A Death in the Family Read online

  ‘No honour among thieves then?’ The inspector cleared his throat. ‘This must be a very difficult time for you, sir.’

  ‘Not been the best days of my life.’

  The inspector made an odd coughing noise again. ‘Er, I was just thinking how it might be easy to make mistakes when one is overwrought. Grief can do that. My wife, when she lost her mother …’

  ‘Here. These are papers from the bank. I have charge of it under the terms of my father’s will until probate is done. The family lawyer is downstairs. He’s been collecting more proofs for me.’

  ‘Right. Right. Embezzlement’s not my area. But I’ll have a word with the man. If you don’t mind me saying, sir, and with all due respect, there’s a big step between a bit of dodgy dealing and killing your own father …’

  Suddenly I became aware of an excruciating pain in my left ear. Then I was yanked backwards. Two black eyes glittered at me in the dimness and a sour smell washed over me. ‘What do you think you’re doing, girl?’ snapped Mrs Wilson.

  ‘Could you let go of my ear, please? That hurts very much.’

  ‘Don’t you go thinking I’m going to let you get away again. You’ve been skiving this whole day. Believe me if I could find anyone else I would. This way.’

  ‘If you could let go of my ear I could walk more quickly.’

  But Mrs Wilson paid me no attention. She hauled me along towards the kitchen in a manner that convinced me that at any moment I would lose the appendage. I considered kicking her, but even as I readied my balance for the action she dug her nails hard into my ear lobe. I felt a trickle of fresh blood. I am certain at this moment in such circumstances Merry would have sworn at her, but I held to the last threads of my dignity. I hoped one day to wear earrings.

  When we reached the kitchen she released me and shoved me forward.

  ‘She’ll have to do,’ said Mrs Wilson.

  A red-faced Mrs Deighton looked up from between the pots. ‘Lord-a-lummie, you can’t let a maid go serving in there.’

  ‘As we seem to have a sudden scarcity of serving gentlemen I have little option. At least this one has more grace than Merry. She’s used enough to mixing above her station to manage to serve a few potatoes as long as she keeps her legs together.’

  I flushed scarlet and rounded on Mrs Wilson. ‘How dare you? You harridan!’

  ‘Harridan, am I? Well, there’s far worse words for the likes of you!’

  A bell rang urgently. Then another.

  ‘Oh lor’,’ said Mrs Deighton. ‘Merry, you’ll have to do.’

  ‘I can’t,’ stammered Merry. ‘Don’t ask me, please, don’t ask me. Euphemia!’ She turned her big eyes towards me in wretched appeal.

  How could I refuse her? If she had not released me from my sartorial prison I might not now have the breath to harangue Wilson.

  ‘For you, Merry,’ I said grandly, and lifted the large serving dish from the table.

  Merry need not have worried. Upstairs was all glitter of candlelight and crystal. All the leaves of the great table had been inserted. The room was packed with people and incredibly hot. What passed for elegant conversation flowed in harmony with the deluge of wine. The air was heavy with the scent of perfume and sour sweat. No one was paying the least attention to the servants. They were all intent on impressing their neighbours.

  Mr Bertram slipped into the back of the room and tapped an uncomfortable-looking man in worn evening dress on the shoulder. He got up at once and followed him out. I surmised that was the lawyer.

  I made my way around serving the ladies. ‘Potatoes, ma’am?’ I whispered again and again. Not once did any of them turn to look at me. Even Miss Richenda paid no attention. Most often I was dismissed by ladies of wasp-like waists with a flap of the hand behind their heads. It was only my quick reactions that saved me from being slapped in the face more than once. I knew whose fault it would be if my face damaged their manicure.

  The election might be a foregone conclusion, but the room was abuzz with excitement as they awaited the formal results. Excitement bubbled within me too, but for quite a different reason. I thought Mr Bertram had overreached himself. I did not believe the inspector would arrest Mr Richard. But perhaps I could bring him to give himself away?

  At that moment Mr Bertram, the lawyer and a very unhappy-looking inspector returned. The lawyer returned to his seat, while Mr Bertram debated with the policeman in a quiet, urgent voice by the door. I could not make out what they were saying over the general level of conversation. The guests, after glancing up to see whether it was a messenger from the returning officer, quickly lost interest.

  I had just served the last lady. Another footman, who I did not recognise was about to serve Mr Richard. I gave a little jerk with my head and stepped up quickly.

  ‘Potatoes, sir?’ I said in a cold voice in Mr Richard’s ear.

  The result was the best I could have hoped for. The man jumped out of his chair as if I had stuck him with a pin. All eyes turned to the head of the table. ‘You!’ he cried, pointing at me in a most melodramatic and satisfying manner. ‘How did you …?’ He trailed off suddenly aware of all eyes on him. There was a deadly hush in the room.

  I kept my voice low and polite, as I hoped a shy, wronged servant girl might. ‘Get out of the wardrobe, sir? I’m afraid I did not find your sister’s closet particularly comfortable. Besides Mrs Wilson needed my help with Holdsworth missing.’

  Richard turned wild eyes towards Mrs Wilson. His sister, I noticed, kept hers firmly riveted to her plate, but then her ample frame dictated a hearty appetite. ‘Mrs Wilson, where is my butler!’

  Mrs Wilson melted out of the shadows. She glided over to Mr Richard with mournful grace.

  ‘Damn fool thing!’ exclaimed one male guest jovially. ‘Losing a butler. Big bloke wasn’t he, that Holdsworth?’ He started at the sight of Mrs Wilson. ‘Good gad! Who’s that female? She’s like some giant crow or spectre at the feast, what? Hahaha!’ His female companion nipped him on the wrist. He yelped.

  ‘Mrs Wilson, I asked you a question.’

  ‘Sit down,’ hissed Miss Richenda. ‘You’re making a spectacle of the evening.’ She turned her attention to the rest of the table. ‘Do carry on. My brother has been celebrating heartily on this …’

  ‘Shut up, Richenda. I’m not drunk. Mrs Wilson? I’m asking you for the last time.’

  ‘He is unavailable, sir.’ Her words were low, her voice as dry and brittle as one of Mrs Deighton’s sticks of cinnamon.

  ‘Damn you, woman, that’s no answer. If you value your position you will answer me.’

  ‘Richard, you’re making a scene,’ implored his sister.

  ‘Mrs Wilson!’

  ‘I regret to inform you, sir, that Mr Holdsworth has given in his notice. A family crisis, I believe. He left before dinner.’

  I had no expectation of what happened next. Mr Richard turned and grabbed me roughly by the wrist. The serving dish tumbled from my hands and potatoes cascaded across the floor. He dragged me in front of him. ‘Someone call the police. Holdsworth is the murderer and this girl is his accomplice.’

  Mr Bertram started forward, but the inspector laid a hand on his arm, preventing him. ‘Now, now, sir. Let’s you and I have a little chat outside, shall we?’

  ‘Inspector, I demand you arrest this girl!’

  ‘On what grounds, sir?’

  ‘She is the butler’s accomplice.’

  ‘So you’re saying the butler did it?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, man. For God’s sake get your men after him. He’ll flee the country.’

  ‘Er, why exactly, sir? Why did the butler murder your cousin and your father?’

  ‘Ask her! She knows it all! She told my sister all about it. Some nonsense about a maid. Richenda, tell them?’

  Richenda’s gaze didn’t lift from her plate. ‘Sit down, Richard,’ she said softly. ‘This isn’t any good.’

  ‘For God’s sake, woman. Tell them!’

  ‘Richa
rd, I will not repeat backstairs gossip in company.’

  ‘If you have information pertinent to my inquiry, miss, then I must ask you to speak up.’

  Richenda finally looked up. She met the inspector’s glance square on and said clearly, ‘I know of nothing useful to you, inspector. I am afraid my brother has become carried away by the excitement of the night and his very natural grief over our father’s death.’

  Richard still had me in his grip. At this he flung me from him. I managed to put out my hands to save myself, but I took a nasty bang on the hip. There was a collective intake of breath around the table. I sat up but stayed down, well out of his reach.

  ‘Richard!’ cried Mr Bertram. ‘That is not done!’

  ‘I should have known you’d be behind it. You and your fancy piece.’

  The inspector took in the angry aspect of the brothers. ‘Now, sirs, I think this is best taken down to the station.’

  ‘Damn it, man. I will not go with you. This is election night. I am celebrating.’

  ‘I understand that, sir, but serious charges have been laid against you.’

  ‘By who?’

  A red flush crept over the inspector’s face. ‘Your brother and your family’s lawyer.’

  ‘Peasbody! Peasbody thinks I murdered the Pater!’

  The man in the well-worn evening dress slid lower in his seat as if contemplating vanishing under the table.

  ‘I didn’t say it was the murder we needed to talk to you about, sir.’

  ‘Well, is it or isn’t it, man? What are you wittering about? You’re making no sense.’

  The inspector’s face grew redder. ‘For your sake, sir, I have refrained from naming the charges, but if you refuse to help us with our enquiries then I will be forced to arrest you.’

  Richard picked up a goblet of wine and downed the contents. ‘You’re an imbecile, man. The chief constable is a friend of mine. Watch your mouth or you’ll find yourself back walking the beat.’

  The inspector motioned to two policemen, who had quietly appeared by the door. ‘Lord Richard Stapleford, I am arresting you on suspicion of embezzlement, refusing to help the police with their enquires in a murder investigation …’ He looked at Mr Bertram, who nodded. ‘… and,’ continued the inspector, ‘on suspicion of murder of the late Lord Stapleford.’

  For a tiny moment there was silence and stillness as everyone absorbed what the inspector had said. Every tongue in the room gave forth. Mr Richard did the worst thing possible. He bolted for the door. The two policemen caught him. ‘Curse you! I’ve important friends. You’ll not get away with this.’

  ‘And neither will you, sir,’ said the inspector with a sudden flash of wit.

  As the police officers dragged the struggling man away, a hush fell over the room once more. I got gingerly to my feet.

  ‘Excuse me,’ piped up a voice. ‘Only I was told to bring the news direct.’ A small, ginger-haired child in rough clothes had crept into the room. He was clutching his little cloth cap in his hands and twisting it anxiously. ‘Me da’s the returning officer and he said how yous would want to know at once that Lord Richard’s won the seat.’

  Miss Richenda rose gracefully from her seat. ‘Thank you, Tommy. That is welcome news. Mrs Wilson, take the lad to the kitchen for his supper and give him a shilling.’ Her eyes swept across the faces of her startled guests. ‘This has been a most eventful evening, but I trust it will all be righted in the end. Until my brother can rejoin us I suggest we move to the drawing room. Even the ladies deserve a brandy tonight!’

  A polite ripple of amusement met her comment. The guests all now thinking once more of their stomachs moved as a bovine herd towards the other room. Mr Bertram came up to me.

  ‘He won’t get away with it, will he?’ I asked.

  He smiled at me. ‘At the very least he will be charged with embezzlement. And the city takes that as seriously as murder – if not more so!’

  I lowered my voice. ‘You didn’t say anything about Holdsworth.’

  ‘Apparently, he had already quit the house. A premonition, perhaps?’ I suddenly noticed a speck of dust on my shoe. Mr Bertram coughed and continued. ‘Now he is out of the family’s service I feel no compunction to do the police’s work for them.’

  ‘You’re letting him go?’

  Mr Bertram sighed. ‘Why is it women can never let things be understood, but insist on making matters explicit?’

  ‘We have tidy minds?’ I ventured.

  He laughed. ‘That’s one term for it.’

  I felt the tension slipping away from my shoulders as I relaxed for the first time since I arrived. ‘I am so glad this is over.’

  ‘There’s going to be a bally mess to clear up,’ said Mr Bertram ruefully. He ran his hand through his hair. ‘There’s something I need to ask. I wasn’t that fair to you earlier. I don’t always handle my emotions well. I apologise for my anger. I blame myself for the danger – for Dickie,’ he broke off, shaking his head as he contemplated the actions of his half-brother. Then he took a resolute breath and continued. ‘You’ve been a great help. All fire and guts, as my father would have said.’

  I felt the heat rush to my face.

  ‘Anyway, I feel I’ve got to know you pretty well during all of this. And whatever else you are, Euphemia, you’re smart and you’re honourable and you’re loyal.’

  My heart gave a little lurch as I looked up into his earnest face.

  ‘So I have something to ask you.’ His face split into a grin and he looked suddenly very much younger. ‘I’m really hoping you’ll say yes.’

  ‘Well, ask me then and find out,’ I said. I could feel my own lips curling in response. Everything else faded away – the expression on his face wiping out the nightmare of the past few days.

  ‘Euphemia.’

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered.

  ‘Euphemia, you’re not meant to be a maid.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No. I want you to stay on, but as my …’ He paused and suddenly I believed white knights did rush in to save the day.

  ‘I want you to stay on as my secretary.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I’ll double – no, triple – your wages. I’ll see Richenda doesn’t bother you. I need you, Euphemia. I need someone smart in my corner.’

  Of course he did. And I needed the money for Little Joe’s schooling. It didn’t matter that it felt as if there was a lead weight in my chest where my heart had once been.

  ‘Of course, sir. I’d be honoured.’

  Mentally, I reminded myself that the match really would not have done. Socially, Mr Bertram Stapleford ranked much lower than the granddaughter of an earl. One day I would tell him who I really was, but only when my station was of no consequence to either of us.

  I may have mentioned I am a romantic. I should add that despite my mother’s efforts to rid me of my whimsy, I remain my father’s daughter, and thus one who holds faith in the future.

  Author’s Note

  Thank you for buying this book and joining Euphemia on her adventures. I hope you had as much fun reading her story as I had writing it.

  I wanted to write a very different kind of crime novel. I’ve always loved reading crime stories, but I do enjoy the puzzle rather than some of the more grizzly details. Also, although it feels like a hundred years ago now, I trained and practised as a psychotherapist, so it’s the motivations and emotions of people that fascinate me. I don’t have a lot of interest in police procedure, so I wanted a protagonist who wasn’t heavily involved with the police.

  Euphemia is young and with that comes a dose of naivety. Inspired by her clerical father she believes the very best in people, so coming up against the inhabitants of Stapleford Hall is a bit of a shock.

  It was important to me that I created a character who could grow, but was strong enough that all that was good and honest about her would remain in spite of the misfortunes life has thrown at her. She’s feisty and courageous and sometimes makes the m
ost foolish of mistakes, but it’s always for the right reasons, so you can’t help rooting for her to come through.

  But Euphemia could never have managed to solve the mystery alone, so I gave her Bertram. They need each other. He is much more worldly wise than her, but he’s an idealist, who tends to see everything in the terms of grand schemes. He needs Euphemia to bring him down to earth and she needs his understanding of the wide world, of which she knows so little.

  The idea of a young woman choosing to go into service is based on something that actually happened in my family. I’m not related to any earls (as far as I know), but according to family legend, my great grandmother fell out terribly with her father’s second wife. It was so bad that her father told her to either make friends with her stepmother or leave. So she left! Her family were very well off with big houses and lots of servants, but she left without a penny and went into service. Like Euphemia she found this very hard, but unlike Euphemia she wasn’t strong enough to deal with the very hard work most servants had to do. She fell ill, but somehow – and I don’t know the details of the story – she fell in love with my great-grandfather and he took her away to run a tobacconist shop together. She never went back to her own family and she was never rich again, but I like to think she was happy.

  When I’m writing a story I like to entertain my readers. I enjoy conjuring up worlds and characters, but I also like to make people laugh. Euphemia’s world is moving towards a time of great darkness. So her story has to be a balance between light and dark. The Staplefords’ world is one of great privilege, but a lot of their wealth is based on arms traders and morally dubious deals. The 1910s has perhaps been a very idealised time, but not everyone was invited to the party and it’s easy to forget that. I’ve tried to keep Euphemia’s story light and funny, but not at the cost of completely ignoring the darker side of those times. After all, courage and laughter in the face of darkness makes for the most heroic of heroines.

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