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

by Caroline Dunford

  My employment has rather hardened me to such nefarious goings-on. I am constantly prepared for the low morals and behaviour of some of this country’s greatest and so-called good, and I am rarely disappointed. People, I am afraid, Euphemia, are in general not very nice. They are driven by greed and self-interest, and the men at least are also driven by lust. I confess I am really never sure how much a part this plays in a woman’s life, but then it is not generally a side she is allowed to show. Overall, as Richenda’s suffragettes have tried to explain, and generally failed, women do not have an easy lot in life.

  But I digress. It is so rare for me to have a captive audience, who will actually pay attention to my words.

  Your information reward in this letter comes in two parts. Firstly, may I suggest you continue to resist the charms of Mr Rory McLeod. I detect within him a jealousy and latent sense of inferiority which would at best wreck your union and at worst endanger you. Take this from a man who knows more about the human psyche than is comfortable for any human being to know. Bertram Stapleford, on the other hand, is a brilliant man, who needs a guiding hand. Preferably yours. He will be spared the coming conflict due to his heart condition, but he will want to play his part. If the two of you present yourselves to my department on the declaration of war I am certain necessary, and indeed vital, work will be passed to you. Finding the enemy within, the spies hiding within our homeland, will be a great, but secret, part of the war. I have already put your names in front of the necessary individuals. You will merely need to be prepared to stand up and be counted. I know you will always do your duty, but I firmly believe it will be the making of Bertram.

  My second piece of information relates to the activities of Richard Stapleford. Both my department and that of Mr Edward have regarded this man and his activities with grave misgivings for some time. However, for political reasons, or connections with the well-placed, whichever way you wish to look at it, the man has been protected. You and I both know he murdered his father and he is complicit, if not actively involved, in several more killings. The late Mrs Wilson, housekeeper to the late Lord Stapleford, Richard’s father, was believed by a select few to once have been his mistress. He was known to have a penchant for chambermaids. How Mrs Wilson overcame, or lived with his advances long enough to become his housekeeper I frankly have no idea. By all accounts she was an embittered and friendless woman. But for whatever reason, he kept her, and unknown to him I have received information from a most reliable source that Mrs Wilson kept a series of diaries over the years she spent at Stapleford House. My hope is that they would be incriminating of both the late Stapleford and the current one. Until the end, my source assures me, Mrs Wilson knew the innermost secrets of the Stapleford household.

  I should add here I do not think this was a reason for keeping her as housekeeper, or even alive, but rather the opposite. I can only imagine that the Staplefords were never aware of her activities as a diarist.

  As she had no other home, or indeed relative, this means these incriminating papers remain at Stapleford House. I know you have no love for Richard Stapleford, so I entrust you with the task of locating this papers and bringing down Richard Stapleford once and for all.

  I stopped reading. I had also been told of these diaries by Mrs Wilson herself. I had failed to find them when I had been living in the house. Was this my next task? I could not even see how I would begin. Would Bertram be willing to uncover the evidence that would send his brother to the noose? We had tried once before and failed in the most noisy and spectacular way. I gathered my courage and read on.

  Do not concern yourself, Euphemia, this is not your next task. I offer it only as information for you to do with as you will. All the tasks I will present to you should easily be accomplished within a few months, if not weeks. I do not wish to draw attention to what you are doing for me and any long undertaking would certainly do that. Also I am aware I am already trespassing on your good nature to a large degree.

  So this task may be your easiest. If you have seen me die – if you have been to my funeral, that has been conducted by a reputable funeral director. Then you will be able to complete this task without leaving the room.

  However, if there are any questions over my death – not over who may have killed me, I imagine it will have been someone who was simply doing their duty, for another nation of course. Or it may be that I died in a natural accident – which would be disappointingly tame, and I would hope I knew nothing about it at the time.

  But. If my body was not recovered. Or if it was unrecognisable-able. Or not identified by anyone you would consider trustworthy …

  Would you mind thoroughly checking that I am actually dead?

  Yours as ever,

  F

  I could only hope Bertram did not have a hang-over this morning. I foresaw I would need all the help I could get with this request.

  My first sight of Bertram at the breakfast table was not encouraging. His cravat was floppy. His hair hung in lank strands, and the eyes raised towards mine were distinctly bloodshot. He was attempting to decapitate a boiled egg with little success.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said in a roughened voice, ‘tell me that we are finished and are now going home.’

  I sat down and took the knife from him, sliced off the top of his egg, and passed it to him. Bertram regarded it solemnly.

  ‘Neater than Nanny,’ he muttered. He sighed. ‘I guess we are not yet finished.’

  ‘Because I helped you with your egg?’

  ‘No lady is ever that nice to me unless she wants something. In the normal order of things you would be berating me for being drunk.’

  I felt myself redden. ‘I am hardly in a position to criticise after my escapade with the vicar.’

  Bertram’s pale face broke into a grin. ‘That was rather funny. You are very giggly when you are drunk.’

  My face absolutely flamed at this.

  ‘Tell you what,’ said Bertram, ‘Let’s keep these few days between us. I blame the ghoulish influence of Fitzroy. I won’t mention any of this to Richenda if you won’t.’

  ‘I have no intention of doing so. If you recall I was not even meant to tell you what was going on.’

  ‘And what is going on?’ A rasher of bacon finally parted under some incessant sawing. Honestly, it was looking as if Bertram needed his whole breakfast cut up.

  ‘Your co-ordination does suffer the next day, doesn’t it?’ I said putting off the moment as long as I could.

  ‘Nope,’ said Bertram. ‘My eyesight. Everything’s decidedly misty. Come on, fess up. What has does he want done now?’

  ‘He wants us to check he is actually dead.’

  ‘That shouldn’t be too hard,’ said Bertram brightening.

  ‘Especially as I was the one who confirmed he was dead.’ And I proceeded to tell Bertram what had occurred on the Carpathia.

  ‘They made you check the dead?’ asked Bertram, shocked.

  ‘But although the Carpathia seemed full to bursting a great many lives were lost before we appeared at the scene. The Titanic was far beneath the waves by the time we arrived.’

  ‘Did anyone know what had happened to him?’

  ‘I was forbidden from asking about him by name. Besides, we don’t even know what name he was travelling under.’

  ‘Sounds like the chances are that he is dead.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I do not feel that I could have done more at the time with the conditions imposed on me.’

  ‘You do not sound convinced,’ said Bertram.

  ‘Maybe, after seeing so many dead bodies, it is hard to accept someone is dead when you do not see their corpse.’

  At this point the waiter who had approached silently dropped the toast rack and slices of bread spilled out across the table.

  ‘Careful,’ said Bertram.

  ‘I am so sorry, sir,’ said the waiter.

  I smiled at him. I knew Bertram had been referring to me. ‘Accidents happen,’ I said.

/>   ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ said the waiter. ‘I will bring you some fresh toast at once.’

  Bertram and I talked determinedly about the weather under the toast was safely delivered.

  ‘What do you want to do?’ said Bertram. ‘Interviewing all the survivors would be an impossible task.’

  ‘I agree. But I do think there is something more I should be able to do.’

  Bertram looked at me hopefully. I stared into my teacup for inspiration. ‘I am not going diving,’ said Bertram warningly.

  I looked up and smiled at him. ‘You are certainly thinking big,’ I said. ‘We need something smaller. Something simpler that we can check that would give us some reassurance if not absolute proof.’

  ‘Like if he got on the ruddy boat in the first place,’ said Bertram, spooning far too many mushrooms onto his plate.

  I clapped my hands. Then looked down at the offending appendages in embarrassment. ‘Yes, that is exactly what I mean.’

  ‘So you want to go to the port?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Wait a minute. Was his name was on the ship passenger list?’

  ‘I want to speak to the man who gave him his ticket. I want to speak to someone who saw him boarding the ship.’

  Bertram sighed. ‘I suppose it’s better than searching the seabed.’

  ‘We have to try,’ I said.

  ‘You will not feel you have fulfilled your duty unless we do, will you?’ said Bertram gloomily.

  ‘I am not sure even this will satisfy me,’ I said. ‘But I cannot think of what else to do.’

  ‘Well, I suppose with what happened to the Titanic people are more likely to remember helping the passengers, but still, Euphemia, you have to remember there were over a thousand people on board. It is possible no one noticed him particularly.’

  I snorted. ‘Not Fitzroy.’

  ‘Even if he wanted not to be noticed?’ said Bertram.

  ‘I admit that would make things more difficult.’

  ‘Perhaps we can find out who he was sharing a cabin with,’ said Bertram. ‘He might even have survived.’

  ‘Unlikely. There were some men from First Class who survived, but I think the others were those who rowed the few boats that were launched. Most of those were members of the crew.’ I shivered.

  Bertram reached out and patted my hand. ‘It was a terrible tragedy, but such things thankfully occur very rarely.’

  ‘I heard a lot of the survivors’ stories. I did not ask them, but it was as if in the moments after being rescued they had to tell someone. If was as if they could not keep the horror within them. As the days passed and we grew closer to land, so those rescued spoke less and less.’

  ‘Perhaps they wished to leave as much of the tragedy as they could behind on the sea.’

  I nodded. ‘Unless they have no other option I think many of them will never again travel by sea.’

  ‘I have never been on a liner,’ said Bertram. ‘And I must confess the idea is much less appealing now.’

  ‘She left from Southampton. That is where we will need to go.’

  ‘I shall ask the concierge for a recommendation and write ahead to acquire us rooms at a decent hotel. I fear we shall have to break the journey. Hopefully, the roads will be decent enough, but I do not think we should force ourselves into too fast a pace. I fear this journey will be an emotional one for you.’

  He paused and drank deeply from his coffee cup. I remained silent.

  ‘I mean because of your experience with the survivors,’ he added.

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I would like to put those days far behind me, but I see no other choice.’

  ‘You wouldn’t consider …’ began Bertram.

  ‘No,’ I said.

  Bertram heaved an enormous sigh. ‘Thought not. I better go and tell McLeod we’re in for more travelling. I don’t know how much longer we can keep what is going on from him. I only hope he does not take it into that thick Scotch head of his that we are eloping, or worse, that I am taking advantage of you.’

  ‘It is rather the other way around,’ I said.

  Bertram looked pained. ‘Please, do not say anything like that in front of McLeod. It is liable to prove painful for me.’

  [15] I confess, when I read this I had no conception of what Fitzroy was referring to.

  Chapter Fifteen

  In which Rory becomes a bit of a problem

  The journey to Southampton was long. Bertram’s automobile was doubtless an expensive one, but whether it was his vehicle, the general state of the kingdom’s roads, or even Rory’s driving, I found travelling an exhausting experience. This is a mystery to me, as one is doing nothing but sitting during the whole procedure and looking out of the window or talking in veiled terms to one’s companion. Perhaps it is something to do with taking in more and more views of the world that tires the brain.

  We broke the journey at a mediocre hotel. I did not enquire where we were, but merely tumbled into bed after a tasteless supper. Despite my exhaustion the lumpiness of the mattress disturbed my rest terribly. So it was when we finally reached Southampton the next day, I only wanted my supper and my bed.

  It was late afternoon and Bertram was eager to go down the shipping office and start enquires. ‘I should think we have a full hour or more before they close,’ he said.

  ‘I am sorry,’ I said. ‘I wish to bathe, eat, and get a decent night’s sleep. Until I have these I will not be good for anything.’

  Bertram pestered and pestered me until I finally told him he could start the initial enquiries without me. Little did I realise that in so doing I had opened myself up to a most unpleasant experience.

  I had had my bath and was in that lazy, warmed state of being that comes only from being immersed in gloriously hot water. All the smuts from the journey were gone and my hair no longer held that peculiar metallic smell that is produced by the fumes of automobiles. I had dressed, for I was intending to go down to dinner. The food one is served in one’s room is never the chief’s best and I was very hungry. When there was a sharp knock on my door, and before I even had time to ask who it was, the door was flung open and an angry Scotch man strode into my room.

  It only took one look at his face to see that Bertram’s fears had been well founded. Rory must have learned Bertram had gone down to the shipping office and decided we were planning to sail away together. I decided to tackle him head on.

  ‘If we were going to elope we would hardly take you with us,’ I said coldly.

  Rory, who had obviously been prepared for many responses, had not included in his imaginations my cold dismissal of his thoughts before he had even spoken. He looked startled and more than a little confused.

  ‘If you would be as good as to close the door before you begin berating me,’ I said.

  ‘That wouldnae be right,’ he said. ‘You and me in a hotel room alone.’

  I marched over to the door and closed it. ‘Well, you should really have thought of that before you came up here,’ I snapped. ‘I have no intention of letting the rest of the hotel guests and staff know my business.’

  ‘And what is your business,’ said Rory, trying to grab control of the situation.

  ‘I am executing a will,’ I said with as much ice in my voice as I could muster. I had already thought through what I might say when Rory challenged me, as I knew he would. If I could manage it, I would tell him as little as possible. This desire was partly inspired by Fitzroy’s command that I keep the situation to myself and also because I knew full well that when Bertram and Rory worked side by side, rather than as master and servant, they were prone to come to loggerheads.

  My determination survived less than ten minutes. Rory was relentless in his questions and, more importantly, he was between me and my dinner. His stance and expression made it very clear that, no matter I was now technically his social superior, there was no way I was getting out of this room until he had his answers. I could certainly not push past so strong and tall
a man. I was also unsure what would happen if we laid hands on one another. I was tired and I knew I was emotionally vulnerable. It would be all too easy to lean on Rory, to even attempt to rekindle our relationship, for I was far from indifferent to him, but Fitzroy’s warning echoed in my mind, and his very action of coming to me when he had no right to question anything I did showed a jealous turn of mind that any lady might shrink from.

  I made one last attempt. I stamped my foot and said, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Rory, I want my dinner.’

  Unexpectedly, he laughed. ‘All right, I believe you.’

  ‘Why?’ I asked suspiciously.

  ‘Even you, Euphemia, are feminine enough not to have a hearty appetite on the brink of an elopement.’

  ‘I am not sure I find your statement complimentary. Particularly the part about even I being feminine enough.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ said Rory. ‘Ye’ve won.’

  ‘Moreover,’ I continued, still feeling decidedly ruffled, ‘there would be no need for an elopement. Bertram can marry whoever he wishes as can I.’

  Rory made a humph-ing butler noise. ‘I suppose Richenda would welcome you as a sister with open eyes?’

  ‘She would not have any say in the matter,’ I declared hotly.

  ‘So you are going to marry yon wee mannie?’

  ‘He is not wee!’ I protested.

  ‘He’s guy shorter than me.’

  ‘You are overly large,’ I said with as much dignity as I could muster. Rory bristled visibly, but I knew this had nothing to do with my comment on his height.

  ‘However,’ I said holding up a hand, ‘I have no intention now or ever of marrying Bertram. He is a dear and good friend, but nothing more.’