A Death at the Church

by Caroline Dunford

  ‘In case anyone whoever killed him went out the back.’

  ‘I do not consider it could be you,’ I said.

  ‘Then you are a better person than I,’ said Bertram. ‘I did genuinely wonder if you had killed Richard. I wouldn’t have blamed you...’

  I stopped and laid both hands on his arm. ‘I know I can be both passionate and headstrong,’ I said, ‘but I promise you I would never take a life in such a state. I know myself. My anger leads to no more violence than the occasional slap.’

  ‘I hope the one you gave Fitzroy last time was a good one.’

  ‘It had a ring to it,’ I said. ‘The skin on his face flamed.’ ‘It’s a wonder you got it past him to be honest,’ said Bertram, prising his arm free to unlock the church door. ‘He let me hit him,’ I said.

  ‘You’re not going to try and convince me that man felt remorse, are you?’ said Bertram pushing the door open. ‘Because I don’t believe it.’

  ‘I have no way of knowing what goes on in his head,’ I said. ‘But I agree, I would not be able to get one past him in general.’

  Bertram pecked me on the cheek. ‘Well, I am damn glad you did. If my ticker wasn’t so dodgy, I’d have given that man a thrashing a dozen times over.’ These words were spoken with an edge that surprised me. I knew Bertram disliked the spy, but this sounded as if he hated him. I let the topic go for now and appealed to his chivalrous instinct. I caught at his arm again.

  ‘Gosh,’ I said, ‘it does look much bigger and more foreboding in the darkness.’

  Bertram produced a lighter from his pocket. ‘I’ll get those candles lit in a trice. You’ll see there is nothing to be afraid of. I’ll say this for Hans, he does have a lovely little church.’ He wandered off dotting lights across the main body of the church. I followed him. Having grown up a vicar’s daughter I have no fear of churches, the deceased, or even corpses, but better to let Bertram think he was in charge. Even as I thought this I gasped inwardly. Was I merely playing the clever fiancee who did not want her beau to feel bad –manipulating him as women have done to their men down the centuries – or was I taking on more and more of the attitudes of a spy.

  ‘Hey, Euphemia!’

  I turned around to see Bertram standing in the pulpit. A gloriously carved oaken one with inset panels showing biblical scenes and a great carving of a dove supporting the church bible. You reached it up a tiny staircase, where it hung some several feet off the ground.

  ‘Have you found something?’

  ‘No,’ said Bertram. ‘I was wondering if I would make a good vicar. You get quite a view from up here. I can see why some priests get a bit self-important during their sermons. The pews look pretty small from here.

  ‘I think you would hate being a vicar,’ I said. ‘There’s an awful of talking to people and helping them with their problems. Barely any time to have a cup of tea, let alone enjoy a cigar while you read a good book.’

  Bertram tripped down the steps. ‘Sounds like a dreadful life.’

  ‘I think not, if you’re called to it.’

  ‘Must be why they call it a vocation,’ said Bertram. ‘I will take the left pews if you take the right. Can you bend down in that dress?’ Fitzroy, I thought, would have asked if my lacing was too tight, but Bertram would never mention such intimate matters to a lady.

  ‘I shall manage,’ I told him, though I expected it would be somewhat uncomfortable.

  After a stomach-squeezing half an hour, I finished my side. We met at the font to examine our finds. Bertram dragged one of the large candles over so we could see. ‘I have a lot of sweetie wrappers,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realise people bought sweets to a wedding. It’s not as if we weren’t going to feed them.’

  ‘Most of them are breath mints,’ I said checking the wrappers. ‘You did have a stag night. Maybe some of your fellows were still hung over.’

  ‘Doubt it. Hans organised a rather sober affair. Probably because the Bishop came.’

  I laughed. ‘I think he mistakes the character of my step-father. While he wouldn’t be up for anything outrageous, I don’t think he wears his clerical cloth too tightly.’

  ‘I also found a seating arrangement. It’s quite precise. I don’t remember this.’

  I took in and examined it in the candlelight. ‘Neither do I, but it is the kind of thing my mother might do. I found another copy.’ I held them up side by side. ‘They are not the same.’

  ‘Is it your mother’s handwriting?’

  ‘It’s a good copperplate,’ I said. ‘Many people could have done it.’

  ‘Not me. Being left-handed, I always smudged the ink across the page.’ ‘I didn’t realise...’

  ‘Oh, I mainly use my right hand. Used to get beaten for using my left at school. Everything’s still easier with my left though.’

  ‘Bertram, I am more than happy for you to be outwardly left-handed when we set up home together. I will tell the maids to arrange cutlery and other things accordingly.’

  Bertram made a harrumphing sort of sound and then said, ‘You are a jolly good sort of a girl. I am ever so glad I got up the courage to ask you to marry me.’

  ‘I wanted you to ask me for an age,’ I said. ‘But I didn’t know how to go about encouraging you. I only got engaged to Rory because I thought I could never be with you, and it would make things easier.’

  ‘Silly girl,’ said Bertram, and I heard the relief in his voice. ‘I almost asked you once, much earlier in our acquaintance, but I bottled out and asked you to be my housekeeper instead.’

  I answered him with an embrace, and we both forgot about our search, Richard, and the rest of the world for a short while.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘We have to face the antechamber,’ said Bertram. I nodded. ‘Lots of light?’

  ‘Candelabras of light,’ said Bertram. ‘You hang back while I fill the place with a wax bonfire.’

  I watched him carry candle after candle into the room beyond. I might not be scared of churches, but the shade of Richard Stapleford, whether manifest or in my own mind, scared me. A monster in life, I could not bring myself to imagine what devil he had become in death.

  ‘I could get some holy water from the font?’ said Bertram.

  ‘I am not sure if you are joking.’

  ‘Neither am I. But the place is all lit up. It’s been scrubbed clean already. You wouldn’t realise anything had happened in there.’

  He offered me his arm and together we stepped over the threshold. Immediately I felt the temperature plummet. ‘You’re shivering,’ said Bertram.

  ‘It is much colder in here.’

  ‘Not really. Those grate things in the floor pump the heat through the whole church at the same time. If anything, this room should be warmer with all the candles.’

  I surveyed the room. It looked like the antechamber of any parish church. A shaft of moonlight glanced down from a small window high up on the wall opposite where we had entered. It cast a green and red image on the flagstones, but it was either mired with dirt or worn with age. The details could not be distinguished. There was a single door to the outside, bolted shut, although I could not recall whether or not it had been when I found Richard. Made of the large grey blocks of stone as the rest of the building, the antechamber had a vaulted ceiling that came to a point from which hung a grotesque. It leered down at us. The mason had carved it with its tongue sticking out and the face drawn into a ferocious grimace. The arrow-shaped end of its curled tail hung down as if might fall or strike out at any moment.

  ‘Ugly things,’ said Bertram following my gaze. ‘Are they meant to ward evil away or warn us who might be tormenting us in the next life if we don’t mind our Ps and Qs?’

  ‘I don’t even remember it being there,’ I said. ‘Maybe it is Richard,’ said Bertram. ‘Or maybe it has come to mark the site of the murder,’ I said.

  ‘I was joking,’ said Bertram.

  I gave myself a little shake. ‘It is all too easy to get caught up
in the gothic cold of this place. Let’s split up and give the room a thorough check over. The sooner we leave the better.’

  ‘Are you certain you do not want to search together?’

  ‘You can hardly search with me hanging off your arm,’ I said. I caught his concerned expression on his face in the candlelight. ‘Ah, did you mean to do the searching yourself?’ My mind immediately flew to two explanations for his behaviour; that there was something he did not wish me to find or that he wished to spare me exertion and distress. My heart told me it was the latter.

  ‘I am well,’ I said. ‘The experience, although most distressing at the time, I have consigned to the past.’

  Bertram gave me a disbelieving look.

  I sighed. ‘If you will not believe that, then allow me to help see justice served.’

  ‘That’s the thing, Euphemia. Justice was served. Richard deserved what he got.’

  ‘No single soul has the right to mete out God’s justice,’ I said. I heard my voice say the words, but they did not ring as true for me as they once had.

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Bertram. ‘You always did have loftier principles than I.’ He smiled and patted my hand. ‘But if you do get frightened –’ He saw my face. ‘I mean, too tired, I will be happy to carry on.’

  I blinked back tears. ‘Are you all right, my love?’ said Bertram.

  ‘You are right. I am tired,’ I said. ‘Let us get this done.’ I broke away and moved to the side of the room where I had found Richard. One tear escaped and I brushed it away quickly. When I had sworn myself over to Fitzroy, I felt like I had made a bargain with the devil. I never regretted my action as much as I did then.

  In one corner was a pile of chairs, dusty with cobwebs. They must have been there a long time, but I did not remember them any more than I had the carving on the ceiling. I realised that the drama of the event had distorted my memory. But the state of them convinced me that nothing had been disturbed in that corner. In front of me stood an inky square of darkness. Someone had stood up the screen again. I picked up one of the candles Bertram had brought through and stepped behind the screen. A shape on the floor stopped me in my tracks.

  For a heart stopping moment I thought Richard’s body still lay on the ground. I quickly realised it was too small. I crouched down bringing the light closer and almost vomited as I saw blood. I rocked back on my heels and had to put out a hand to save myself. Someone had indeed been sent to clean the chamber, for here was the pile of rags they had used. Either Hans’ servants had become lazy or, I thought more calmly, left them here until a fire could be lit discreetly outside to dispose of them.

  I swallowed the bile in my throat. I placed the candlestick down away from the bloody spectacle and put out my right hand to gain purchase enough to rise.10 My fingers slid through the floor. I jerked back and sat down heavily. At the same time, I heard Bertram sneeze. ‘Bless you,’ I called.

  ‘Than-a-choo you,’ said Bertram. ‘Almost done. Anything over there?’

  ‘Not yet,’ I lied. I moved the candlestick once more, so it was closer to where my right hand had been. As Bertram had mentioned, there was a line of curious little grates running parallel to the wall. That, in itself, did not interest me, but as my fingers had gone through the grating, they had felt something. Though I was loath to be on knees, and at the mercy of whatever still lingered here, I switched to all fours and poked the fingers of both hands down through the grating. Something had brushed my fingers. Something that did not feel like a pipe. I only hoped that the mousing and ratting cats Hans kept did a decent job.

  Again, I felt something out of place. My index finger traced the edge. There was so much dust in the grate that I dared not bring the flame closer. In a few moments my fingers told me it was a small curled pocket book. The owner had rolled it up to pass it through the grate, but once there the pages had partially uncurled. I tried to lift the grate and a small section came away easily.

  Bertram sneezed violently several times. ‘You know, old girl, I think this is no good. Silly idea of ours in the first place.’

  ‘One more minute,’ I called from behind the screen. ‘I do not wish to return just yet.’

  ‘No indeed,’ said Bertram. ‘Must ensure we do a thorough search.’ I heard him moving about on the other side of the screen. He could not be far from me.

  Carefully, and with a necessary slowness that sent prickles of sweat down my back, I managed to reach the book and started to pull it up. I almost had it when Bertram sneezed once more, startling me and I dropped it. This time it went further down, and I was forced to more or less lie along the floor to give my fingers the best distance and angle for purchase. This time I only hooked it with my index finger. I pulled it slowly up, all the time feeling it wobble on my fingertip and reached my other hand down to steady it.

  ‘Think I’m done, old girl,’ said Bertram. ‘Need any help?’

  For a few moments the pocketbook, my fingers and the grating seemed to be permanently intertwined as I hurried to get it and replace the metal plate.

  ‘Euphemia? Is anything wrong?’

  ‘No,’ I called, scrambling to my feet. I tucked the pocket book into my cleavage and quickly swept the edges of my poor skirt across the floor, so there were no signs of my activity. Bertram folded back the edge of the screen. ‘Oh, how ghastly,’ he said, seeing the rags. ‘You should have let me...’

  ‘I am not a fragile flower, Bertram. You should know that by now.’

  ‘Indeed not, my love,’ said Bertram sweeping me into his arms. I heard the papers rustle in my bodice, but the noise was lost to another of Bertram’s sneezes. ‘Good heavens, but you are dusty. We must get a maid to run you a hot bath.’

  ‘We must put everything back,’ I said. ‘Or it will be known we were here.’

  ‘We didn’t find anything,’ pointed out Bertram.

  ‘It’s only polite,’ I said.

  ‘I suppose you have a point,’ said Bertram glumly. ‘I’ll do that if you head off for that bath. Probably better we don’t come sneaking back in together. Besides, there is no way I can kiss you when you are this dirty.’

  ‘Ridiculous, is it not? If things had gone as they should we would have been married for almost two days and climbing into bed together would be the most natural thing in the world.’

  ‘Euphemia! You’re not suggesting...?’

  Even with the light of so many candles, I could not read the expression on his face. His tone was astonished, but whether it was happy astonishment or disapproval, I could not tell. ‘No. No, of course not,’ I said. ‘We will wed soon enough.’

  ‘Oh, I see. For a moment I thought... Well, never mind. I have hated my brother for as long as I remember,’ said Bertram, ‘and now I find I hate him a little more.’

  Would I have gone with him then to his bedchamber? I do not know. My world had been turned on its head and of all the things that remained good and true, I knew it was the love between us. Would it have been so very terrible to have sought comfort in his arms? My moral compass, once my steadfast guide, spun in confusion.

  I walked back to the house. Once I had bathed, a terrible weariness overcame me. I could barely keep my eyes open long enough to stagger to my bed. I kept the pocketbook under my pillow. Tomorrow, I told myself, I would share its discovery with Bertram. If I could not trust him, how could I trust anyone.

  The next morning saw me up and dressed early enough to be the first down to breakfast. I had stowed the pocketbook at my breast, unopened. Bertram, I knew, needed sufficient tea and toast to rouse himself to full wakefulness. Stone looked a little startled to see me up so early, but he quickly brought me toast to add to the range of breakfast foods in the multitude of warming dishes that lay along the sideboard. I discovered I felt remarkably hungry and stoked my plate higher than I might have done in company. I sat down to eat with some relish. In the distance I heard the ring of the doorbell. It was far too early for callers. I presumed it must be either a new or a pa
rticularly precocious tradesman. I listened for the quiet thunder of Stone’s voice. It didn’t come. Instead, a few minutes later, Stone stood at the doorway to the breakfast room, coughed uneasily. ‘The police, miss,’ he said. ‘The gentleman assured me you would be eager to see him.’ Before he could further his explanation a tall man in a driving coat brushed past him. He drew off his driving gloves and dropped them down beside the plate next to mine. Then he shrugged himself out of his coat and threw it down on the next chair, warding off Stone’s attempt to take it with a stern hand.

  ‘You don’t mind if I help myself to some breakfast, do you, Miss Martins?’ said Fitzroy, grinning down at me. ‘I had to be away rather early to get here at a reasonable time.’

  ‘It is fine, Stone,’ I said. ‘Perhaps you could tell Mr Muller that the police are here again?’

  ‘Oh, no need to do that,’ said Fitzroy. He already had his plate in hand and was spooning mushrooms onto it. ‘I won’t be here a trice. Better to not upset the household again. They’ve been through a lot. Just a couple of formalities I need to go over with Miss Martins.’ ‘Miss?’ said Stone.

  ‘The gentleman is right,’ I said. ‘If he is departing soon,’ I gave the growing pile on Fitzroy’s plate a dark look, ‘it may be for the best to leave the others undisturbed.’

  ‘As you wish, miss.’ Stone left closing the door behind him silent disapproval.

  Fitzroy sat down with a truly enormous amount of food in front of him. He saw me looking at it incredulously and grinned again. ‘When I’m short on sleep I always find I get the most tremendous hunger,’ he said. ‘By the way, I assume they do now know you’re Miss Martins and not Miss St John?’

  I hadn’t thought...’ I said. ‘Stone would not comment.’

  ‘Like name, like nature?’

  ‘Something like that. What do you want, Fitzroy?’

  ‘Why, you, of course.’