A Death Overseas

  A DEATH OVERSEAS

  A EUPHEMIA MARTINS MYSTERY

  Caroline Dunford

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  A Death Overseas

  Of blood and courage

  The vexing question of a chaperone

  Three is not a happy number

  The worthiness of Mrs Eugenie Brown

  Cold meat for breakfast!

  Meeting Mary

  The devil you know

  The Enigma

  Invitation to an amazing spectacle

  A charismatic man

  Nightmares real and unreal

  Planning the future

  Bertram almost comes to the point

  Bertram displays his intelligence

  A letter of import

  Things do not make sense

  Rory says too much

  An unexpected champion

  Detective Hill

  Devil women

  Pierre’s difficult day

  Bertram and I hatch a plan

  The fullness of time

  Caroline Dunford | The Euphemia Martins Mysteries

  www.accentpress.co.uk

  Chapter One

  Of blood and courage

  Bertram lay bleeding. I heard the gun go off once more, but I didn’t see if it hit anyone. Then an arm snaked around me, dragging me away.

  ‘No!’ I cried. ‘No!’

  ‘You need to come away now, lass,’ came Rory’s voice. ‘There isn’t anything you can do here.’

  ‘Get her away,’ gasped Bertram. ‘I ... I ...’ Then his eyelids flickered and his head rolled to one side.

  ‘Bertram!’ I screamed at the top of my lungs. In response, Rory lifted me clean off my feet and carried me from the room. He had to shove his way through the throng that had gathered in the tiny antechamber. I kicked him hard, where I hoped it would hurt the most, pulled his hair out by the roots, and generally inflicted enough pain that most men would have dropped me on the spot. It was fortunate he carried me only a few yards. Then he dumped me down on the long breakfast table, hard enough that marmalade, butter, and dried-up toast were flung into the air.

  ‘Will ye stop it, woman!’ he scolded. ‘Yon mannie is but hit in the shoulder.’

  ‘But there is so much blood,’ I said.

  ‘Aye, well, I reckon they’ll stop the bleeding.’ He jerked his head back at the room and the crowd of people thronging there. He was frowning.

  ‘Does anyone know how?’ I asked.

  ‘Do you?’ asked Rory. I shook my head. ‘Well, you’ll not be a bit of use in there then, will ye?’

  Tears began to roll down my face. ‘He might die.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ said Rory. ‘He’s a stubborn bugg –’ he paused and corrected himself, ‘man.’

  Then Hans was there. His hands were stained with blood. ‘I’ve stopped the bleeding for now,’ he said.

  ‘Of course ye’d know how to do it,’ muttered Rory, so softly only I heard.

  ‘But you need to get a doctor, McLeod. I don’t want any of the idiots in there to move him until a professional has seen him.’

  Rory nodded. ‘She’s hysterical.’

  ‘I am not,’ I snapped. ‘I’m upset.’

  Hans went to place a hand on my arm, but withdrew when he remembered the colour of it. ‘I’m not surprised, my dear. It must all have been a terrible shock.’

  ‘If you will go around confronting dangerous men on your own –’ began Rory.

  Hans quelled him with a look. ‘Enough of that. The man in question is dead.’

  ‘The third shot?’ I asked, feeling the blood drain from my face.

  ‘I am afraid he got the gun back and blew his brains out,’ said Hans. ‘I can only guess what you surmised from speaking with him, Euphemia, but he has gone to eternal justice now, so I suggest no more is said.’

  He glanced at Rory. ‘McLeod, the doctor, if you please.’ Rory looked at me, then in the direction of the antechamber, and shook his head before sprinting off.

  ‘Can I see Bertram?’ I asked Hans.

  ‘My dear,’ said Hans gently, ‘there is a man in there missing large amounts of his head. It is no sight for you.’

  ‘But Bertram ... He shouldn’t be left.’

  ‘No, he should be. The bleeding is stopped for now, but if he is moved then it is likely it will begin again, and with his heart condition I could not answer for the consequences.’

  ‘Then get the body out of there!’ I cried. ‘Bertram should not have to look at it either.’

  Hans nodded. ‘Stay here,’ he said. ‘Though perhaps you should try sitting on a seat rather than on someone’s breakfast.’

  I watched him go. He went over to a bewildered-looking footman and issued some orders. Relief appeared on the man’s face now that someone had given him something to do. Then Hans disappeared back into the antechamber.

  Several people attempted to make me return to my room, but I refused. One by one Hans rousted the ghoulish sightseers from the two rooms. Two servants arrived with a blanket flung between two poles and entered the antechamber. There was a commotion within. One servant bolted from the room and was copiously sick in an aspidistra pot by the window. The last breakfasters, who had been trying to show their sangfroid, left at this. Hans came to the door and called sharply for the man to pull himself together. Sheepishly the young footman returned. There were sounds of movement from within and then the two footmen left carrying their rough stretcher between them. On it lay a body covered entirely in a white sheet that was reddening even as it went past me. I shot to my feet, my hand to my mouth.

  Hans exited the antechamber. He was attempting to wipe his hand clean on his handkerchief. With a singular presence of mind, he lifted the flowers out of one of the vases and used the water within to help. When he saw my face, he came quickly over. ‘That is not Bertram,’ he said. ‘It is the other one. I have given orders for him to be laid in the Castle Chapel. It seems fitting.’

  ‘Where the devil is Richard?’ I asked. ‘It is his duty to sort this situation. It is his half-brother who lies on the ground bleeding.’

  Hans laid a hand on my arm. ‘We are doing all we can, Euphemia.’

  ‘Where is that doctor?’ I begged. ‘Where is he? Oh, Hans, it’s all my fault...’

  And with that, quite out of character, I fainted completely away. I was told by Rory, who was just returning with the doctor, who had been in the house checking up on Richenda, that Hans caught me and carried me to my room, refusing to let any of the servants help. Rory seemed rather cross about the whole thing.

  I awoke much later that evening to a knock on my door. I was lying on my bed with my laces loosened. I had a vague memory of a small grey man with a large black bag. Before I could tell my visitor whether or not to come in, Hans entered carrying a glass of brandy.

  ‘I thought you might need this,’ he said.

  ‘Oh dear God,’ I cried, sitting up and clutching my bodice to my chest, ‘is he dead?’

  Hans closed the door and sat down on the edge of my bed. ‘Euphemia, do you not know me well enough to know that I care for my wife’s brother? I could not be so callous as to take his death this casually. No, Bertram is abed with a heavily bandaged shoulder and McLeod standing guard like a large, grumpy, Scottish mother hen. Bertram wouldn’t dare die now.’

  He passed me the glass. ‘Honestly, my dear, the true danger is passed. He will need to rest here for a few weeks before he is ready to travel, but McLeod will stay with him.’

  ‘We will not?’ I asked.

  Hans shook his head. ‘I do not wish to trespass on Sir Richard’s hospitality longer than necessary. Besides, he upsets Richenda, and with her pregnancy that cannot be
allowed.’

  ‘Of course not,’ I said. I put a hand up to my head. ‘I am sorry, Hans. I feel a little dizzy.’

  ‘Perhaps I should not have brought you the brandy,’ said Hans, frowning and taking the glass from me. ‘The doctor gave you something earlier to allow you to rest. You were so distressed.’

  ‘Oh heavens, I fainted. You carried me up here! Richenda will be so cross.’

  ‘I do not think I have mentioned that part of the tale to her,’ he said, a slight smile twitching at the edge of his lips. ‘In any case she is too concerned with alternatively ordering her packing and demanding to be let in to see Bertram. She really is quite fond of her half-brother, you know.’

  ‘I think since her marriage to you Richenda has grown into a lovely woman,’ I said. The words were out before I thought whether I should say such a thing to my employer. Fortunately Hans did not take my comment amiss.

  ‘Amy, and her experience on the Carpathia, have changed her greatly,’ he said.

  ‘And your guidance,’ I said softly.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Hans. Then he stood up and walked away a little. ‘I am not the paragon you think me, Euphemia. I am only a man.’ He set my glass on the mantel above the fire and turned to face me. In the dim light of the candles and the fire he looked more handsome than ever.

  I blushed, suddenly very aware that we were alone together in my room. I tried for a joking rejoinder. ‘I don’t recall ever saying “paragon”,’ I said.

  He crossed the room in two quick steps to reach me. I cannot say what might have happened next, but my door opened and Enid, my maid, came in. ‘Evening, sir. Evening, miss,’ she said. ‘I’m to help Miss St John into her bed, so Mrs Lewis can send up a fortifying supper.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Hans, backing away. ‘I shall see you at breakfast, Euphemia.’ Then he addressed Enid. ‘Pack for the lady, please, and have her trunks sent to the station. She will be accompanying me, my wife, and our daughter on the way home by train tomorrow.’ Then he left, closing the door quietly behind him.

  ‘Oooh, miss,’ said Enid. ‘Have you been on a train before? I hear it’s ever so exciting.’

  I did not answer her, for my thoughts were as scattered and scrambled as dandelion seeds on the wind. I let her get me ready for bed and ate my nourishment when it came. Then I fell heavily into a deep sleep.

  The next morning I met Hans and Richenda at the breakfast table. The table was full and all were in a subdued mood. Richenda was asking Hans, ‘Do you not think we should stay for the funeral?’

  ‘No,’ was Hans’ short answer. He smiled when he saw me, rose, and pulled out my chair. Then he fell back into conversation with his wife on their various domestic arrangements.

  We arrived back to find the last of the workmen leaving the Muller estate. Electricity had been installed throughout during our absence and Richenda went from room to room trying it out, until she exhausted herself and had to call for sandwiches. Hans advised me to rest for a couple of days. He promised to inform me at once if he heard anything from Scotland about Bertram.

  As I went upstairs I heard him saying to Richenda, ‘I know we no longer have a nursery maid, but you will not call on Euphemia to take that role. She needs at least two days complete rest. I shall be most angry if you call upon her aide before then.’

  ‘But what shall I do?’ Richenda asked.

  ‘I think perhaps we should look among the staff for someone who can be trained up as a nursery maid. Many of my staff come from large families and I am sure there will be some young girl keen to advance. Speak to Stone about it. He will find you someone.’

  ‘Oh, I can play with Amy myself,’ said Richenda. ‘I meant without Euphemia. She is my companion, after all.’

  ‘You will leave her alone for once,’ said Hans, sounding unusually stern. ‘She has suffered several severe shocks of late. If you do not wish to see her slip into a decline you will give her time to recover.’

  ‘Euphemia? A decline? Ha!’ said Richenda.

  ‘If you think that then either you do not know her as well as you think you do or you are more selfish than I had thought,’ said Hans. Richenda made no reply. I imagine she was as stunned by his response as I was.

  She left me to my own devices for a whole week. During this time meals, newspapers, and books were delivered to my room, but I saw no one other than our local doctor, who agreed with Hans that I needed extended bed rest.

  After a week I was heartily bored at staring at the walls of my room. I came down to breakfast to find Richenda eating alone. She waved a piece of toast at me, which I took as an invitation to sit.

  ‘Hans is away,’ she said through a mouthful of bread and marmalade. ‘I am so glad you are up and about again. I have been so lonely. I did not think he would leave me during the pregnancy, but he says his business will not run itself. I wish he would simply cash in my shares. I am certain we could be comfortable on that.’

  I helped myself to a cup of tea. ‘I do not think that is his way.’

  ‘No,’ sighed Richenda. ‘There are many men who would happily live off their wives – think of Tippy[1] – but Hans is not one of them. He has far too much pride.’

  ‘I think you are very lucky,’ I said simply.

  ‘I know,’ said Richenda. ‘I am. Far more than I probably deserve, but I am beginning to think I am a beastly wife. I hardly ever seem to see Hans – which is most modern – but not at all what I would wish.’ And then, with all the raging hormones of a pregnant woman, she broke down in tears.

  I patted her hand, fed her titbits of her favourite foods, and suggested various sedate activities for the days ahead. In return, Richenda eventually stopped crying and told me that a girl named Sally White had been found on the estate to act as nursery maid.

  ‘Richard says he will hire a maternity nurse from an agency when the baby is born, but Stone has assured him that Sally is a most accomplished girl, having raised her three younger siblings after their mother died in childbirth. She will be more than capable of running the nursery.’

  ‘Gosh, that is good news,’ I said.

  Richenda smiled slightly. ‘I said that she sounded excellent, but that Amy should not be underestimated and that once the baby is here we may need another nursery maid no matter how competent Sally is!’

  I smiled back. ‘I agree.’

  ‘Oh, and Bertram is to come to us next week. He is finally up to travelling and cannot bear being in Richard’s house a moment longer. Hans says he is to convalesce with us as building work is still going on in the Fens. He thinks the stress of watching even the excellent Mr Bann pull apart and rebuild his crumbling estate might prove too much for him!’

  ‘I certainly don’t think it would help,’ I said. ‘The place is a terrible mess.’

  ‘That’s what you get when you hire bad workmen, or so Hans says,’ responded Richenda. Over the following weeks I was often to hear of what ‘Hans says’ as it now served as a clincher to most arguments for Richenda. However, I was rarely to see Hans.

  On one the few occasions he was at home, I took the opportunity to visit Mary Hill in the City. We had lunch together and at the end of which we were, if not exactly friends, on a better footing.

  Bertram flopped around the estate recovering and also playing me at a mean game of chess. We were fairly evenly matched and I enjoyed the pastime.

  The year moved on towards Spring. I received two pieces of mail – one unexpected and a great surprise, and the second as unwelcome as it was expected. My mother’s wedding to the Bishop fast approached. I hid the invitation at the bottom of my drawer and mentioned it to no-one. My mother had discovered some time ago where I now resided. She had even visited me here and allowed me to remain incognito because she knew she had no better situation to offer me. However, now she was to marry a Bishop I knew there was a room already ear-marked as mine at the Palace.

  The second piece of mail was a gift from Mary Hill that caused all the commotion.
/>   Chapter Two

  The vexing question of a chaperone

  ‘But I want to go!’ said Richenda. She turned her pouting face to Hans and I wished for the thousandth time I could convince her that a pout on the face of an overweight and now also pregnant woman, who was overly fond of cake, is not a good look.

  Hans did not waver. ‘You are not going,’ he said sternly.

  ‘But...’ began Richenda. Like I, she was now a member of the so-called “Shrieking Sisterhood”, and not one to bow down before her Lord and Master.[2] Or so she liked to think. In reality, Hans’ word on his estate was law. Total, incontrovertible law. However, because he is always fair, always diplomatic, and never exercises a veto unless he feels impelled to do so, all listen to him anyway. It is a trick many of our politicians could learn from.

  Bertram rocked from foot to foot in front of the hearth. His arm was no longer in a sling from the gunshot wound, but he held it stiffly. ‘I quite see your point, Hans,’ he said. ‘But it does leave us with a bit of a problem. I can’t go traipsing all over Europe with only Euphemia.’

  ‘Not unless you’re on your honeymoon,’ said Richenda with, I felt, a touch of spite.

  Bertram turned an alarming red. ‘I say, old girl! That’s a bit drastic. It’s only a dashed expo.’

  ‘Nothing worth getting married to Euphemia for?’ pressed Richenda.

  ‘Richenda, enough,’ said Hans. ‘Your state is much too delicate for you to travel overseas. Would you risk your babe being born anywhere other than Great Britain, let alone the health risks your travelling would expose him or her to?’

  Richenda burst into ugly tears and fled from the room. I rose to follow her, but Hans motioned to me to stay. ‘Let her be,’ he said. ‘I am aware that when in a delicate state the moods of ladies are subject to flux, but there is only so much one can tolerate. Let her cry herself into a state of sense.’

  My eyebrows rose a little at this, but as Hans sank into an armchair, I saw in the reflective firelight that his forehead was now finely lined and the hair at his temples was beginning to grey. He looked older than I had ever seen him. I could not stop myself asking, ‘Is everything quite all right, Hans?’