A Death by Arson

by Caroline Dunford

  ‘If you knew that, why ask?’ I snapped.

  ‘I have also been informed that you have spent some time in prison under suspicion of arson.’

  At this point I thought of Fitzroy again, but in the most unladylike terms. I thought how I would dearly like to shake hands with his neck. My time in prison had been in service to the Nation, but I was bound by the Official Secrets Act from revealing any details. I could only hope that if I was arrested, Fitzroy, if he was even in the country, would hear about it and come to my aid.

  ‘I was released without charge,’ I said. I determined to keep my answers from now on both simple and true. It had not for a moment occurred to me that anyone would know about the arson episode, let alone bring it up at this time. Stapleford. I knew it was Stapleford. I doubted he thought I had set the fire, but he hated me enough to, at the very least, create an uncomfortable situation for me.

  ‘Are you a member of the WSPU?’

  ‘No,’ I said. It had never occurred to me to subscribe despite supporting their objectives. I swore internally to remedy this situation once we were back in England.

  ‘You just fancied a bit of an outing?’

  ‘You are correct in assuming I was caught up in the march by accident,’ I said calmly. ‘I was accompanying Mrs Muller to the capital for a spot of shopping and sight-seeing.’ I made a mental note to ensure Richenda did not contradict me. It would be in her best interests not to do so.

  ‘I see,’ said Stewart. He produced a pencil from his pocket and made a side note in the margin of one of his pieces of paper. This was accompanied with more blowing into his moustache. I wondered if anyone had ever told him what an unattractive habit it was. His age could be anywhere between thirty and fifty, but I would have laid odds there was no Mrs Stewart. What wife would put up with all that panting and puffing?

  ‘I said, was there anything you wished to add?’

  I jerked my attention away from the repellent moving hairs on his face. ‘Do you know who the bodies in the building are?’

  ‘I was thinking more along the lines of you offering me information,’ retorted the Chief Inspector, who it seemed did possess a modicum of humour under all that facial hair. ‘But I see no harm in telling you what is known by every single groundsman. One of the bodies was found curled up, obviously overcome by smoke, but still reasonably intact given the ferocity of the fire. A man, not young, but not particularly old either. Possibly a passing tramp who sought shelter on the wrong night. The other is more problematic. A skeleton revealed when a wall fell during the fire. The local doctor believes it to be of a woman. We assume she must have been there for some time.’

  My surprise must have shown on my face.

  ‘Did you assume it was someone else, Miss St John?’

  ‘I really had no idea, Chief Inspector. But to find one recent body and one skeleton does seem rather excessive.’

  The sergeant suppressed another snigger, but this time it was not at my expense.

  ‘I believe that will be all, Miss St John,’ said Stewart. I rose and was halfway to the door before he added, ‘At least for now.’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Mary is blackmailed

  Much like a wounded animal, my initial response was to retreat to my room, but it occurred to me that I was not the only resident who had been locked up for suspected arson. I went in search of Mary Hill. I found her in her room reading a book on socialism. She was at some pains to ensure I saw the title.

  ‘And so you see,’ I finished, ‘I thought I should warn you.’

  Mary gazed at me levelly. ‘Did you inform the Inspector that I was in the cell with you?’ she enquired.

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Unless you have shared that information with anyone present here I doubt it will have reached the Inspector’s ears. The information was never circulated in the papers or I would have been in trouble with the Dean of my college. It seems you have made an enemy of someone among us. Who here knew of your incarceration?’

  ‘My employer Richenda, her husband Hans, and her stepbrother Bertram Stapleford.’

  ‘Ah, yes, the man you claimed as your brother, or was it your fiancé? You told so many misleading histories it is somewhat difficult to keep track of the truth.’

  ‘I know I deserve that,’ I said, pushing down my temper, ‘but you must understand that everything I did was in cause of rooting out the murderer.’

  ‘Which at one point you believed to be me? I don’t believe they did ever arrest anyone, did they?’

  Oh, how I hated the Official Secrets Act with a passion. I had, in fact, solved this murder, but I could not risk telling Mary without revealing my association with the British Secret Service – or whatever Fitzroy was calling himself now. I swallowed down my bile. ‘No, they did not.’

  ‘And you were, in fact, entirely wrong?’ persisted Mary.

  ‘It would appear so,’ I said through gritted teeth.

  ‘Or it was all a rather clever charade to cover your own actions!’

  I gaped at her. I stood dumbstruck for a few moments before I exploded, ‘I have never killed anyone!’

  ‘Ah, finally,’ said Mary, ‘the sound of truth. Well, neither have I. So, as long as none of your associates mention my name in connection with our previous association, I imagine I will shortly be allowed to leave.’

  I was about to protest but, in truth, the woman owed me no favours. ‘I will keep my counsel on one condition,’ I said, thinking quickly.

  Mary raised an eyebrow. ‘So now you enter into the murky depths of blackmail?’

  ‘I will keep your secret if you will agree to meet me at a time of mutual convenience in London for afternoon tea.’

  Whatever Mary had expected me to say, it was not this. ‘Why?’ she asked, her mathematical mind cutting directly to the heart of the problem.

  ‘Because I think we have begun on the wrong foot. We are not so dissimilar, you and I, and I would like the chance to prove it to you.’

  ‘Well, you have some nerve,’ said Mary. ‘I will give you that.’ She stood frowning for a few moments. I waited. I did not feel that saying anything else would help. Finally, she spoke. ‘I accept. We shall communicate by telegram and arrange a suitable meeting date in the New Year.’ She handed me her card. ‘That is if you are not in jail by then.’ Then she picked up her book once more and began to read. It was clear that I was dismissed.

  I left the room and slowly made my way down to the ground floor of the castle. I was not yet sure where I was going. I regretted that Mary and I still stood on such bad terms. She had a quick and precise mind that I knew would have been of help untangling the current problem. However, she had shown no interest in the matter beyond not being falsely accused. (Again.) Was this, I wondered, how real ladies thought? To all others, with the exception of my strange small band of friends, was crime something best either swept under the carpet or left to the police service?19

  I turned a corner and began ascending the stairs to the Mullers’ suite. If nothing else, I should enquire after Richenda’s health. Perhaps if I told her of my interview with the Chief Inspector she would be so interested she would forget to be angry with me. Richenda had proven to be of great use in the arson case, much to everyone’s surprise. She was not as unobservant as was commonly thought. She had realised quite some time ago that Bertram and I had ‘adventures’, even if she had no idea that we were more and more often forced into these due to the ‘security of the nation’. She had also felt very much left out. Yes, definitely involving her now would help ease her moods and who was to say her unique outlook might not shed some light on the problem at hand. If only she was not with…

  I opened the door to her suite and saw her sitting with her husband. Hans rose at once and came over to me. ‘My dear Euphemia, you look pale. Are you sure it is wise to be up and walking around so soon after your misadventure?’

  I could have happily slapped him. For an intelligent man, Hans somet
imes displays no understanding of his wife: she was throwing daggers with her eyes at me from behind him.

  I had no option. I said, ‘I have just been interviewed by the police. They have learned I was arrested on suspicion of arson previously and I believe I am now what is called “a person of interest in their enquiries”.’

  Hans turned to face his wife. ‘Oh no,’ said Richenda. ‘I didn’t. I did not mention a word to anyone.’

  ‘I am sure you did not,’ I said, sitting down on a chair with an uncomfortable thud, the cushion being more for design than comfort. ‘I imagine the only person who would wish me so ill is Richard.’

  ‘But how would he know?’ asked Richenda.

  ‘He is a man with connections,’ I said, shrugging.

  ‘I don’t see how,’ began Hans, when Bertram entered the room.

  ‘What ho!’ he said. ‘Another murder. Euphemia, you really are an albatross; certainly livened up Richard’s wedding, though. I passed him in the Great Hall. He is spitting feathers! No doubt he thought he’d be lying late in bed with his new wife this morning, instead he’s …’ he stopped and took in our expressions. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ he said, suspicion and wariness seeping into his voice.

  ‘Mystery solved,’ said Richenda.

  ‘I do not think, my dear …’ interjected Hans diplomatically.

  ‘You know what he is like when he has a drink in him,’ said Richenda. ‘And of late that has been happening far too often for my liking.’

  ‘Are you talking about me?’ blustered Bertram. ‘I own I like a glass or two of port after dinner, but no more than the next man.’

  ‘I would not be surprised if Bertram, with another glass of port and a cigar, was not responsible for this whole sad affair,’ opined Richenda, who then promptly burst into tears.

  * * *

  19It depends on where you stand on the social scale. If you are important enough in the Empire then your misdemeanours, however bad, will inevitably be swept under the red, white and blue rug. However, if you are poor and have stolen a loaf of bread, prepare for the harshest sentence the law can invoke. Justice is meant to be blind, but in His Majesty’s United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, that blindfold seems to slip all too often.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Unlucky for some

  As one, Bertram and I backed out of the room. ‘Pregnant women say all sorts of things they do not mean,’ I said gently. ‘She is overwrought.’

  ‘Walk in the grounds with me?’ asked Bertram.

  I stopped only to pick up my hat and coat before accompanying him outside. The air was as sharp as a knife against our skins, cold and bitter, but the noonday sun shone brightly. ‘Happy New Year,’ said Bertram, and kissed me quickly on the cheek.

  ‘Good heavens,’ I said. ‘I had quite forgotten. So this is 1913.’

  ‘Another year, another murder,’ said Bertram gloomily. ‘My life certainly has changed since I met you, Euphemia.’

  ‘I wish you would stop saying that. It is much more to do with your brother than it is to do with me.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said Bertram, extending a hand to help me over a particularly rough patch. ‘I suspect it is also that I didn’t notice these things much before. I mean, if I’d tripped over a dead body I’m certain I would have said something like, “Look, a dead body!” and toddled off to telephone the police –’

  ‘Which is more than some members of the upper classes would do.’

  ‘Thank you, Euphemia. But, the thing is, after doing that I would not have given it any more thought. Unless, of course, it was someone I knew well. In which case, I would have felt rather sad.’ His gaze fixed on the path before us and he sank into his thoughts. I left a silence between us for a while, and we walked on, admiring the magnificent and wild scenery that the Highlands spread before us. The castle grounds were nestled in a valley, or glen, as the Scotch call them, and on three sides mountains rose to snowy peaks, their sides dressed in an interwoven hoard of trees of every description. There was little in the way of formal gardens. Instead, the lawn and gravelled driveway gave way to fields. The land here was flat enough that we could make out the village huddled at the foot of a mountain in the distance. Between the castle and this lay fields of cattle: sheep, cows and goats, all puffing a heavy cloud of vapour into the cold air. I wondered what the beasts had made of the wedding procession. The ground was set hard under foot, so walking was easy enough.

  I had no difficulty being silent with Bertram. We had grown easy in each other’s company, but I could not help feeling guilty. Eventually I said, ‘I do understand what you mean. I had a conversation with Mary Hill earlier today that made me realise how very different I am to most women.’ I then related our conversation. At the end of it, Bertram stopped and grabbed both my hands.

  ‘That’s not what I meant at all. I do not regret how you have opened my eyes to the reality of justice. Or, should I say, the reality of the lack of justice in this world.’ He let go of my hands to wipe his hand over his forehead. ‘For the life of me I cannot work out where it goes wrong. As children we are taught right from wrong, but then, as we emerge into adulthood, my class at least seems to believe it is somehow above these values we were taught to hold dear as children – simply because we have money and position. Before I met you, Euphemia, I never thought about it. I never even noticed and now I cannot stop noticing.’

  I swallowed hard. Feelings came so swiftly I could barely name them. ‘I am glad, of course I am glad,’ I said, ‘that you wish to strive against injustice, but I wonder how much of a good turn I have done you. In so many instances when we have come across wrongs those responsible have been left unpunished.’

  ‘But not always,’ said Bertram. ‘I know in the scheme of things we are both but small creatures, but I think it is important that we strive to see that right is done. One man – or woman – campaigning may not be of significance alone, but with each person, each voice, strength is gathered. Justice calls us and we have heard. We can only hope that more and more will heed her voice and that one day we will be a land of the just.’

  I thought this was getting a bit melodramatic, even for Bertram, who can be abnormally sensitive at times, but I could not mock his sentiments. Indeed, I found myself blinking back a tear or two at his sincerity.

  ‘But do you know what I really need now?’ asked Bertram, with great seriousness.

  ‘What?’

  ‘A buttered muffin.’

  I burst out laughing. Bertram grinned ruefully. ‘It’s damnably cold out here, Euphemia, and a man must eat.’

  We made our way back towards the house in much higher spirits than the occasion warranted. Bertram took my coat and handed it to a footman. ‘I would not concern yourself, Euphemia,’ he said. ‘I think the Chief Inspector was merely trying to rattle you. I doubt he seriously entertains any thoughts that you might be responsible. I mean, anyone looking at you would know at once that you were not an arsonist. Besides, Hans, Richie and myself will all vouch for you.’

  ‘I am not so sure about Richenda,’ I said.

  ‘Ah,’ said Bertram with a sly grin. ‘The incident with the dress. She is making more of it than there was to – er –see.’

  ‘I would rather not discuss the matter,’ I said stiffly. Bertram flashed me a grin and I shook my head at him. In good accord, we made our way back to the Mullers’ suite. Bertram pulled a wary face at me, his hand on the latch. We listened for a moment and heard only a low murmur of voices. ‘Doesn’t sound too heated,’ he said. ‘I reckon Richie has either calmed down or gone to lie down.’ He opened the door. We walked in to see Richenda rise to her feet and say, ‘You wish to interview my servants?’ in outraged tones that would have done credit to a Duchess. Standing implacably in front of her was Chief Inspector Stewart.

  ‘If you do not object, ma’am,’ he said. ‘And even if you do, I am afraid I must insist.’

  ‘Well, honestly!’ said Richenda, turning to Hans f
or support.

  Hans shrugged. ‘We only have two servants with us, Chief Inspector, a nursery maid, Mrs Susie Ellis, and my brother-in-law brought his servant, Mr Rory McLeod.’ He spotted us behind Stewart. ‘You don’t object to the police interrogating McLeod, do you, Bertram?’ Then, without waiting for a response, he continued, ‘As you will have discovered, my other brother-in-law, Sir Richard, has a superfluity of servants, so it was quite unnecessary to bring them up from our estates. Things get to a ridiculous state when servants outnumber guests by more than five to one, wouldn’t you agree, Chief Inspector?’ Hans’ tone was polite and amicable, but it was clear he was reminding the Chief Inspector that he was among his betters.

  I had taken Stewart in some dislike, but I was impressed when he stood his ground and repeated his request. Hans pulled the bell. He also suggested Richenda retire. ‘My wife is expecting our first child and I do not wish her to be disturbed by this unfortunate incident. However, I am certain you will understand that Bertram and myself will stay while you speak with our people.’ Richenda looked none too pleased at being dismissed. I did my best to melt into the background, so no one would suggest I, too, was removed from the room. However, the Chief Inspector knew how to play his cards and did not fruitlessly protest at witnesses to his interviews. Instead, when the servant arrived to carry the messages to Rory and Ellie, he merely asked that she also locate his sergeant and direct the man to join us.

  Rory appeared first. ‘I understand you are a socialist with Bolshevik sympathies,’ said the Chief Inspector before he was even halfway into the room.

  ‘Bloody Richard!’ ejaculated Bertram. ‘That’s where all this nonsense is coming from. Why is he trying to blame us for what happened?’

  ‘I am afraid that your brother loses rationality when angry,’ replied Hans evenly.

  Stewart looked between them, frowning. Rory spoke up, ‘I have, in the past, joined a form of socialist movement, sir. My membership was short lived. I was much younger and very much in love with a girl who was extremely keen on politics.’