A Death for King and Country - A Euphemia Martins Murder Mystery (Euphemia Martins Mysteries Book 7)

by Caroline Dunford

  ‘You don’t know my mother,’ I said under my breath. She would consider Bertram far below me on the social scale. Though, he of course, has no idea of this.

  ‘Socialist type, is she?’ asked Bertram, who I hadn’t thought was listening. I decided to redirect the conversation.

  ‘So will you do this for me?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Bertram. ‘It would be highly improper.’

  Richenda choose this moment to enter the breakfast room, so I could not continue the discussion. I contented myself with kicking Bertram, very hard, on the shin. He gave a muffled yelp, but Richenda was in full steam heading for the kippers, and noticed nothing.

  [6] Amazingly, despite our recent trauma (or perhaps because of it), she had increased in size once more.

  Chapter Seven

  In which I unscrupulously bend Bertram to my

  will

  For the rest of the day, whenever he saw me in company Bertram made a pretence of limping. Whenever he found himself alone with me he shot out of the room at high speed. It was exceedingly tiresome. I knew I would bend him to my way of thinking. I had to. The only question was how.

  In the end I decided I would have to begin my lying career with Bertram. I hated to do this, because although we had often fought in the past I had never lied to him. I had not told him about my background, it was true, but I had never lied and today I would have to start.

  I bearded him in the smoking room. He was sitting in one of the wing-backed chairs Hans favours, his eyes closed and a small cheroot between his lips. His feet were stretched out towards a blazing fire and there was an expression of bliss upon his face.

  ‘Bertram,’ I began in a reasonable tone. However the sound of my voice produced the most unexpected effect. Bertram leapt to his feet as if the chair had bitten his backside. For a moment I thought he had actually swallowed his cheroot. But fortunately he had merely dropped it. The edges of his jacket smouldered slightly and the next few minutes of his attention were taken with flinging the cheroot into the fire and attempting to ensure he did not go up in flames.

  ‘Damn it, Euphemia,’ he expounded once he was suitably extinguished. ‘This room is meant to be safe from women!’

  ‘Richenda comes in here all the time,’ I countered.

  ‘Poor Hans,’ said Bertram with deep feeling. ‘Allow me to further your education, Euphemia. Ladies do not enter smoking rooms.’

  ‘This one does,’ I said and sat down on a chair opposite him. ‘You know you’re going to agree to my plan in the end, so why all this hassle and pretence?’

  Bertram adopted a mulish look. ‘I could escape by returning to White Orchards.’

  ‘Oh, is it above water again?’

  Bertram threw me an evil look. ‘It’s really you I am thinking of. You cannot travel unchaperoned with a single man.’

  ‘It’s not that, or not entirely that,’ I conceded. ‘We have travelled alone before. That time we went on the train to the Lodge where all the Smiths waited for us.’

  ‘I wasn’t happy about that,’ said Bertram, ‘but we were doing our duty for King and Country.’

  I gave him a long, low, level look.

  Bertram’s eyes widened. ‘Oh no,’ he said. ‘Oh no, no, no.’

  ‘I can’t tell you anymore,’ I said, quite truthfully. Bertram leapt neatly to the wrong conclusion.

  ‘But, damn it, I’ve signed the Official Secrets Act too!’

  ‘Ours not to reason why … so will you help me?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Bertram. ‘And don’t tell me bloody Fitzroy isn’t behind this pulling the strings.’

  I realised then that Bertram would have no way of knowing the spy was dead, but even dead we were both still dancing to his tune.

  We made our preparations to leave the following week. Bertram suggested I came up with the story of visiting an ailing aunt. I confess having avoided mentioning my family for so long I was not keen on using such a ruse, but I couldn’t think of anything better. All my thoughts were caught up with what I must do once we reached London.

  ‘We don’t need to stay overnight in London,’ I told Bertram in a snatched conversation in the gardens one evening. ‘But I will need a place to change. Perhaps a hired room above a respectable tavern?’

  ‘We will stay in a hotel of the best reputation,’ said Bertram. ‘And on different floors.’

  I frowned. ‘Hans and Richenda pay me well, and I have few expenses save supporting my own family, but I do not think I could stretch to that.’

  ‘I’ll pay,’ said Bertram gruffly.

  ‘I cannot allow you to do that,’ I protested. ‘That really would be improper.’

  ‘Nonsense, it will be the least improper episode of this whole debacle. If you refuse to allow me to protect our reputations in this manner I shall refuse to accompany you.’

  I am equal to many things, but even I quailed at the thought of finding my way to London and on into the deepest country alone. I sensed an inflexibility in Bertram here. He had curved and bent and moulded his morals for me on various occasions, but even he eventually drew a line in the sand.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said humbly. ‘But you realise we cannot use our real names?’

  ‘Yes, dammit,’ said Bertram. ‘But at least I will know I am doing the proper thing.’

  The morning of our departure coincided by accident with the day Merry was due to arrive. Richenda was suitably distracted and a small emergency in the stables had happily taken Hans out of the house. I got one of the maids to carry my small suitcase down to Bertram’s automobile and reflected that the sooner I was away the better. Merry was going to be furious that on the day she arrived I stole her Merrit, who was Bertram’s chauffeur, away.

  I buttoned up my overcoat and checked the pins securing my hat. I would be travelling inside the covered compartment, but I could not believe the windows would be secure enough to keep out the draughts when we travelled at the reckless top speeds of over twenty miles an hour that Bertram favoured.

  Bertram had had the vehicle brought round to the front and was already inside. Stone handed me up into the carriage. I thanked him. He shut the door. The engine, which had already been purring, roared into life and we bumped our way along the drive.

  It was unexpectedly warm in the carriage and within moments I decided to take off my hat. We would be travelling for several hours and it was clear my wide brim was already threatening Bertram’s vision. Fortunately, I style my hair simply and do not have to retire to have my hair re-done the moment I remove my hat, unlike some women. I feel there are already enough daily costume changes forced on us women.

  It took me a few moments and a little jiggling to remove the hat and pins safely. Both Bertram and I were a little breathless when it was done, but there was a look of relief on his face.

  ‘I thought you were going to wear that dratted thing the whole way,’ he said.

  ‘It became clear as soon as I entered the carriage that doing so would have endangered the civility of our journey.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  I sat back in the seat. ‘Ah, this is nice,’ I said. ‘I feel like I am travelling in style. How long do you think it will take Merry to forgive us for stealing away Merrit the day she arrives?’

  ‘I didn’t dare,’ said Bertram. Then seeing my confusion he pointed at the chauffeur. Obviously the man did not turn round, but I knew him even by the back of his head. ‘McLeod’s been learning up on the estate. We are in safe hands.’

  Words failed me. Of all the people Bertram could have brought on his expedition my (very jealous) ex-fiancée, who was as sharp as a tack and by whom I had never managed to pass a single ruse, was undoubtedly the very worst of all.

  Eventually I managed to gasp, ‘Oh, Bertram!’

  He blinked at me in total ignorance. ‘What’s the matter now?’ he said.

  The conversation, which supposedly Rory could not hear because of the glass partition, continued for some time and became
, at least on my part, rather animated. I am certain Rory could see us in the little side mirrors he used to look at the road behind, but his driving did not waver.

  ‘Honestly, Euphemia, I’m not made of servants,’ protested Bertram. ‘I don’t run the same kind of household as my brother, and certainly not as large as the Mullers’. I only have a small pool of people to call on.’

  ‘Why on earth did you take Rory on in the first place?’ I demanded. I knew I was being petty.

  Bertram replied with dignity, ‘Because he needed employment and I needed a butler.’

  ‘But the two of you …’ I trailed off, lost for words.

  ‘On our adventure,’ Bertram admitted, ‘Rory and I were at odds. We have also been at odds over our feelings for you.’

  I stiffened in shock. It was not like Bertram to refer to these matters at all.

  ‘But,’ he continued, ‘all those circumstances are in the past. I know McLeod to be an excellent, honest, and forthright fellow. I applaud his decision to take no more blood money from Richard.[7] We have settled into a proper master and servant relationship.’

  This, I thought, was something I would have to see, and I said as much. Bertram then began to upbraid me about being a troublemaker. In the end I reached over to get my hat, plonked it onto my head, and tilted the brim so I could no longer see him. He humphed and huffed loudly, but I refused to be drawn. Even accusations of childishness did not stir me. I needed to think. Fitzroy had been clear about keeping my tasks secret, but I could see this was becoming more and more unlikely.

  When we reached London, it was approaching the dinner hour. Despite the apparent luxury of the automobile I felt stiff and sore as I was handed down by the hotel doorman. Rory disappeared off to wherever the automobiles were put, and a sullen-faced Bertram and I made our way into the hotel.

  ‘Did you make a reservation?’ I asked.

  Bertram gave me a wide-eyed look.

  ‘Let me deal with this. You see to it that our baggage is fetched,’ I said and without waiting I hurried to the desk.

  ‘I am afraid my brother has overlooked making our reservations. I am wondering if you can help.’

  The man behind the desk gave me an appraising look. ‘I am in town to arrange settlement of some of my late husband’s affairs,’ I said. ‘As you may appreciate we have all had a lot on our minds. I am looking for accommodation for my brother and myself for one night only. Our chauffeur will also need to be accommodated … wherever you put chauffeurs. He is currently taking our automobile to your garage.’

  It was the mention of the automobile that did it. For once I blessed Bertram’s extravagance and determination to try all things new.

  ‘We do have two rooms available,’ said the hotel desk clerk, ‘but they are not on the same floor.’

  ‘Perfect,’ I said.

  ‘What name, ma’am?’

  ‘Mrs Fitzroy and Mr Ellis,’ I said. He was on the process of handing me the keys when Bertram appeared at my side. ‘This kind man has found us rooms for the night, brother.’

  ‘Will you be dining, ma’am? Sir?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Bertram.

  I thanked the man and ushered Bertram away from the desk towards the bellboy who was waiting with our bags.

  ‘You are Mr Ellis,’ I whispered in his ear, ‘and I am your widowed sister.’ Bertram shot me a boggle-eyed look, but had the sense not to demand an explanation before the hotel staff.

  Happily, at dinner we were beset with excellent service. The dining room was surprisingly busy and people were constantly passing our table. Bertram got no more opportunity than to shoot me the occasional question. I managed to keep the name I had signed in from him and also to tell him only that tomorrow morning at ten I had an appointment I had arranged by letter. It was well within walking distance and I would be grateful if he would escort me to the street and then wait for me in a Lyons tearoom which I had discovered, through perusing a local directory, was nearby. Bertram’s habit of starting his interrogatives by use of my name and, or, various polite expressions such as ‘dash it’ meant he took far too long to ask anything significant before someone came within earshot or offered us further courses. He was already annoyed and uncomfortable at having a false name thrust on him where he might, just might, meet someone he knew and eager not to attract attention.

  I enjoyed an excellent meal. Bertram ate angrily and, as I pointed out, would doubtless have indigestion tonight. I advised him to send for some bicarbonate of soda before he retired. He did not thank me, instead contenting himself with glaring at me over the soup, frowning over the entrée, devouring the fish in the most sullen manner, and declining dessert. I had a large slice of lemon drizzle cake and ate every last crumb. Richenda would have been proud of me.

  We retired with my naming the time I required to meet him in the foyer to set off my appointment. Bertram neither confirmed nor denied he would be there. Instead, he grunted goodnight. I told him he had the manners of a pig and tripped upstairs to my bedroom. I hoped I had angered him quite enough that he would not pry further into my schemes. Indeed, if I was lucky he might not speak to me at all before we got back to the Mullers’ estate.

  [7] A large part of the Stapleford fortune was built on arms sales, and Richard continues in this trade today.

  Chapter Eight

  In which I am grateful for having a womanly

  figure

  Bertram Stapleford is not a tall man, nor is he particularly broad in the shoulders, but he has the tenacity of a bulldog. Against the odds he was waiting for me in the lobby at the appointed hour. I thought the least said about our intended destination the better. I smiled at him very brightly, as if there had never been a cross word between us, took his arm, and marched out into the morning sunlight. I thought I had got it away with the deception. Bertram was silent for a while, but when he reached a place where the passers-by had lessened he finally spoke.

  ‘I thought it would be better if we stayed in the hotel for another night. I know you have somewhere else you wish to visit and I felt it was better not to attempt too much in one day. I have little idea of what the roads will be like beyond London, but I suspect very bad.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  ‘The desk clerk was extremely helpful and not only accommodated us for tonight, but also the night on the way back to the Mullers. Though I do wonder if we should also break that journey, as it’s so very long.’

  ‘Possibly,’ I said cautiously, ‘I am unsure how long the appointment after this will take. My information indicated it would be a three-to-four hour drive, or two hours if we took the train.’

  ‘Do you want to take the train, Mrs Fitzroy?’

  ‘Ah, the desk clerk told you the alias I used,’ I said licking my suddenly dry lips. ‘It was the first name that came into my head.’

  ‘Of course it was,’ said Bertram, achieving an admirable level of sarcasm. I felt myself blushing. But we were almost at the tearoom. Bertram let go of my arm and entered without a backward glance. From the set of his shoulders I knew he was not only angry with me, but hurt that I was intentionally keeping from him my mission. I wanted to tell him that it was not I that did not trust him, but Fitzroy, but if I was to keep to the letter of the will I was denied even this.

  I walked up the steps of Black and Hunt, Merchant Bankers, and rang the discreet bell. I took out the flimsy veil I had stowed in my handbag and cast it over my hat and face. An individual with a countenance so devoid of expression he could have been related to Stone opened the door.

  ‘Mrs Fitzroy,’ he said. ‘We have been expecting you.’

  Of course they would have been. Fitzroy would have been nothing but efficient. I imagined there were a variety of events, people, signals, and ploys that he had arranged to be dispersed on his demise. I nodded to the man and stepped across the threshold.

  Obviously, I have never been in a gentleman’s club, but I suspect that Black and Hunt had been modelled on one. The lobby
area was unusually large. Carpeted in thick red pile, bookshelves lined the walls and leather wing-backed chairs were scattered in small groups. Subtle oil paintings in overly ornate frames hung on the walls, and an enormous Grecian-style marble fireplace was filled with unlit logs.

  Except for the two of us there was no one else present. ‘If you will come this way,’ said my escort, ‘I will take you to Mr Grace. He is dealing with this aspect of the estate.’

  I nodded again. My voice seemed locked away. This was the first time I had committed such a brash act of imposture and I was irrationally terrified that when I spoke I would give myself away.

  ‘We are all very sorry for your loss.’

  I stared at the man. This was not a sentiment I could respond to with only a nod. My tongue felt thick in my mouth.

  ‘Of course. Thank you,’ I managed to mumble in what I hoped was a grief-stricken tone. I was given a polite, but without doubt appraising look [8] and then ushered into a small office. The door clicked shut behind me.

  A gentleman of middle years, with a perfect parting in his oil-slicked hair and a suit so subtly elegant it fairly screamed ‘I am a man of means’, came forward to take my hand. Pale blue eyes gazed directly into mine. His hand was dry and slightly warm, his handshake of just the right pressure.

  ‘On behalf of the bank may I express my heartfelt condolences,’ said Mr Grace.

  ‘You are very kind.’

  ‘Our business will only take a moment. If you would care to be seated, Mrs Fitzroy, I must check your credentials. A formality, I assure you, but there is a great deal of money in this account and even under the most tragic of circumstances the formalities must be adhered to, must they not?’

  ‘Of course,’ I managed to say, but I was thinking wildly of how on earth could I prove myself to be someone I was most assuredly not. Could I say my passport had been lost at sea?

  ‘Would you care for some refreshment? A small chilled glass of wine or a cup of china tea? Most ladies and gentleman find themselves in need of something in a situation such as yours, ma’am.’