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

by Caroline Dunford

  ‘Yes, I see.’ I paused. ‘Do you think he is still alive?’

  ‘You mean has he become pig-food yet?’

  I nodded.

  ‘I am afraid that our escapades at the docks previously did arouse suspicion and it may be that his captors will cut their losses and run. That is if he has not already told them what they need to know.’

  ‘I think that is unlikely,’ I said. ‘I cannot imagine him caving under torture.’

  Rory threw me a sidelong look.

  ‘You have no idea what torture is,’ he said.

  ‘Neither do you,’ I replied crisply. ‘But we can be certain it would be most unpleasant.’

  For a moment it seemed as if Rory had something more to add, but he let the moment pass. He drew up alongside the house. He turned off the engine and jumped down leaving me to fend for myself. The farm drive was exceedingly muddy, so I felt faintly victorious when I managed to scrabble down without ending up head first in the mud.[22]

  The farmhouse was a long low building of only one storey. The entire structure was clad with wooden planks, making it look more like a barn than a house. It was a big flat cube of a thing that promised corridors winding between the rooms. There were several windows at the front and two at the side nearest us. They seemed to have been put in a most haphazard manner. The ones that faced out over the farmyard were covered in a wire frame through which would be vaguely glimpsed none-too-clean curtains. Only the side windows near the door were clean and sparkling in the sun. There was a main entrance at the front of the building, but it was clearly shut up.

  Before it and around to the side there were rows and rows of pig pens with their small yards. From the one nearest to us it seemed there were either two or three pigs in one or a sow and her piglets. It was a very large operation. I estimated there must have been over a hundred animals on the premises. The noise they made was a loud snuffling and slurping, but it was the smell that was overpowering. The stench of dung ripening in the sun was extremely unpleasant. Away in the distance I could see other covered outbuildings and shut doors. The yard itself was muddy and rutted. It was clear of debris, but somehow still unkempt. Bags of pig feed were piled up alongside the house. A wheelbarrow stood next to them. I gathered we had arrived close to feeding time.

  Rory walked up to the side door and banged on it. I followed quickly behind him. The door opened with a hideous squeak, revealing a well-rounded middle-aged woman in a long, faded dress, knocking flour from her hands.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she said, sounding and looking all the world like a typical farmer’s wife.

  ‘Aye,’ said Rory. ‘I mean yes.’ He too seemed flustered by the woman’s homely guise. ‘Our master is moving into the neighbourhood and is holding a grand weekend party. He has asked Cook and I to enquire locally about the availability of fine ingredients.’

  ‘I wish I could help, but you have come on my baking day. Derek, my husband, is out feeding the beasts. He’d be happy to call at your house if you will leave your address. He can bring some samples out for you to try.’

  ‘That is a kind offer,’ answered Rory, ‘but our master is most insistent that we see how the animals are reared. He has some guy modern ideas about farming.’

  ‘How strange,’ said the woman noncommittally.

  ‘Aye, he is a strange man, but a wealthy one,’ continued Rory. ‘In with all the top people, though his is a new title. I believe even the local magistrates will be attending.’

  ‘Will they indeed,’ said the woman. ‘You had better come in. I will make you a cup of tea while you wait for Derek. I don’t have anything to do with the beasts myself. Dirty things. This way. I warn you he may be a while.’

  ‘Perhaps we could look for him among the sties?’ asked Rory.

  ‘Oh, you wouldn’t want to do that,’ said the farmer’s wife. ‘Some of those beasts can be right vicious. People take the Perfect Piggy name to heart, but really they are nasty things, pigs. You wouldn’t want to end up in a pen by mistake. Take a chunk out of your leg soon as look at you, they would. And then once you’re on the ground … well, let’s just say it’s unlikely you would be getting up again. There, there, dear. You are looking quite pale,’ she said, patting me on the arm. ‘you sit yourself down in my little parlour. There’ll be no piggies coming in here. Our Rufus will see to that won’t you, boy?’ she finished obscurely.

  She had led us into a small, well-kept parlour. A fire was burning in the grate despite the warmness of the day. A clean threadbare couch with hand-quilted cushions set before the hearth. As we approached the hearth rug rose up to meet us, revealing itself to be Rufus, a brown and grey mongrel dog, the size of a small pony. He bared his teeth at the sight of us.

  ‘Don’t mind him,’ said the woman. ‘He’s just giving you a smile.’

  The dog gave a low, rumbling growl. As one, Rory and I sat down on the couch. ‘I’ll be back in a minute,’ said the woman. ‘Make yourself at home.’

  Rufus plonked his great haunches down on the ground and sat down opposite us. Seated his and my eye level matched. He was truly huge. A dollop of salvia drooled down towards the floor. I could not help wondering if he had been fed today.

  ‘That’s a guy big guard dog,’ said Rory quietly. ‘Do you think he’s half pony?’

  ‘I think he has been set to watch us and make sure we do not leave this room.’

  Rory lowered his voice even further. ‘Do you think they know who we are?’

  ‘I do not think so,’ I said. ‘I think she is being as cautious as anyone might be who had a prisoner on the premises. You said we were sent by our master, so they cannot risk making us disappear as our master would come looking for us.’

  ‘That was the idea,’ said Rory.

  ‘I was almost convinced we had it all wrong,’ I said.

  ‘She is a very convincing farmer’s wife.’

  ‘She has not been baking.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do you smell bread? She said it was baking day. There’s no smell.’

  Rory nodded. ‘The work of a moment to dip your hands in some flour. These are very dangerous people.’

  ‘I agree,’ I said. ‘Maybe we should leave before she comes back.’ I started to rise. Rufus let out a blood-curdling growl. I sat back down. ‘Maybe not,’ said Rory. I looked at him helplessly. Everything had already started to go wrong.

  What felt like hours later the woman returned, bringing a coarse-looking, squat man with her. There was no sign of any tea things.

  ‘My husband,’ she said. ‘These people, Derek, are enquiring about your meats for their master.’

  Derek grunted and came across to Rufus. He rubbed the dog’s ears. Rufus looked up at him adoringly and drooled on his shoe.

  ‘Good boy,’ he said to the dog. Then he looked over to us. ‘Don’t do farm visits,’ he said shortly. ‘Give me your address and I'll bring some meat round to sample.’

  ‘They said their master wants to see how the beasts are reared,’ put in the woman.

  ‘Why?’ said the man.

  Rory shrugged. ‘The man has some ideas about how beasts should be raised. As I said to your wife, he is a guy strange man.’

  ‘Scots, are you?’ said Derek. He smiled at Rory. ‘Good people, the Scots.’

  ‘We are that,’ agreed Rory.

  ‘And what do you think about your master’s ideas?’

  ‘I think you should trust the farmer. My father has a smallholding up in the Highlands.’

  ‘So you know a bit about farming.’

  ‘A wee bit,’ said Rory.

  ‘I tell you what, seeing as you have farmer’s blood in your veins I’ll make an exception for you and give you a little tour. Your cook can stay with my wife and have a cup of tea. Tilda never takes enough breaks. Girl would work herself to death if I let her. It will be nice for her to have some company for a while.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Rory. ‘It would be grand to see your farm. It looked mighty im
pressive driving up.’ He stood up. This time Rufus made no protest.

  ‘Take Rufus with you,’ said his wife. ‘I think the girl is a bit shy of him.’

  ‘What, a hulking great softie like him?’ said the man, bending down to rub the dog’s stomach. ‘He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Unless they were intruders, like. Best guard dog in the county.’

  ‘I can believe it,’ I said. ‘He is a formidable animal.’

  The farmer gave me a smile, but his eyes remained cold. ‘You make yourself comfy, girl, and I’ll show your man what he wants to see. The wife will bring your tea.’

  Rory left with the farmer and Rufus. The woman smiled at me and closed the door behind her. ‘I’ll fetch the tea,’ she called. Then I heard the click of a key being turned. I had been locked in.

  [22] I had never before exited an automobile unassisted.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  In which I have a cosy chat with a farmer’s wife

  I flew out of my seat and tried the door. As I feared, it did not budge. My heart was beating too fast, but I tried to slow my breathing and calm myself. I turned round slowly and assessed my surroundings more clearly. There was no other door. The window had a wire net fastened across it. I also noted that the room had cobwebs around the chimney stack and dirt in the corners. I had never been to a pig farm before, but all the other farmer’s wives I had met in my childhood when my father was vicar of Sweet Meadow Parish had taken enormous pride in their homes. Almost as if they were trying to counter the inevitable chaos of the farmyard outside.

  This farm did not make sense. There were undeniably many pigs here, but a farmer’s wife who pretended to bake? A dirty farmhouse? A man who did not like his animals to be seen? And even the strange layout of the house. The cumulative effect of these facts made me sure that Fitzroy had been, and hopefully was still, kept here.

  What shocked me the most was that a woman was involved in his kidnap. But then I was supposedly the head of his rescue operation.

  Now, that was laughable. If Fitzroy was to be believed, which was always questionable, he was one of the chief players in his department and involved in affairs of the nation abroad. That he should have Bertram, Rory, and myself as his rescuers boded ill for all of us. If only he had passed on to us a fraction of his skills as opposed to simply hushing us with the Official Secrets Act. A hairpin that had been dislodged by my leaping up fell to the ground. I picked it up. How hard could it be to pick a lock with one of these?

  As it turned out, very hard. I ended up snapping the pin in half and spending what felt like a very long time trying to fish the remnants out with the other half before the farmer’s wife returned and found the lock jammed.

  I ended up with one end in my teeth, while I broke several of my fingernails in the lock and dirtied my skirt on the floor. The actual skill of picking locks had to be easier than this. The final piece fell out just as I heard footsteps in the corridor. I kicked the shards into the corner and scurried back to my seat. From outside the door I heard the clinking of crockery shifting on a tray. The much-mentioned cup of tea was finally arriving. However, balancing a tray and unlocking a door is not easy. My instinct was to get up and hold the door open (when it was unlocked) to help, but the more critical part of me rebelled against doing anything to help my captor. Besides, I did not want her to realise that I knew the door had been locked. So I stayed where I was and prepared my most innocent expression.

  The clinking became more frantic and just as I was tensing myself for the crash of a dropped tray the door flew open.

  ‘Wretched thing,’ said the woman. For a moment I thought she was referring to me, but she crossed the room and beamed at me. ‘’Cuse me putting this down on the floor. Derek’s got the table out the back for fixing. We had a big order in recently. Derek was slaughtering day and night, so I ended up feeding the pigs. I’m all behind in the house. What must you think of us?’

  I took the cup she offered me. ‘I think that you and your husband run a most successful business. I am sure your produce is excellent.’

  The smile grew broader. ‘So you’re the cook of the house. You’re mighty young for such a post. Your employer is a lord, your husband said.’

  My brain worked furiously. ‘I wasn’t meant to be the cook,’ I said. ‘I met Rory at the country fair, and with him being in service – well, you know how it is, we had to marry quickly if we wanted to be together. His master was kind enough to offer me a position as an under-cook. His own cook was getting on in years and he thought she could train me up over time to replace her. Only she did not take it that well.’

  ‘Walked out, did she?’

  ‘She didn’t like me from the off, nor the thought of being replaced even though she was getting on in years, but when the master said he was set on coming down here it was the last straw. She said there was no way she was moving away from her people. They parted on bad terms and now the cooking is all down to me.’

  I opened my eyes very wide and tried to look overwhelmed. ‘The truth is, I can cook a good meal for my own family, but I am spending day and night poring over the old recipes the cook left behind. You wouldn’t have a good recipe for pork belly, would you, ma’am? Only I know it’s one of the master’s favourites and I will have to make it very soon.’

  ‘Oh, you poor little thing,’ said the woman. ‘What a pickle you’re in. If I didn’t have the kitchen so full of baking I’d take you through and let you copy out some of my recipes.’

  ‘Oh, I would not mind the mess, ma’am. That would be so helpful.’

  ‘You might not mind it, but I have my pride.’

  ‘I do understand what with your husband being so busy.’

  ‘Just married, are you?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘I’m sorry to say it but you will find husbands a right trial. The things they can get you embroiled in if you take my meaning. A sweet young thing like you too.’

  ‘I am sure Rory will know what is best for me,’ I said though the words stuck in my throat.

  ‘You be careful, dear. That man of yours is a wrong ’un. Take it from one that knows. Don’t you let him be leading you down the wrong path. Can happen all too easy and all too quick.’ She blushed slightly and turned her face away. Then reaching into her apron pocket she produced two biscuits. ‘Fancy one? I always keep a little treat by me for when I’m feeling low.’

  The biscuit she proffered was large and covered with lint from her apron pocket. It looked more like the kind of thing you would feed a pig. I was spared the necessity of taking the thing as the parlour door opened and Derek stalked in, closely followed by Rory. The woman shoved the biscuits quickly back in her pocket.

  ‘Most interesting,’ Rory was saying. ‘I will be happy to recommend you to my master.’

  ‘Nothing but the best pork here,’ said Derek. ‘We supply the White Star liners, you know.’

  ‘Really?’ said Rory, feigning astonishment. ‘That is a very high recommendation and I am even more indebted to you for taking the time to show me over your farm. Come, Effy, it is time for us to go. We have taken up more than enough of these good people’s time.’

  I stood up. The woman looked at her husband. Some unseen communication passed between them and Derek moved away from the door. Rory and I uttered our thanks once more and we left. It took all my effort not to run to the automobile. Rory started the engine and climbed up beside me.

  ‘Goodness,’ I said as he drove down the driveway, ‘I never thought we would get through that unsuspected.’

  ‘We dinnae,’ said Rory. ‘Did ye not notice they never asked the name of our master nor where our house was. They knew we were not who we were pretending to be.’

  ‘So why did they let us go?’

  ‘I have nae idea,’ said Rory. ‘And that’s what’s bothering me.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  In which Bertram and Rory make a plan and it goes as well as one would expect

  ‘What
did you discover?’ I asked.

  ‘Not now,’ said Rory. ‘Wait until we are back at the hotel and we can talk freely.’

  Rory drove away from the farm for some distance then looped back to pick up Bertram. He and Bertram hefted the alarmingly still carpet into the baggage compartment while I packed up the picnic things as quickly as I could. There was very little food left. Bertram must have made a real pig of himself.

  We drove back towards the hotel, but rather than going directly there at one point much nearer the town Rory pulled over by a hedgerow.

  ‘Stay in the automobile, Euphemia,’ he warned.

  ‘Yes, no peeking,’ said Bertram.

  I coloured deeply, thinking that both men must be going to answer the call of nature and also thinking how very much easier men have it with so many things. I crossed my legs and told myself I would be back soon. The carpet in the back moaned and shifted slightly. I sighed with relief. At least Bertram had not beaten the man to death with his shoe.

  The men returned in short order. Now both of them were dressed in poor, well-worn clothes.

  ‘What on earth are you doing?’ I protested. ‘The hotel will never let you in looking like that!’

  ‘Now, Euphemia, no complaining. Rory and I have talked it over and it is the only way to deal with the situation.’

  ‘What is?’ I asked.

  ‘You haven’t told her?’ asked Bertram.

  ‘I can hardly do so with him listening.’

  ‘He won’t be able to hear anything when I close the door,’ said Bertram.

  Rory shot him an evil look.

  ‘Oh yes, well, I suppose there is always a chance,’ babbled Bertram. ‘Better you don’t know for now, Euphemia.’

  I would have protested further, but Rory was cranking the engine into life and no one would have heard me. Whatever it was, the men had decided something between them and had determined that I would not like it. The chances were they were right. I felt all the fight go out of me. I had been more on edge than I realised at the farmhouse, and according to Rory it had all been to no avail. I closed my eyes and shut the world out. I felt exhausted and hopeless. Above all I felt unequal to further arguments.