* * *
15Although to be fair, Rory’s had been far more deadly and here he was speaking about it all quite calmly.
Chapter Eighteen
Richenda denied cake
The next morning found me sitting with a grumpy Richenda in her suite, drinking coffee and eating savoury pastries. We were devoid even of Amy’s friendly chatter, as at the last minute Lucinda had asked her to be a flower girl. ‘Are you certain she did not mention me when she proposed the walk to the church?’ asked Richenda, for the hundredth time.
‘As I keep telling you, I knew nothing about it until Bertram told me last night.’
‘It is solely to ensure I do not attend,’ moaned Richenda.
‘I do not think Lucinda has a malicious nature.’
‘No, more likely it is my brother,’ said Richenda, her face contorting in a fearsome scowl. ‘You do not know how lucky you are not to have a twin, Euphemia. He has brought me nothing but trouble.’
As I considered this to be perfectly true, there was nothing I could say. I offered Richenda a plate of sweet pastries that appeared to have escaped her attention. She waved them away brusquely. ‘Can’t abide the sight of ’em,’ she said.
‘But there are custard-filled horns here. Your favourite.’
Richenda’s colour suddenly became tinged with an unflattering shade of green. ‘Oh, Euphemia,’ she wailed. ‘It is terrible. I cannot abide sweet things. They make me as sick as a dog!’
‘Good heavens!’ I was amazed. Cake had always been the way to improve Richenda’s temper. If I was to be denied this weapon, I was unsure how we would all survive the mood swings of her advancing pregnancy.
‘I know,’ said Richenda. ‘I thought I was seriously ill; that something terrible had happened during my fall.’
My mind boggled trying to fit this together.
‘But the doctor said it is quite normal for ladies in delicate situations to take some foods into aversion during the latter stages of their confinements. But why, why did it have to be cake?’
I felt Richenda’s pain or, more to the point, I anticipated our pain to come. ‘Did Lucinda find Amy a dress?’ I asked, hoping that talk of her daughter would distract her.
Richenda picked up a pastry filled with tomato and some green herb. ‘Very exotic,’ she murmured.
‘The dress?’
‘No, silly, this thing,’ she said, waving the foodstuff at me. ‘The dress was rather simple for my taste, but Amy thought she looked like a fairy princess. Apparently Richard has hired a seamstress for Lucinda, so she can have anything she wants made up at any time.’
‘Hans hired one too,’ I pointed out.
‘Hmm – but ours has no style or taste.’
I cast around desperately to change the conversation again. Richenda’s taste, particularly her green and orange designs, is not to most other people’s tastes. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, she is married to a gentleman of impeccable taste and sartorial elegance. ‘McLeod told me he has met Ellie in unlikely places,’ I said.
Richenda shrugged. ‘She might consider him a good prospect. You met her brother. She is doubtless wishful to change her situation. McLeod has a good career ahead of him. She could do worse.’ She eyed me keenly. ‘Unless you wish me to dismiss her?’
‘I have no further interest in Rory McLeod,’ I said, although in my heart I was unsure if this was true.
‘Good,’ said Richenda. ‘It’s all very well him working for Bertram, but Hans could not possibly have him in our household. Despite the obligation we both owe him, Hans finds him a difficult man to tolerate. And I would hate to lose you.’
‘I think being forced to live at Bertram’s ever-crumbling estate in the marshy fens would put most women off marrying Rory!’ I said with a snort.
‘I keep forgetting you spent some time there,’ said Richenda. ‘Was it very bad?’
‘One of the least eventful days was the morning when the kitchen floor gave way.’
‘Oh dear, Bertram is so impulsive. He should never have sunk all his money into that terrible place.’
My eyes pricked up as I remembered something Rory had implied and then, annoyingly, refused to elaborate on. ‘All?’ I asked. ‘I thought Bertram was well-situated.’
‘Hans tells me it is not proper to talk about money, but I do believe Bertram is now struggling for funds. He was meant to be helping Hans meet business people here, but Richard’s cronies are not as familiar to him as he had hoped. I would not be surprised if it was Hans who ended up helping Bertram with his investments.’
It flashed into my mind that this meant Bertram might have had a reason to want Richenda to lose her child. As she had remarked, he was a man of impulse and passion. I would not put it past him, when he fell in love, to marry the girl within the month. In fact, this had almost happened, but the unfortunate lady had brought an end to his courtship with her sudden demise.
I shook myself. How could I think such a terrible thing of Bertram? Of all the Staplefords he was by far the best. It was this castle: despite the renovations and the bright fires that blazed in all the public and guest rooms, the place felt dark and gloomy to me. I could not rid myself of the feeling that something terrible would soon occur.
I realised Richenda was still talking. ‘A stable block! I ask you. She doesn’t even ride. And Richard is only interested in automobiles. The man is completely besotted. Either that or he thinks that without gifts there is no way she will consent to give him an heir.’
‘Richenda!’ I cried, shocked.
‘Oh, don’t look at me like that,’ said Richenda, her eyes alarmingly filling with tears. ‘I used to do everything he asked of me, but my twin, he never … He never … I can only think he is most unnatural …’ Her speech was interrupted by sobs. ‘He never treated me as he should. He never did anything for me. He never showed me any brotherly affection and, yet, for this girl he has known but five minutes he would move the earth. How can he be so uncaring about his own twin?’ she finished on a wail.
It took some time and several fresh pastries to calm her. The mood swings of a lady in an interesting situation are, as Rory once put it, ‘fearsome times.’ I managed to walk the tricky line between reminding her of her good fortune in securing such an excellent husband and sounding envious. In the distance I heard the sound of bells. ‘Listen,’ I said. ‘They must be married. Bertram did not object!’
‘Did you think he might?’
‘At breakfast either his conscience or the kippers were troubling him. I was not sure which.’
Richenda gave a little hiccupping laugh. Then she became serious. ‘Do you think any of us should have warned her what Richard is truly like?’
‘We would have done nothing but harm,’ I said. ‘I spent a lot of time thinking about this and I do not see how we could have proved his true character to her. He has avoided arrest, and I believe he is responsible for more than one atrocity, but there is no proof.’
‘He’s damnably cunning. I will give him that.’
‘And, besides, could it not be possible that Lucinda is his Achilles heel? I mean – he does actually love her?’
‘Euphemia, this habit of trying to see the good in everyone will only get you into difficulties. You must drop it,’ said Richenda. She cocked her head to one side. ‘You were right, I hear bells too. I must look a fright. Ring for my maid, Euphemia. I need to bathe and dress. If they are walking back I should have time.’
I did so. Then I retired to my room to tidy my hair and wash my face. The wedding breakfast would be served when the guests returned. I could, of course, avoid it by simply staying in my room. But, like a moth drawn to a flame, I felt impelled to attend.
I was making my way downstairs and trying to decide where I could best, and most unobtrusively, await the wedding party. The last thing I wanted to do was make an entrance. I hoped to mix in with the arrivals quite unobserved. What Richenda might do, I could not say, but I t
hought it better to make my own way. I had almost gained the large hall, which ran from the main doors to the Great Hall and was lined with many smaller saloons, when, as I turned the last corner of the turret stair, I practically collided with Mrs Lewis.
‘Oh, Miss St John,’ she cried stepping back.
I found I sprung back up three steps with the alacrity of a startled cat. This was most embarrassing. I had no knowledge of the cause of Mrs Lewis’ facial disfigurement, but I had always done my best to ignore it. However, in the gloomy, dark stairway of an eerie castle, her appearance had made my heart feel as if it had detached itself and leapt into my mouth.
I took a deep breath. ‘I am so sorry, Mrs Lewis. It was quite my fault. I had been keeping Mrs Muller company and I was looking for a way to quietly join the wedding party upon their return.’
‘So you heard the bells too?’ asked Mrs Lewis. ‘A difficult time.’ The last words were spoken almost to herself. Her whole demeanour was most unlike the efficient woman I had previously known.
‘Is something troubling you, Mrs Lewis?’ I asked. ‘Can I be of any help?’
This outrageous suggestion from a guest quite snapped her out of her revelry.
‘Oh dear me, no.’ I thought I saw a slight glint in her eye when she continued, ‘I am afraid I could not imagine you taking on any kind of position at the castle. Although they will need a new housekeeper.’
‘You are leaving?’ I asked, surprised.
‘It was only ever intended my being here for setting up the castle. Obviously I know it well.’ I must have looked blank as she continued, ‘You know I used to work here for the previous Laird, don’t you?’
‘It may have been mentioned,’ I murmured, unsure.
‘Anyway, this will not be the primary home for Sir Richard and Lady Stapleford. It is far too out of the way, and Sir Richard has decided he wants me to oversee all his staff, but particularly at the Stapleford Estate, where he intends to mostly reside. I may also be taken to the family’s London home when the House is sitting. Parliament,’ she added.
‘Indeed,’ I said. ‘It sounds as if your career is flourishing, Mrs Lewis. Having had the privilege of working under you, I know it is well deserved. I wish you all the best. And you are quite right, I do not intend to ever enter the Staplefords’ service again.’
‘If you will forgive me saying so, Miss St John, you should not be in service at all.’
I was spared replying to this unusually direct comment from the housekeeper by the sound of voices and footsteps approaching. Mrs Lewis cast a glance over my shoulder and paled. ‘If you will excuse me,’ she said, and actually brushed past me in her rush to get away.
I looked round at once to see if I could pick out who she was so desperate to avoid. Richard, his bride on his arm, strode through the hall. Following just behind were two men in kilts. There was a resemblance in their features, but while one was a young man with fiery hair, the other was a gentleman bent and grey. He walked with the aid of a cane and the arm of the younger man, who I assumed to be his son.
Richard and Lucinda swept by me without acknowledgement. Lucinda was beaming up at her new husband, a picture of radiance, but Richard deliberately snubbed me, so perhaps it was not surprising that the young man called out to me, ‘You there! Where can my father get a chair?’
A little nonplussed at his attitude, I said as politely as I could, ‘I am afraid I do not know, sir. I am not aware which rooms are to be opened up.’
‘Good grief, girl. Do you not know who we are? This is the Laird, Fraser Kennedy, the previous owner of this castle, and I am his son, Dougal. Move, you dunderheid!
Chapter Nineteen
Fate accompli (pun intended)
I drew myself up to my full height, which is admittedly not great, and said with icy politeness, ‘Allow me to ring for a footman.’
Dougal Kennedy frowned fiercely.16 It was at this point Bertram trundled around the corner. I say trundled, for it seemed all too likely that he had provided himself with a hip flask for the ceremony and had been partaking of it throughout. ‘What’s happening, Euphemia?’ he asked, or at least I presumed that was what he asked. It sounded rather like ‘Wafftshappenin, Iffena?’ Then he took in Fraser Kennedy’s tottering steps. ‘Oh dear. Oh dear me,’ he said, scuttling to the Laird’s side. ‘Looks like you could do with a bit of a hand – a wee bit of a hand. That’s what you chaps say, isn’t it? Did I tell you my valet is Scotch? Good man. Good worker. Sort of butler-cum-valet.’ By this point he had reached the other side of the Laird, relieved him of his cane and taken his other arm. ‘Your people can turn their hands to anything, can’t they?’ continued Bertram, blithely unaware of how insulting he was being. ‘Comes of living in such a rough country, what? Can’t exactly ring up Fortnum’s when you need a new jar of marmalade, hmm?’
I tried to catch his eye, but he had started to walk off at quite a pace, so that to keep up with him Dougal was obliged to raise his father’s other arm higher. By the time they had reached the end of the hall, both of the Laird’s feet were off the ground, and Dougal was red in the face and puffing. I hurried after them; all thoughts of entering unobtrusively lost in my concern that alcohol was masking Bertram’s heart problems, and that at any minute he might collapse.
But my worries were in vain. By the time I caught them up, Bertram had deposited the old Laird in his seat at the wedding breakfast table and was toddling off to find his own position. He lurched up to me and offered his arm. ‘Help you to your seat, milady?’ he slurred.
‘I imagine I am somewhere at the back,’ I said drily.
‘Not at all,’ said Bertram, escorting me much further up the table than I had expected. ‘I am on your right and Hans is on your left. Try not to flirt with him too much. Women in delicate positions, I am told, can feel quite vulnerable. Not that I would have used vulnerable as a word to describe Richenda,’ he said, pulling out my seat, ‘She’s vulnerable in the way a dreadnought is.’
‘How much was there in your flask?’ I asked quietly. ‘And how much is left?’
‘Have a heart, Euphemia!’ said Bertram. ‘I had to get through the ceremony somehow. Took all the willpower I had not to object when the Minister asked if anyone knew any reason they should not be married. Only reason I didn’t was all I could think of to say was, “because the man’s a bloody cad”, and it didn’t seem right to swear in church.’ At this point he hiccupped loudly. Hans and Richenda appeared through the crowd to take their seats.
‘Goodness, Bertram,’ said Richenda, ‘I do believe you’re squiffy.’
‘Not every day one sees a lovely young girl married off to a monster,’ said Bertram, darkly.
‘Hush,’ I said. ‘Whatever you feel, it is too late now. They are married in the eyes of God, for better or for worse.’
Bertram rolled an eye. ‘You believe all that rot, don’t you?’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked, shocked.
‘In marriage. Ever seen a happy marriage, Euphemia? ’Cause I can tell you my parents were as about as happy as pigs living next to an abattoir.’
‘Hans and I are perfectly happy,’ said Richenda crushingly. ‘Now do be quiet, Bertram, before someone hears you.’
‘Ah, yes, but you’re different,’ said Bertram. ‘It’s not as if you married for …’ at this point I trod heavily on his foot. He gave an indignant squeak and looked at me with sorrowful eyes. Meanwhile, Hans got a servant’s attention and ordered some strong black coffee. When it arrived he handed it to Bertram.
‘Drink this before you make a complete fool of yourself,’ he said softly and with a surprising amount of menace in his voice.
Bertram, looking all too much like a wounded spaniel, muttered apologies and sipped his hot beverage while the rest of the guests took their seats around us. Unbelievably a gong sounded and a man dressed in black livery, presumably the butler, announced, ‘Please be upstanding for Sir Richard and the new Lady Stapleford.’
I was not
entirely sure that this was the correct address. Lucinda only had a title due to her husband, so surely she was Lady Richard? Sometimes17 I missed my mother.
Despite my qualms, everyone else, ladies included, scraped back their chairs and stood. Richenda was the only one who stayed seated. There was an outbreak of cheering from the men as Richard and Lucinda entered. Lucinda’s eyes shone like stars. And why not: today she was the Princess of the Castle, and if she had not yet realised the frog-like tendencies of her Prince, who was I to spoil her day? The poor woman would be spending the rest of her life with Richard.
‘And bearing his children,’ whispered Richenda, as if reading my thoughts. I could not repress a shudder. Richard had once tried to kiss me and the memory of his whiskers on my lips still gave me nightmares.
After this came the feast – the many expected courses and many, many glasses of wine. However, Lucinda, or Mrs Lewis, had opted to bring scores of servants so we could all be served as much or as little as we required. The bride and groom were served first, but there were so many guests that they did not bother waiting until everyone was served. Course after course appeared, and while it would be considered rude to turn away the main dish of a course, one could fortunately, as a lady, restrict one’s intake without causing comment. Hans, who retains a trim figure, was moderate in his intake from the start. Bertram started by apparently trying to eat for Scotland, but quickly began to flag. Later, he told me that whole banquet struck him as a never-ending nightmare of black arms proffering him more and more food until he feared he might burst. Richenda kept up a snide commentary to Hans about the excess of food until he told her bluntly to desist. Then she lapsed into a sullen silence.
The meal continued with Bertram growing more and more quiet as he struggled to keep his digestion under control. Ever polite, Hans engaged me in small talk. However, as the majority of subjects that interested us both were not ones we wished to share with other guests, our range of topics was somewhat limited. Eventually, we fell back to chatting about the Mullers’ estate and Hans’ plans for it. I was happy to engage with this, including Hans’ future plans for expansion and his desire to become better acquainted with his neighbours. We had almost reached the stage where the bride’s father was expected to stand and deliver his speech when I noticed the furious looks Richenda was sending me. I sighed. Offending Richenda had become tiresomely easy since the incipience of her pregnancy.
A Death by Arson Page 10
