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  A DEATH AT A Gentleman’s CLUB

  A EUPHEMIA MARTINS MYSTERY

  Caroline Dunford

  Chapter One

  An Old Friend Leaves Bertram in the Lurch

  By 10 o’clock the entirety of my wardrobe lay strewn across my bedroom. I sat in my undergarments on my bed in deep despair. It appeared that during my stay of over a year at the Mullers’ estate I had collected fifteen dresses, yet none of them were fit for today. I could, of course, ask Richenda if I could borrow something from her copious armoire - except I would rather die than do so.

  This is not because Richenda, to whom until very recently I have been a paid companion, is an unreasonable employer. In fact, she has been quite the opposite, and we are soon to be sisters-in-law when I marry her younger brother, Bertram Stapleford. However, Richenda has less dress sense than her beloved horse, and although I have had her checked for colour-blindness, she still insists that shades such as ruby and lime can and should be seen together. Her regalia is always noticed, which she likes, but always for the wrong reasons, to which she seems utterly impervious.

  There was only one thing I could think of to do. I turned to the tiny maid, a young girl from the village, who had been quietly sinking into despair and said, ‘Could you please fetch Glanville?’ When she left I threw myself back on my bed and gazed at the underside of the canopy above my bed. My room was one of those that had been decorated under the direction of Hans Muller, Richenda’s husband, for the arrival of his new bride. Gold silk billowed about my bed and my walls were hung with a pale blue silk that, if you inspected it very closely, had the outlines of kingfishers etched upon it. The suite of furniture was carved from rosewood, and my bed was a ‘troika’ design, like a Russian sleigh.

  In that moment I realised how spoilt I had become. I had thought nothing of these lovely surroundings. Bertram and I may be soulmates, but that doesn’t change the fact that his estate on the Fens was waterlogged and crumbling. I knew he would do his best to get it into order for my arrival as his wife, but I also knew it would be unwise to get my hopes up. Bertram’s income largely went on defeating the latest water incursion of his home. Really, if I didn’t love him so much… but there spoke the spoilt part of me. It was not that long ago that my family had been made destitute on the death of my father, who expired in his mutton and onions, and I had entered service as a maid on the Stapleford estate. There my bedroom had been a tiny room in the attic, with an uncomfortable iron bed. There too I had been introduced to the person who would become my best friend, Merry, who currently lived on Bertram’s estate with her husband Merritt. The two of them were expecting their first child, and I would be deceiving myself if I said I didn’t hope to fall pregnant quickly after my marriage, so that our children could grow up together.

  It is true my fiancé might not be as egalitarian as I am, but then he thinks he is marrying the daughter of a vicar, who has worked her way up from a maid in service to his family. In actual fact my grandfather is an Earl but, unfortunately, since my mother ran off with the local curate, he has let us get on with saving ourselves.

  And that was yet another reason why today promised to be so trying. I was going to have to tell Bertram the truth. There is a big difference between a baronet’s son feeling he is overlooking class to marry a working girl and that same man realising that she is actually several ranks higher up the social scale than him. While I totally acquit Bertram of being concerned over my years in service - he has come a long way since I first met him - I suspect that should my heritage come out after (or even during) our wedding, he will loathe the situation. I do not mean he will loathe me, at least I hope not, but he will be wounded to the quick if he is demoted in the public eye from a knight on his white charger to the role of a vulgar social climber. It doesn’t help that his elder brother, Richard, is quite rightly suspected of patricide, murder, illegally selling arms, blackmail, and kidnapping. Of course, with those kinds of credentials, the only positions open to him were as either a banker or a politician. Not being one to limit his opportunities, he took up both and now has an unhealthy influence in the corridors of power.

  ‘You sent for me, ma’am?’ Glanville said, appearing with surprising stealth at my bedside. She is a plain woman, with the arms of a washerwoman and a face that has clearly weathered harsh winters. However, she is sharp as a whip and can display a deadpan sense of humour that often passes quite over poor Richenda’s head. We frequently worked together on keeping Richenda from implementing her more ridiculous schemes, although this had never been admitted aloud. I felt I could trust her - to a degree.

  ‘I fear I have a problem, Glanville. I hope you may be able to help me.’

  Glanville glanced around the room. ‘The wardrobe exploded, did it, ma’am?’

  I smiled. ‘ With my help, and that of the new maid - Beryl, is it?’

  ‘Beryl Tildsley, ma’am. A local girl, eager to learn. We have agreed to break with normal protocol and refer to her by her first name because Miss Amy kept referring to her as “Tiddles”, like the kitchen cat.1

  ‘In my opinion Miss Amy is given altogether far too much latitude,’ said Glanville. ‘I know the mistress was worried that she would feel displaced by the babies, but she dotes on them.’2

  ‘Besides, Christmas is on the horizon,’ I said. ‘Did you hear what happened last year?’

  ‘I did, ma’am, but as to your problem? I am afraid I have a list of duties to compete with the labours of Hercules to have done before luncheon.’

  ‘Of course, Glanville,’ I said feeling like a naughty schoolgirl. ‘Today I am driving up to London with my fiancé to have a late luncheon with my mother, my stepfather, and my young brother. It is a while since I saw them. Bertram and I will take the opportunity to announce our engagement, and I cannot work out what on earth to wear.’ I felt my eyes brim with tears and I looked quickly away. ‘I’m sure it seems like a very silly problem, but I really do need your help.’

  ‘I do not wish to presume, ma’am, but do I take it that your relationship with your mother is not exactly…?’ She left the question diplomatically hanging in the air.

  ‘I did not attend her wedding,’ I said.

  ‘Was this some time ago, ma’am? I am sure such things can be overcome. Time heals all wounds.’

  ‘It was last month,’ I said very quietly.

  ‘Do you disapprove of your stepfather?’

  ‘I’ve never met him,’ I admitted.

  ‘I see,’ said Glanville. She regarded me quizzically. She knew I was not telling the whole story, but she would not push further. ‘May I ask how your mother likes you to appear?’

  ‘Ladylike,’ I said.

  ‘Modest?’

  ‘Yes, but still elegant.’

  ‘Style, not fashion, as it should be,’ said Glanville, beginning to move among my clothing. She gathered and folded clothing as she went. ‘ I have observed the Mullers’ seamstress is extremely talented. I would go as far as to say her clothes would pass for having been made by a decent atelier. However, we do not have the time for her to create an entire outfit.’

  ‘I know,’ I said miserably, ‘but I couldn’t think of what to ask for. Besides, I hate imposing on the Mullers’ generosity,’ I blurted out in a burst of honesty.

  Glanville allowed herself to sniff loudly. This was clearly a sign of disapproval, but I wasn’t entirely sure what caused the reaction. ‘Your shoes, ma’am, and your gloves and hats. We should start there. And, of course, nothing bought by the mistress.’

  I headed downstairs some time later only to encounter Hans in the hall. He watched me coming down the stairs with an intensity that made me blush. As I stepped off the last tre
ad he came forward and held out his hands. Without thinking, I put my hands into his.

  ‘My goodness, Euphemia, you look magnificent. Beautiful and elegant.’

  I found I could not meet his admiring eyes and dropped my gaze. ‘Glanville and the seamstress were most helpful in repurposing some of my clothes.’

  Hans gripped my hands tightly. ‘You did not commission a special outfit for this reconciliation with your family?’ I shook my head. ‘Euphemia, how many times must I tell you, this estate and its servants are at your disposal? You have done so much for this family…’ His voice thickened, and he broke off. My mouth felt dry. I could not raise my head.

  I will never know what either of us might have said or done next as Stone, the butler, strode into the hall with impeccable timing. Hans and I sprang apart like guilty lovers. Stone, naturally, and merely by his demeanour, made it clear that he had seen nothing suspicious. Instead, he said in his usual deep, level voice, ‘Mr Bertram awaits you outside, miss. He has drawn the automobile up to the front steps.’

  ‘Bertram is driving?’

  ‘Indeed, miss. He is alone. There is no sign of McLeod.’

  I turned to Hans. ‘I fear something is wrong. I must go to him.’

  Hans nodded. ‘Of course.’ His colour was a shade higher than normal, but otherwise he was his normal, suave self. ‘If there is anything you need, you know you only have to let me know.’

  I felt heat flooding into my face again.

  ‘Sister,’ added Hans, I assumed for form’s sake. Hans and I will become brother and sister-in-law, so soon we will all be one family. A happy one, I hope.

  ‘Hopefully, it is no more than McLeod coming down with a bad cold,’ I said. ‘You know how Bertram must be careful of his health.’

  ‘Indeed, his weak heart is a worry to us all,’ said Hans. His response sounded more automatic and emotionless than I would have liked. I gave him a swift smile and went to pick up my small case.

  ‘Stone will take it,’ said Hans before I had the chance to lift it. ‘A lady never carries her own luggage. At least, not in my house.’

  I smiled again. Stone picked up the case and I followed him quickly outside.

  Bertram was leaning against his vehicle, smoking - a practice I cannot abide, unless it is a health-promoting cigar. At the sight of me he threw his cheroot to the ground and opened his arms wide to embrace me. Stone disappeared around the back of the automobile to busy himself loading my luggage. Bertram enveloped me in a bear hug, which quickly morphed into a passionate kiss. Although I felt my reputation must now be in tatters with the staff, I did not protest. Indeed, I have always found kissing Bertram the most uplifting experience. We broke apart when both of us ran out of breath.

  ‘I think we embarrassed old Stone. He didn’t even stop to say hello. I even remembered to carry some loose change to tip with,’ said Bertram.

  ‘Where is Rory?’ I asked. ‘Wasn’t he meant to drive?’3

  Bertram released me and slumped back against the vehicle. ‘Ah. Bad business, that.’

  My hand flew to my mouth. ‘He hasn’t…?’ I couldn’t bring myself to say the word.

  ‘Yes,’ said Bertram. ‘He’s left me. Very bad show.’

  ‘Good Lord,’ I said. ‘I thought you meant he was dead!’

  ‘Might as well be,’ said Bertram. ‘Said the new situation was too much for him and he needed to start over.’

  ‘Did he mean… me?’ I faltered.

  ‘Yes, it appears my marrying the help has offended his delicate sensibilities.’ Bertram gave me a level look, daring me to suggest it was anything else, like jealousy.

  ‘Indeed,’ I quickly agreed. ‘He has always been very proper about how the different classes should interrelate. But he has been your major-domo for so long. I thought, after everything, you were close - or as close as a man and his valet can be.’

  Bertram nodded solemnly. ‘Indeed, it is a deep and trusting relationship. His desertion has cut me to the quick, Euphemia. Why, I even had to pack my own suitcase - and you know how inept I am at that!’

  ‘Maybe he will come back,’ I suggested. ‘He may only need time to accustom himself to the situation.’

  ‘Doubt he’ll have the choice,’ said Bertram as he opened the vehicle door for me. ‘He asked Fitzroy for a situation.’4

  I sank down into the seat. ‘I wasn’t aware that Fitzroy had a particular interest in Rory’s career.’

  ‘You probably know more than I do about the way that wretched man thinks,’ said Bertram. ‘You’ve worked with him the most.’ He walked round to the other side and climbed in.

  ‘Not by choice,’ I said hotly.

  Bertram put his hand on my knee. ‘I know that, my love. Let us hope that if nothing else comes out of this sorry state of affairs, Fitzroy uses McLeod from now on and leaves us alone.’

  I smiled widely. ‘If I never had to hear Fitzroy’s name again I would be more than content.’

  ‘Jolly good,’ said Bertram. ‘Time to leave. I can’t say I’m not nervous, but meeting your family today will bring us that next step closer to marriage - and I am looking forward to that.’ He returned my smile so warmly I glowed with the expectation of being kissed again. But before he could move towards me the whole vehicle shook.

  ‘Oh, the lovebirds,’ said Richenda from the back seat. ‘That feeling, it doesn’t last, you know.’

  ‘What the hell are you doing in my motor?’ roared Bertram.

  ‘Why, coming to London with you,’ said Richenda sweetly. ‘I’ve already put my things in the boot.’

  ‘Well, you bloody well can’t!’ said Bertram.

  ‘Just watch me,’ said Richenda.

  1Amy is the Mullers’ adopted daughter. We believe she is around four or five, but the death of both her parents on the Titanic makes it impossible to be sure. Of Irish descent, she is as wilful as her red hair suggests.

  2Richenda gave birth to twins some months earlier.

  3When I was a maid I was once engaged to Rory McLeod. I have never told either man this, but Bertram kisses much better than Rory does.

  4Fitzroy is the enigmatic spy who has tricked, tasked, and ordered us into various adventures for the sake of King and Country.

  Chapter Two

  Bertram and Richenda Make a Very Bad Impression on a Member of the Clergy

  ‘This bickering is worse than anything Amy and her peers might cause!’ I cried.

  ‘I am not getting out,’ said Richenda. ‘And that is final.’

  ‘I am damn well not taking you,’ said Bertram. ‘Therefore, we will sit here, and I will miss my introduction to my in-laws. This will, in turn, cause the wedding to be abandoned and for Euphemia to remain a lonesome spinster for the rest of her miserable life.’ He turned round to glare at his sister. ‘Is that what you want? Is it?’

  ‘Bertram!’ I gasped.

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Bertram. She is a beautiful woman. Even my husband would have married her, if she had money. She’ll find someone else. Probably someone taller.’

  I had been going to thank Richenda for her affirmation that I wasn’t entirely loathsome to the male population, but I saw my poor Bertram cringe. He hated being short.

  ‘Or maybe that Fitzroy character I met at the hotel. He seemed most presentable.’

  ‘Fitzroy!’ I echoed in horror.

  ‘She would never…’ uttered Bertram in a voice that lacked the conviction I would have expected to hear.

  ‘No, never,’ I said. ‘Now, be sensible, both of you. I would not put off the wedding, but it would be very rude to arrive late for luncheon with my mother, not to mention my new stepfather.’

  ‘Almost as rude as missing their wedding?’ said Richenda.

  I ignored the comment. ‘Why do you want to come to town, Richenda? I do not believe my stepfather will have included you in his plans, although he would not be impolite enough to turn you away - at least, I assume so, as he is a bishop.’

  ‘And must
have to deal with rude, ignorant, self-absorbed idiots every day,’ said Bertram, who had a poor view of most congregations.

  ‘It won’t be any fun, Richenda,’ I said bluntly. ‘You’ll be bored, and the food isn’t liable to be up to much either.’

  ‘I don’t know…’ began Bertram, but I kicked him hard in the foot.5

  ‘I can’t stay here,’ said Richenda, sulkily.

  ‘Why?’ I asked. I sighed. ‘Have you had another row with Hans?’

  ‘I saw you saying goodbye to him.’ She pouted. ‘I merely commented on what I observed.’

  ‘Euphemia?’ said Bertram.

  ‘He took my hands when he said goodbye,’ I said. ‘That is all. He didn’t even give me a brotherly peck on the cheek.’

  ‘He held them for ages,’ said Richenda. ‘He never holds my hand.’ Her voice broke. Bertram and I glanced at one another in fright. A sobbing Richenda was the last thing we needed.

  ‘I could try and lift her out,’ said Bertram quietly to me.

  ‘Try it,’ said Richenda, in a suddenly solid voice.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘It would be inappropriate. Not to mention bad for your heart. She will have to come with us. If we do not leave now we stand no chance of getting there on time.’

  ‘Bother,’ said Bertram. He pulled a fierce face and pulled down his driving goggles with a determination that alarmed me.

  ‘Why isn’t McLeod driving? Where is he?’ asked Richenda. But any answer I might have given was lost in the scattering of gravel as Bertram fish-tailed his ‘motor’ in a speedy take-off. Richenda and I, as one, grabbed our hats. The wind took my breath quite away as Bertram swung the wheel the other way to straighten the vehicle, then roared down the drive. As far as I was concerned there would be no more time for conversation. I would be too busy praying that we survived my fiancé’s driving.

  We pulled up outside my stepfather’s club with no more injury to us than a pair of wind-battered hats and dishevelled locks. The Holby Club could not have been more unlike Bosenby’s, where I had had such an unfortunate experience. It was a large, white-fronted terraced house that could have been the townhouse of a rich family. In reality it was three houses interlinked and extended. From the outside it was elevated slightly from the road by a few blazingly white steps that made it appear a little superior and aloof. Rather, I suspected, like its members.