A Death in the Family Read online

  ‘Of course. Though I’m not sure I should.’

  I placed a hand over one of hers. ‘Merry, this is serious,’ I said. ‘It’s a matter of life and death.’

  We stood there for a moment. Between us I felt a silent understanding, a comradeship of servants. My heart turned over. Now, when I had to go, I had finally found how to fit in. Then Merry shrugged. ‘It’ll be my life if Mrs Wilson catches me skiving off. She’s never as narky as when she’s coming out of one of her little tea-drinking phases.’ I walked quickly to the door.

  ‘’Ang on! Let me check the coast is clear.’

  She pushed past me and pulled open the door, stuck out her head and then frantically waved me through. I ran down the corridor towards the servants’ stair. Once on it I felt a modicum of safety.

  I fairly flew up to my room. The upper reaches of the house were silent. Far below I could hear the sounds of merriment. I stuck my sole rickety chair under the door handle and began to pack like a woman possessed.

  I was in the process of closing the lid when the chair suddenly shot across the room as the door swung violently open.

  Chapter Thirteen

  What the Butler Knew

  ‘I warn you. I am armed!’

  I raised the candlestick above my head. I did my best to think valiant thoughts, but my legs trembled under my long skirts. Hot wax dripped onto my sleeve and there was a smell of burning.

  ‘Euphemia! Are you safe? Merry has just told me the most outlandish story about you being shut in a cupboard.’ Mr Bertram burst into the room. His eyes travelled to the flame above my head. ‘Put that down before you set the whole place on fire.’

  ‘Oh thank the Lord,’ I begun. Mr Bertram removed the implement from my slackened grasp before I managed to do more than mildly singe my hair.

  ‘Why didn’t you blow it out?’ he demanded.

  ‘How could I have seen my assailant otherwise?’

  ‘That is ridiculous.’

  I bridled under his scorn. ‘Where were you when they locked me in the wardrobe?’

  ‘London.’

  ‘No, you weren’t. You were arguing with your brother in the hallway.’

  ‘Then I was just back from London!’

  ‘You should have been looking for me!’

  Mr Bertram gritted his teeth. ‘I do not believe there was any possibility that I could have foreseen you would get yourself locked in a cupboard.’

  ‘A wardrobe! A wardrobe with pungent dresses!’

  He picked up the fallen chair, righted it, dumped it down harshly and threw himself down upon it with a petulant flap of his coat-tails. ‘A wardrobe then! Good God, girl. I have a lot on my mind. My father and cousin have been murdered.’

  I stamped my foot. ‘Better things to think about than me, you mean!’

  I had gone too far. The anger faded from his face and Mr Bertram gave me a look of complete incomprehension. ‘What are you talking about, Euphemia?’

  I found myself gulping air in a most unladylike manner as I tried to compose myself. ‘I thought we were in this together.’

  ‘Together?’ The blankness of his tone pierced through me.

  ‘A team,’ I said quietly. ‘For justice.’

  Mr Bertram threw back his head and laughed. ‘You are the most unusual maid, my dear. But really, it wouldn’t be seemly for us to be, as you put it, a team.’

  ‘Because women don’t get involved in these matters?’ I ventured.

  ‘That and because of the disparity of our stations.’

  I was about to respond that this didn’t bother me one bit, when reality washed over me like cold water. I had been behaving like my father’s daughter – maybe even like my mother’s – but to him I was not the respectable daughter of a rural vicar or the estranged granddaughter of an earl – I was a maid with upstairs responsibilities. That I had no one to blame for this but myself was the hardest part to bear.

  I swallowed hard and curtsied. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I forgot myself.’

  Mr Bertram coughed. ‘I don’t mean to say you haven’t been helpful, Euphemia. I do appreciate your help. I know little of the world below stairs and your insight has been most valuable.’

  I curtsied again. This was it. No apology for what his brother had done or the danger in which I had been placed. Mr Bertram reached inside his trouser pocket. I quailed. For one awful moment I thought he was going to produce a shilling.

  ‘The thing is, Euphemia, it turns out it was nothing to do with the servants at all. I’ll tell you this, but mum’s the word until I officially let the cat out of the bag.’

  I sat down on the bed and folded my hands neatly in my lap. I couldn’t help glancing at the door occasionally, but Mr Bertram seemed to have no fear of interruption. Hopefully, this time he would intervene if someone tried to put me in a wardrobe again. It had finally sunk into my befuddled brain that I would need this man’s help to get away from his brother and sister.

  Mr Bertram leaned forward on his seat. ‘You see, the thing is, it turns out both Richard and George were siphoning money off the old man’s bank. I’ve spoken to the family solicitor. He took a bit of persuading, but he eventually told me because I’m my father’s executor and will have to sort out the mess that George and Richard had been siphoning off the funds. He never let Richard work in the armament business. Seems the Pater never entirely trusted him. It explains why he was always so ragingly furious that I wouldn’t go into it. Richard had high hopes though that my father would let him in. Especially if he pulled off a deal of his own. He and George were using his mother’s name to trade on. It’s all a bit unpleasant. I won’t bore you with the details; suffice it to say this company wanted more than Richard could borrow from the bank without anyone noticing. So he took what he could and speculated. Lost the lot.’

  ‘So he killed George and your father to cover his tracks?’

  ‘I don’t think that was it. From what I could get that clam-faced solicitor to say, my father already knew. He was dealing with it, but holding the whole incident over Richard as a guarantee of good behaviour – essentially doing whatever the Pater wanted.’

  ‘I can see he would not like that. But why would he kill George?’

  ‘No.’ Bertram paused. ‘Richard is ambitious. He wanted to be in parliament. There were two people between him and the parliamentary seat and now there aren’t.’

  I had little doubt that Richard had killed his father. It all fitted very neatly, but I was equally sure he had not murdered George. My inner demon prompted me to be quiet, but my conscience urged me to speak.

  ‘I don’t think you have it quite right.’

  ‘Oh really?’

  ‘I think your brother did murder your father. He almost admitted as much to me, but I don’t think he killed George. I think he took advantage of the situation. I think the butler did it.’

  ‘Holdsworth?’

  ‘Mr Richard is going to blame him too.’

  ‘Holdsworth? Why? He’s been with us for years.’

  ‘Did you know that your last maid, Lucy, left because she was with child?’

  Mr Bertram blushed. ‘No, I did not. I had no idea. I cannot discuss this with you!’

  ‘Suitable topic of conversation or not, it’s true. Lucy died in childbirth. The babe survived. The grandmother has it. Apparently, gossip in the village says she petitioned someone at the hall for aid but was refused.’

  ‘Of course, I’ll see to it she gets help, Euphemia, but …’

  ‘Lucy was Holdsworth’s niece.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Mr Bertram.

  ‘But you may be right,’ I added quickly. ‘Richard might have killed both men.’

  Mr Bertram gave me an appraising look. ‘Much as your conscience prompted you to tell me this I suspect it would also suggest that murder cannot be condoned even by a righteous man.’

  I hung my head. ‘No,’ I agreed softly. ‘But Richard is going to blame both murders on Holdsworth!’

  ‘
That doesn’t surprise me in the least. My brother is as amoral as he is stupid. He never thinks things through properly.’

  ‘I think he is cleverer than most people give him credit. He certainly has cunning.’

  Mr Bertram rose with the air of a man bent on decisive action. ‘I feel sorry for Holdsworth, but I will not conceal what you have told me. I have enough evidence from the solicitor and with his imprisonment of you to open the inspector’s eyes to Richard’s true nature. I will send for the inspector now. He can join us at dinner and Richard will be revealed for what he is.’

  ‘No, don’t,’ I blurted out. ‘That’s such a dramatic plan it’s bound to go wrong.’

  Mr Bertram raised an eyebrow. ‘I think you can leave me to handle such matters, Euphemia. I must ask you to remain in the attic. I may need to call upon your testimony. I will ensure Richard and his twin are in my sight at all times. You will not be in danger.’

  ‘Mr Bertram, please, I don’t think this is the wisest course of action.’

  ‘You will have to let me be the judge of that,’ he said and closed the door quietly behind him.

  A thousand thoughts rushed through my mind and none of them were welcome. Mr Bertram’s plan suited his sense of the dramatic, but Mr Richard was a wilier character than he gave him credit. I feared Holdsworth would end up charged with both murders. I could not let that happen. I grabbed a paper and pen, scribbled a short note and, despite Mr Bertram’s command, I left the room.

  The upper house was still in silence. I made my way down the servants’ stair. At the bottom, I peeked cautiously around the corner. I could hear Mrs Deighton’s voice coming from the kitchen – something about the softness of modern cauliflower. Merry’s voice murmured in response. I knew Mr Holdsworth would be busy upstairs serving cocktails. I darted across the hallway and into the butler’s pantry. It was empty as I had hoped. Now, where could I leave Holdsworth a note that only he would find? No one else would normally come in here, but if he was under suspicion might not the police search here? And I had accused Mr Bertram of not thinking things through. I had to get the note to him before the police became suspicious, but how?

  I have been brought up to believe that God answers one’s prayers, but not always in the way one expects. (More often than not he says no). My father always held God had a sense of humour, so I hope he was watching my expression when the pantry door opened and Mr Holdsworth entered.

  Our eyes met. ‘You know, don’t you?’ said the butler.

  ‘Yes.’

  Mr Holdsworth came into the room. He shut the door behind him and leaned upon it. I could not help but be aware the only other potential exit was a small window that was heavily barred.

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘I came to warn you.’ I held out the note. ‘But I couldn’t think of where to hide it.’

  Mr Holdsworth took it and read, ‘Mr Richard knows about Lucy. He intends to accuse you of both murders though I fear he murdered his father himself. You must go at once.’ He looked up, blinking back tears. ‘You know about my Lucy?’

  ‘I pieced it together. Gossip here and there.’

  The butler slammed his fists down upon the table. ‘Damn it! Damn it!’ I flinched. Then he turned to me. ‘You mustn’t think badly of her. It’s worse than you know. He forced himself on her.’

  ‘I didn’t …’ I began but he wasn’t listening to me.

  ‘I found her afterwards. She blamed herself. Said she should never have let herself be alone with him. He’d told her men have urges.’

  ‘The beast,’ I whispered beneath my breath.

  Holdsworth nodded violently. ‘And then when she finds she is pregnant and he tells her if she keeps on … If she keeps on … he’ll see she is all right.’

  ‘My God! What a monster.’

  ‘I went to the Mistress, but she wouldn’t hear a word of it. And Lucy – Lucy said it was better that way. The babe would have a future. But he tired of her. Sent her back to her mother without a penny. Then she dies and he does nothing.’

  ‘So you thought you’d blackmail him? I found part of your note in the grate. Why did you use that? You must have realised someone would notice. It’s never used.’

  ‘Time. I didn’t have time,’ he muttered. His eyes had a faraway look and he hardly seemed to be aware of my presence. ‘I kept thinking about Lucy as a tiny mite, sitting on my knee in her favourite blue dress and begging for a kitten. She never got one. And my sister, I couldn’t bear it.’

  To my alarm he choked back a sob. The poor man was overwrought – as overwrought as I imagine he was when he confronted George.

  ‘I’m so deeply sorry, Holdsworth,’ I said sincerely.

  ‘Thank you. I know you are. You’re not like them.’ He wiped his eyes on the back of his hands. ‘How did you know it was me?’

  His question echoed loudly in my mind. It is one thing to have suspicions and quite another to have them confirmed. ‘I guessed you arranged to meet in the note and things didn’t work out as planned.’

  He laughed once – a short, mirthless bark that chilled me to the core. ‘Didn’t work out as planned? How do you know I didn’t mean to kill him all along?’

  The floor swam beneath me. I gripped the edge of the table. ‘I don’t believe you’re an evil man, Mr Holdsworth. I believe you are a wronged and bereaved one. A man who might be moved to anger by indifference.’

  ‘You’re very acute, Euphemia. It says a lot about our world that you are in service – a girl as bright and good as you should be forced to serve her “betters”.’ He spat the last word violently into the air between us. ‘Do you know what he did when I met him?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘He laughed in my face. I’d only taken the knife to frighten him. He said Lucy was a little whore who’d got no more than she deserved, so I pushed him into the passage and stabbed him. It didn’t take him long to die. Not long enough at all.’

  ‘Did you search my room?’

  Mr Holdsworth shook his head.

  ‘It must have been Mr Richard,’ I said thinking aloud. ‘He must have suspected George was being blackmailed over something and thought I’d taken the paper.’

  ‘I’m sorry you got caught up in this, Euphemia.’

  I felt my limbs go leaden. ‘What do you mean?’ I whispered. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Do?’ asked Holdsworth. ‘I’m going to give myself up. What else can I do?’

  ‘No!’ I cried. ‘He’ll lay both murders at your door and get away scot-free. You’ll be sacrificed as Lucy was! You can’t – you can’t give up.’

  Mr Holdsworth stepped away from the door and sat down. ‘There isn’t anything else you can do.’

  I reached into the pocket of my skirt and pulled out my coins. ‘Here, take these. Go. Go abroad. No one’s looking for you. You can make it to the coast. Start a new life.’

  ‘How can I leave my sister and the babe?’

  ‘You’ll be no use to them hanging from a noose. Hasn’t your sister suffered enough? Besides, I made Mr Bertram promise he’d see them right. He’s a good man. His word counts. Come on, Holdsworth, you can’t want your sister to suffer this too. You can’t let those bastards win!’

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Right Honourable Member

  I flew down the stairs, but I was too late. I had taken too long. I had not reached the foot before I heard the voice of Mr Bertram greeting the inspector in the hallway. I stopped short.

  ‘Come up to the library, inspector. I have information I need to share with you.’

  I could hear the hearty chink of glasses and the occasional loud laugh in the distance. The party was in full swing. They must be about to sit down to dine at any moment. The inspector appeared to think so too.

  ‘I’d rather not, sir. Don’t want to intrude on Lord Richard’s big night. Last I heard a landslide success was expected. So unless you’ve got the murderer upstairs in your library I’ll see you in the morni
ng.’

  Mr Bertram laughed. ‘Oh no, inspector. He’s not in the library, but he will be dining here later.’

  ‘If this is some kind of a joke …’

  ‘Indeed not.’

  ‘Then I’ll need to use your phone and call for more men.’

  ‘It’s right here, inspector.’

  ‘You sure about this, sir? It wouldn’t be good for either of us if you were wrong.’

  ‘The murderer right now is in this house. I have incontrovertible evidence.’

  I thought this was laying it on a bit thick. Mr Bertram might have proof of embezzlement, but little more. However, it seemed the inspector was getting carried away by Mr Bertram’s enthusiasm.

  I bolted back up the stairs. No wonder servants lived to a ripe old age. The sound of the party had reminded me I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and I was famished.

  I needed to get to the passage behind the library. The easiest way was to go through the kitchen, but I did not believe it likely I could get by there unchallenged. Instead I took a different route. I was fairly sure the passageway from the drawing room wound down behind the library. Unfortunately, my normally excellent sense of direction became somewhat challenged in the dim light of the servants’ ways and it took me far longer than it should have done to arrive at the library entrance.

  I pressed my ear to the crack and listened.

  ‘Don’t you see, inspector, the money he took from the bank had to be repaid?’

  ‘And he used this money to buy shares in this Frenchie company?’

  ‘No,’ I could hear the exasperation in Mr Bertram’s voice. ‘He was buying favours – bribes. He needed both more money and influence to gain a serious stake in the French company. He dappled in speculation and lost even more.’

  ‘A seat in parliament would be helpful then?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘And you have proof of this embezzlement?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’m still not clear in my head as to why he killed your cousin.’

  Mr Bertram hesitated. Then he spoke, ‘They were in it together. The whole scheme.’