A Euphemia Martins Mystery Boxset Vol One Page 13

  As I approached an older lady in a very yellow hat, carrying a wicker basket, went into the post office. I followed quietly in behind her. As soon as I stepped inside this lady and the woman serving behind the counter – a lady in middle age and an unsuitable summer floral flock – turned their attention full on me.

  ‘How can I help?’ said the woman behind the counter.

  ‘I’ve a letter to post. If I could buy a stamp?’

  The woman with the basket was watching me closely. ‘Are you from up the hall?’

  I nodded. ‘I’m the new maid.’

  The two women exchanged looks. ‘Is something wrong?’ I asked politely.

  ‘Not at all, love,’ said the post mistress. She handed me the stamp. ‘Do you want me to put this in the collection for you?’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, watching uneasily as she read the address.

  ‘Looking for a new situation?’ asked the basket woman.

  I shook my head. I knew enough of village ways to realise I was being asked to provide a story, and a good one. ‘No, I’m writing to my old employer. She asked me to let her know when I was settled. She moved into a smaller establishment and let me go. Her son took over the big house and I didn’t fancy working for him.’

  ‘Out of the frying pan and into the fire!’ exclaimed the basket woman. The woman behind the counter hushed her.

  ‘Ladies,’ I said calmly and with as much respect as I could muster, ‘if there is something I should know about Stapleford Hall I would be grateful if you would tell me. I am new to the area and my own mother has passed away. I do not have anyone to advise me.’

  The two women exchanged looks again. This was becoming tiresome. ‘Please,’ I begged prettily.

  ‘I don’t hold with gossip,’ said the post mistress. ‘I have the standard of the post office to uphold.’

  The woman with the basket looked faintly disappointed. ‘Of course,’ I said politely. I wished them both a good day and left. Outside I made a pretence of retying my shoe and within moments, as I had hoped, the basket woman rushed out. She touched me lightly on the arm and drew me to one side.

  She nodded towards the post office. ‘She’s afraid of upsetting the gentry. But they’re not real gentry. They’re new and what with all that’s happening I think a pretty, young thing like you should be warned.’

  I nodded eagerly.

  ‘Well, I know how I shouldn’t be saying anything what with that murder and all, but do you know what happened to the last maid?’

  I shook my head. Basket woman leaned in and spoke very softly, ‘Got into trouble, she did.’ She stood back and nodded at me several times.

  ‘Oh,’ I said as the realisation dawned. ‘That kind of trouble.’

  ‘Just a wee bit of girl she was and it killed her. The babe survived, but none of them would have anything to do with it. Girl’s mother is beside herself. They’re local like and it’s created a lot of ill will.’

  ‘Whose?’

  ‘She never said. Might have been the shame. Might have been she hoped how he’d claim her or at least give her some money for the babe if she held her tongue. Much good it did her.’

  ‘That’s very sad.’

  Basket woman heaved up her basket more securely into her arms. ‘She should have kept her skirt down. But there she’s paid a heavy price.’

  I fought down my anger. I knew my opinion would not be popular. ‘What was her name?’

  ‘Lucy,’ said the woman. ‘Lucy something. She was a relation of one of the others on staff on her father’s side. He’s long gone. Can’t remember who it was, but they got her the position. Pity they didn’t look out for her more. But there, I’ve done my Christian duty, you’re forewarned. If anything happens no one can say I didn’t do my part.’

  With that she raised her nose in the air, gave a triumphal snort and headed off.

  ‘Lucy,’ I whispered to myself. ‘Lucy and the babe survived.’

  Chapter Twelve

  An Uncomfortable Position

  My head was in a whirl. Those place cards. That spidery writing. I’d seen it before. Holdsworth saying “my niece”. The look on his face. I was fitting pieces of the puzzle together, but instead of the satisfaction I had hoped for a growing dread was filling my heart.

  I was halfway back to the hall before I knew. A loud bark jolted me from my revelry. The thicket ahead rustled loudly and then disgorged a familiar wolfhound.

  ‘Siegfried, where are you?’ called Richenda’s voice from behind the hedge.

  ‘He’s here, Miss Richenda,’ I answered.

  Miss Richenda popped up on a style. She froze for a moment. ‘Don’t be scared, Euphemia. He won’t hurt you.’ Her tone was not confident. She hopped down the step and hurried towards me. By the time she arrived Siegfried and I were happily renewing our acquaintance. ‘Well, he certainly seems to like you.’ There was a note of jealously in her voice.

  I smiled. ‘I like dogs. We used to keep them.’ I blushed under her curious gaze. ‘I was brought up in the country.’

  ‘You’re quite full of surprises.’ Her lips curled in a cold smile. ‘Can’t stand them myself. This beast belongs to Bertram.’ Then her expression warmed. ‘Men! They are such a great nuisance, aren’t they? Swanning off to London and leaving me to look after his dog.’

  ‘It does sometimes seem life would be simpler if things were run by women,’ I said.

  Miss Richenda positively beamed. ‘A girl after my own heart.’

  ‘It is hard for women sometimes, isn’t it?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Just some men can be difficult. You must see a lot of that in your work. With the shelters.’

  ‘Men don’t only make bastards,’ Miss Richenda said darkly.

  ‘You feel sorry for those women?’

  ‘Of course. Us lot – even you – have it easy compared to the streetwalkers in London.’ I had never felt more in sympathy with her. I took a deep breath.

  ‘Does it ever get, well, closer to home?’

  She flicked me a glance. ‘You’ve been listening to backstairs gossip.’ She paused as if considering and then, leaning closer, said, ‘Between you and me, the man was a dreadful cad. Terrible influence on my brother.’

  I shook my head. We walked in silence for a short while. ‘I replaced Mr Holdsworth’s niece, didn’t I?’

  Miss Richenda frowned. ‘Possibly. I wasn’t really on speaking terms with the honourable parents until recently.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Just like the fairy stories. Never got on with my sainted stepmother.’

  ‘That must have been hard.’

  Miss Richenda shrugged. ‘We all have our crosses.’

  The hall came into sight over the ridge. I took a deep breath. ‘Do you know if Holdsworth’s niece was called Lucy?’

  Miss Richenda stopped. ‘Spit it out?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Just stop beating around the bush and say whatever it is that’s on your mind.’

  ‘It’s all so difficult,’ I said pathetically.

  Miss Richenda clapped me firmly on the shoulder. ‘Don’t know who to trust, do you? Poor little thing. Tell me. Girls together and all that.’

  ‘I’m afraid Holdsworth killed Mr George. His niece died in childbirth bearing a bastard.’

  ‘And you think it was Georgie’s?’

  ‘I wondered. If Holdsworth was mad with grief … But I can’t imagine him killing your father.’

  ‘Gosh, you have got yourself in a pickle. I think you should talk to Bertram. Richard was, well, caught up with Georgie. Come on up to my room. You can wait there. If we put our heads together we might be able to sort some of this out.’

  I felt a little shiver down my back, like an army of ants in icicle boots. I nodded.

  Miss Richenda led me in through the side-door. She left the dog downstairs and we made our way quietly to her room. ‘Make yourself comfortable,’ she smiled and cl
osed the door.

  Then I heard the sound of the key in the lock and knew I had made a dreadful mistake. As my father would have said, there’s ethics and then there’s family. All too often one will override the other.

  I ran to the window. It was unlocked. I threw up the pane and poked my head out. The gravelled drive below seemed a very long way down. Unfortunately the house was too new to have any established ivy and a quick check revealed no nearby drainpipes.

  I struggled with my emotions. It would have felt heroic and daring to climb out of the window, but I had not done anything of this nature since I was 12, and long skirts were most hampering. On the one hand I felt I should rescue myself, but on the other hand I felt it was really time Mr Bertram pulled his socks up and got down to being manly in the defence of justice – i.e. rescuing me.

  It was not long before I heard the sound of the key in the lock once more. I retreated behind the bed. Miss Richenda entered followed by her twin. ‘I’m sorry, Euphemia. You know I don’t have a high opinion of the male animal in general, but this one is my twin and, to be frank, he has to take precedence over my half-brother’s troublesome new mistress.’

  ‘New mistress?’ I echoed blankly.

  ‘Oh dear. Young lady,’ said Mr Richard advancing towards me, ‘you didn’t think my young brother was priestly in nature, did you?’

  I clutched the edge of the bedspread. It was silky and cool. One of my nails caught in the lace edging. ‘If you lay a hand on me I will scream!’

  Mr Richard swept a pile of books, notebooks and stockings off the bedroom chair and sat down. Miss Richenda hovered by the doorway.

  ‘Now why on earth should I do that?’ asked Mr Richard. ‘I assure you my brother and I do not share similar tastes.’

  ‘Let me go. I won’t tell anyone.’

  ‘Tell them what?’ asked my tormenter.

  ‘Anything!’

  ‘Then you will have to be singularly silent. I wonder how we might arrange that.’ He smiled at me in much the manner of a fox spying a hen house. ‘Now what was it this little tattletale said that bothered you, sis?’

  ‘She thinks Georgie knocked up Holdsworth’s niece and he killed him for it.’

  I blushed scarlet.

  ‘Hush, sis. You’re upsetting our guest. She isn’t one of your whores. This is a more classy piece.’ He directed his gaze back at me. ‘So you’re spreading gossip about my father’s staff, are you, wench? And why did Holdsworth kill the Pater then?’

  I swallowed. ‘I don’t think he did.’ My voice sounded very small.

  Mr Richard nodded. ‘Clever girl. Someone taking advantage of the situation. That’s what you think, isn’t it?’ The expression on my face must have been most legible for he continued, ‘Surprised are you, my dear? Not a card player then. Yes, I do have something of a brain.’

  ‘Richard, why do you think Holdsworth killed Papa?’

  He turned his calm blue eyes towards her. ‘Oh, I think, my dear, he felt that Pater should have protected the staff in his care better.’ He paused. ‘Or maybe Pater had been too interested in his staff.’

  ‘Richard, no!’

  ‘Don’t be squeamish, Richenda. You know what father was like with women.’

  ‘But not at home!’

  Mr Richard shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter, does it? He’s dead. We’re the ones who count now. We need this neat and tidy.’

  ‘But you don’t have any proof!’ I blurted out.

  ‘Richenda, gag her and stuff her in the wardrobe.’

  I should have run at the moment, but the way he said that, as calmly as he might order a postprandial brandy caught me off-guard. My brain told me I had misheard even as Miss Richenda stuffed a hankie in my mouth, while her brother bound my hands with the curtain tie. I am happy to say I ripped the bedspread as they dragged me across the room. Then they both bundled me in the wardrobe.

  I slumped to the floor, shaking in the darkness as I heard the wardrobe door lock snipped to.

  ‘Is this wise?’ asked Miss Richenda.

  ‘I’m thinking this might be just the bargaining chip we need to bring Bertram on side.’

  ‘Oh, brother, you are clever.’

  Hot tears spilled down my cheeks.

  Now this is the point at which I should succumb to maidenly hysterics, but I had already had a most exhausting day. The shock at discovering Mr Holdsworth might be a murderer, the long winter walk, my idiocy at confiding in Miss Richenda and her subsequent betrayal and the rough handling that had placed me in this dress-filled prison had taken their toll. So despite the unpleasant fact that Miss Richenda’s last maid had obviously not been skilled in laundry services and Miss Richenda being a plump but active young woman, I did something I had never done before. I trusted to someone else. I closed my eyes in exhaustion and trusted Mr Bertram to rescue me.

  I awoke sometime later, unrescued, with a painful cramp in my left leg. Outside I could hear the sound of automobiles and carriages. The guests were gathering for the evening event. It was late and clearly no white knight was on the horizon. I began to work at the rope around my wrists. It was very tight.

  Then the bedroom door opened. I held my breath.

  ‘Come on, Merry. I’ve hardly any time to get ready!’

  I rained silent curses on Mr Bertram’s head.

  ‘Certainly, miss. I’ll do my best. I can’t think what’s happened to Euphemia.’

  ‘Probably gone. A bit of a fly-by-night, if you ask me.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  ‘Indeed, I believe the police are still considering her a suspect.’

  ‘Oh no, miss! That I can’t believe.’

  In the darkness I was desperately counting the odds. If I kicked on the door would Merry come to my aid? Miss Richenda was larger, but Merry worked harder every day of her life than Miss Richenda would ever do in a month. If I made a lot of noise Merry would respond. What could Miss Richenda say? She’d already said she didn’t know where I was. Would I be endangering Merry or was this my only chance? If Miss Richenda was suggesting I had left I could not suppress the chilling thought she was laying the ground for my disappearance. I hunched myself as far into the corner as possible, flexed my cramped limbs and readied myself to kick as hard as I could against the oak door. Two dresses fell down on my head.

  ‘What was that?’ asked Merry. ‘Sounded like something in your wardrobe.’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Miss Richenda in a loud, clear voice. ‘I’ve overfilled it as usual. Now, Merry, I think I should do this bit. Those hairpins are very sharp. I wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.’ The last two words were said with unnecessary emphasis. I hesitated.

  ‘No, miss. But they’re just hairpins.’

  ‘One of the girls who came to the shelter claimed she had killed her, er, owner with one.’

  ‘No, miss! Really! Is that possible?’

  ‘I imagine there is only one way one could find out.’

  I froze. I couldn’t quite believe she would do it, but then if someone had told me I would be embroiled in murder within minutes of entering service I would never have believed that either.

  ‘Well I never, miss. In that case I’ll let you finish. Would you like me to tidy up your room while you’re at the party? It does need a bit of straightening.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ snapped Miss Richenda. ‘It’s homey. Just how I like it. Besides Mrs Wilson would skin me alive if I didn’t get you back downstairs quick sharp. That must be the fifth automobile I’ve heard pull up in as many minutes.’

  ‘As you wish, miss.’

  With a sinking heart I listened to them both leave.

  I had no options left. I kicked hard at the wardrobe door. I succeeded only in making a loud noise and bruising my foot. But then what is a little pain when you think your life is in mortal peril? I struck again and again, but sadly the wardrobe was of excellent craftsmanship.

  When it was clear nothing more than my own exhaustion could be accomplished I stopped. E
veryone was downstairs now. No one would hear. I needed a plan for when they came to get me. I guessed it would be late this evening – possibly even into the early hours of the morrow, when all the celebrants would be the worse for wear.

  The twins were large and powerful. Surprise would be my only advantage. They would be expecting a timid, frightened girl. I might be feeling exactly that inside, but I determined they would never suspect my fear. I had my pride. Unfortunately, that appeared to be all I had. I began to scrabble around on the floor of the wardrobe, feeling the dresses as best I could with my bound hands. Even a stray pin plunged into a fleshy part of one of my captors might give me those few moments of shock that could mean the difference between life and death.

  Then the bedroom door opened. The thought that they might attempt to dispose of my while the party was in full swing crept terrifyingly into my mind. At that moment my hands closed on the smooth coldness of a pin. Quickly, I pried it free with my nails. It wasn’t much, but it was a chance.

  The wardrobe swung open. I blinked, momentarily dazzled by the gaslight. ‘Merry!’ I grunted in astonishment through my gag. ‘Merry!’

  ‘Just what are you doing in there?’ chided my rescuer. ‘You’re going to get her dresses all … Is that a gag?’

  Her swift fingers had it off me in a thrice. Then she was helping me out and tutting over my bonds. She fetched a pair of scissors from Miss Richenda’s dressing table and with difficulty began to cut through the curtain cord. ‘I’m not sure I want to know what’s happening here.’

  ‘How did you know I was in there?’ I gasped. I pulled my hands apart and rubbed my sore wrists.

  ‘You smell of onions.’

  ‘Mrs Wilson made me chop …’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ interrupted Merry. ‘But Miss Richenda’s room doesn’t or shouldn’t.’

  ‘You are clever, Merry,’ I said with heartfelt sincerity.

  ‘I’m clever enough to know I don’t want to know what you’re up to.’

  ‘It’s nothing terrible! I–’

  Merry held up her hand. ‘Sssh! Whatever’s going on I don’t want to know. Is there anyone who can get you out of this pickle? The police inspector?’