphemia? You’re very young, but if I take you both it might quiet the gossips.’

  I stared at him as if he had broken into another language. ‘You cannot be serious, sir,’ I finally managed to gasp.

  ‘You’re thinking it will look suspicious?’ Mr Bertram turned to grin at me. ‘I have thought this through. I shall tell the police where we are going, of course, but ensure they keep it in confidence. And I am very sure no one will guess our errand.’

  The man was almost hugging himself with glee. ‘Were you hurt in the attack, sir? Did he strike you also?’

  Mr Bertram actually laughed. ‘No, no, Euphemia. You’re not the only one who can come up with a cunning plan. I’ve decided I shall help Miss Wilton with her next article.’

  ‘Her gossip column?’

  Mr Bertram laughed again. I had never heard him laugh so much so quickly. I began to be seriously worried. He sat down on the edge of the couch beside me and took my hand. ‘I know I can trust you, so I’ll explain. I’m sure Bea won’t mind,’ he stopped, ‘well, she might mind, but once she’s come to know you better it will be all right, so we’d better keep this between ourselves for now.’

  I had the sense of moving out of my depth. Whatever Miss Wilton
had told him I was categorically certain she did not intend him to repeat it to his favoured servant. Especially not his favoured female servant. Rory’s warning had never struck me as more appropriate.

  I struggled to sit up. ‘Mr Bertram, you mustn’t …’

  ‘We’re going to help Bea out with her very first piece of investigative journalism. You and me. With our keen brains and her writing ability we’ll make her a star.’

  ‘She’s agreed to this?’

  ‘Well, not yet, but I’m not as obtuse as you think, Euphemia. We’ve been chatting and I think she’s not happy with her lot as a gossip columnist.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. There didn’t seem to be anything else to say.

  ‘She mentioned she had a lead on something that would make a good story, but that she’d never be allowed to follow it. She said she didn’t feel strong enough to –how did she put it – challenge the bastions of the male-dominated press alone. So I immediately thought we could help her.’

  ‘And she likes the idea?’

  ‘I haven’t told her yet. She has no idea she set off this train of thought.’

  ‘I see,’ I said swallowing rapidly. ‘She has no idea. She just happened to mention to a man she barely knows her secret, heart-cherished ambition.’

  ‘I know,’ said Bertram leaping to his feet. ‘Isn’t it touching?’

  ‘What exactly does she wish to investigate?’

  ‘How we treat the mentally unbalanced in our asylums.’

  ‘How opportune.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s the word you mean, Euphemia. Opportune means–’

  ‘Never mind, sir, you believe she will accept my help? I am a servant after all.’

  ‘I thought we could start by telling her you’ll be acting as a chaperone. I’ll tell you what is happening and you can let me know your ideas. It will be quite like old times.’

  I was lost for words.

  ‘When the time is right I’ll let her know how helpful you’ve been. I won’t hog all the credit to myself, but if for a little while she thinks it’s only me and it brings us closer – oh, Euphemia, you will help me, won’t you?’

  ‘I am your servant, sir, and hardly in a position to refuse.’

  ‘Euphemia, when have I ever asked you to do anything you did not wish?’

  At this point I realised that Mr Bertram was not, as I had hoped, immune to the delightful self-deception that servants were delighted to serve.

  ‘Besides,’ continued my smitten master, ‘it’s only an idea. She may not agree.’

  ‘I’m certain she will accept your offer of help, sir,’ I said unwisely.

  ‘Thank you, Euphemia. You won’t regret it. We will have a grand time.’ And the besotted man burled from the room. I then did something I had never done in this house. I rang the servants’ bell.

  Within a very few minutes Merry was with me. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked breathless.

  I lay back on my pillows, breathless and hot. ‘I’m so sorry to ring for you, Merry, but I need to see Rory. It’s an emergency.’

  On reflection I could have chosen my words with more care. Rory arrived even more breathless than Merry had been and with a wild look in his eye. ‘Euphemia!’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I said being even less careful with my words. After the very Scotch eruption had finished I explained my predicament with Bertram and Miss Wilton.

  ‘Oh aye, I can see why that might be considered an emergency,’ he finally admitted.

  ‘But what do I do?’

  ‘I take it your personal history would make it as difficult as mine to seek another situation.’

  ‘I fear so,’ I said grudgingly. ‘I’ve never actually been accused of murder, but I’m aware that fingers have been pointed in my direction.’

  ‘Aye, if you’ve come to general attention upstairs – and it has been mentioned elsewhere …’

  ‘Miss Richenda,’ I said sighing.

  ‘I couldnae confirm or deny, but …’

  ‘I need a wage for my family.’

  ‘Then yer’ve no choice but to go along with it, but I’d recommend not seeing anything or offering any thoughts. Be as dumb as Beatrice Wilton thinks you even if it hurts your pride. This is a mess, Euphemia, and unlike Lady Grey I’ve nay doubt yer’ve a keen brain, but this is no tangle for the likes of us to untangle.’

  He regarded me with an odd expression. I smiled. ‘I’m not angry. You’re right. But if I must go along with this, can I – can I rely on you?’

  ‘Of course, lass.’

  ‘I mean, if I do see things that–’

  ‘It would be hard to keep tae yerself?’

  ‘Yes and I won’t be able to help putting it all together or trying to.’

  ‘Making six out of four as usual,’ said Rory with a grin.

  ‘I’m out of my depth.’

  ‘I’ll be here for yer, lass. You can tell me anything.’

  ‘And if you think I should go to the police?’

  ‘I’ll tell you, but if I’m honest I think you’ll find a whole lot of speculation and possibilities and nothing strong enough to stand up in court. That’s how it is with them upstairs.’

  ‘I could try Mr Edward. He told me how to find him.’

  ‘He did, did he?’ said Rory. ‘Fitzroy too?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Well, that’s something,’ muttered Rory darkly. ‘But honestly, lass, I doubt you’ll come across something that affects the security of the nation.’

  ‘With the Staplefords you can never be sure,’ I said wearily.

  ‘Aye, I’ll gie yer that.’

  *

  We set out in Mr Bertram’s motor in two days’ time. Miss Wilton was keen to be gone and it took both Dr Simpson and Rory’s combined efforts to delay the expedition for as long. As it was the world still had a slightly underwater feel to it. When I exited by the servants’ door small, suitcase in hand, only to be told by Miss Wilton I was to be sitting in the Dickie seat I put my foot down. I was as polite as I was haughty and, by the time Bertram appeared on the scene, we were within moments of drawing hat pins and duelling. I wouldn’t normally have considered Mr Bertram a quick-thinking man. He was certainly impulsive, but those impulses often seem to display a lack of intelligence rather than a surfeit. However, in this case he surprised me. ‘But, ladies,’ he said calmly, ‘we are not taking my car. I’ve arranged to borrow one of Richard’s. Merrit will drive it for us and Euphemia will sit up the front. Exactly where a lady’s mai …’ He encountered my eye. ‘A lady’s companion would sit.’

  Waiting for us in a smart chauffeur’s uniform was Merrit. ‘I didn’t know you could drive,’ I said as he gallantly handed me into my seat.

  ‘How hard can it be?’ said Merrit.

  I must have blanched, because he chuckled. ‘Cheer up, Miss St John. We’ve got ourselves a nice jolly away from the house of doom.’

  I glanced quickly behind us. There was a clear pane of glass in between. ‘They can only hear us if they use the speaking tube,’ said Merrit. ‘It gives an illusion of privacy.’

  ‘For whom?’ I asked sharply.

  ‘Both,’ said Merrit. ‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you, Miss St John and this seems like a good time. Oh, wait a minute, they wanting to be off.’

  I was glad to discover that Merrit could indeed drive and we were soon smoothly underway.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about my position and having some talk with Mr McLeod. He’s ready to train me and I can see a number of benefits in transferring to Stapleford Hall.’

  ‘Really?’ I said. ‘A number?’ He had the grace to blush.

  ‘But even if Lord Stapleford were happy to take me on as senior footman I wouldn’t want to leave you and Mr Bertram in the lurch.’

  ‘Oh, Merrit,’ I said sadly. ‘I’m really not the one to ask. So many things are up in the air right now.’

  ‘Aye, and if our master were to take a wife, then maybe he’d want a butle
r? You’d not be adverse to a new maid in the household, would you, Miss St John?’

  ‘Do you mean …?’ I began. ‘But you’ve only just met.’

  ‘In our way of life, Miss St John, you don’t tend to have long to make up your mind. We live by the will of them upstairs, so I reckon we have to grab the life we want when we can.’

  ‘Is that what Mr McLeod said?’

  ‘Aye, he was right direct about that. I wondered how he might have had a disappointment like. Though from what Merry tells me the younger staff are all mad for him, so he’s bound to have his opportunities.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘Have I said something to offend, Miss St John?’

  ‘No, but we came very near to that tree. I think you’d be best to keep your concentration for the road.’

  ‘But you’d put in a word with the master for Merry, would you, ma’am?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said peevishly. ‘Merry is my oldest friend. I’ll always do what I can to help. Though whether you’re a good prospect for her or not I’ve yet to judge.’

  This effectively rendered Merrit silent. It was at this point I realised that no one had told me where we were going and now I had no one to ask.

  I can only place it down to the concussion, but I lapsed into a dream-like state for the rest of the journey. My eyes were open, but my mind was occupied with the strangest images. Lord Stapleford attacked by his own moustache during a dinner party with his late father and their equally deceased Cousin Georgie, both of whom were undoing their shirt collars and pleading for windows to be opened so they could cool down before they returned. Georgie asked me if I had seen his second-best trousers. Mrs Wilson chased a figure futilely into the distance, but fell into a giant bottle and lay there trapped like a giant fly, beating uselessly at the glass. Mrs Deighton made dish upon dish of meat for Rory, all of which he dropped at her feet. I intervened in this instance only to be told that dropping meat was the best way to meet a spouse. And all of this happened under a cloud of eyes. One pair was bright blue and sparkling and another of indeterminate hue, but I knew they belonged to Mr Fitzroy, who was carrying out his threat of watching the Staplefords. In the dream I sensed he was waiting for the house to fall about their ears so he could carry off any spare guns. I was in the process of explaining to Rory how if one walked between the beams one wouldn’t fall through the floor, when I became aware of people speaking.