A Death Overseas Read online

  He looked over at me and I thought he was about to say something, but Bertram interjected.

  ‘I would say living with Richenda normally is enough to drive any man insane, and now she is ... er ... what-do-you-call-it producing, I’m surprised Hans isn’t in the madhouse.’

  ‘I must remind you, Bertram, that you are talking about my wife,’ said Hans in icy tones.

  Bertram threw up his hands, but wisely said no more.

  ‘It is no matter,’ I said. ‘I think it is better if I do not go. No doubt Richenda will be glad of my company.’

  ‘She is running you ragged,’ said Hans abruptly. ‘Besides, you have not had a pleasure trip for...’ He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Well, I can’t remember the last time you were not aiding one of this extended family. You really have earned some time for yourself. I believe that even in prison the prisoners are allowed to walk in the yard occasionally!’ He gave me such a charming smile, I swear I heard Bertram growl.

  It has come to my attention that while I fail to inspire romantic love in the hearts of the males I know, I do seem to bring out their protective natures. When they all start clamouring to protect me, quite unnecessarily, from one another, it is all a little trying.

  To be frank, I have no idea why I invoke such feelings in their breasts. When my beloved father expired in his dish of mutton and onions, and my mother, little brother, and I, though gently brought up, were on the verge of destitution, I took the job of housemaid to the Staplefords. Within moments of my arrival at Stapleford House I discovered a dead body, and so my dual career – servitude and later companionship to Richenda Muller, and investigation and ultimately secret service to my country – began. I have survived various murder attempts and adventures that would have had any delicate female long since swooning into a terminal decline. I think I have more than proved my ability to look after myself. Of course, Hans knows only a fraction of this, but Bertram has also signed the Official Secrets Act and knows almost as much about my exploits as there is to know. Almost.

  But Bertram and Hans continued to talk over me as if I was some delicate flower. I decided to join the actual flowers in the garden. It was clear neither of them was in a mood to listen to me. When they were I could explain to them how whatever plan they had concocted would not work. I have learned there is always a right time to talk to gentlemen. One must wait until their bulldog nature has been satiated before one can talk sense with them.

  It was April 1913. The world was a place of great technical advancements and many of these were to be on show at the Exposition Universelle et International in the Flemish city of Ghent. The Exposition had already opened, but I had been sent tickets by Mary Hill, a brilliant mathematician and a fellow member of the Sisterhood.

  Mary has her own independent means, and while these invitations were not for the actual opening – which was reserved as far as I could tell for dignitaries – they were a kind gift. She had written that she hoped that our times there might coincide and we could talk over the new developments in the world. She was particularly excited about the recent suffragette march in Washington. Whereas I, reading the newspapers, saw fighting in Mexico and the Balkans and the assassination of the King of Greece. With the unwanted help of the Secret Service of Great Britain I had been made aware that but for a miracle Europe was headed into a war the like of which we had never seen before. Mary in her ivory tower saw none of it and while I suspected Hans saw more than most, he would never discuss world events with me for fear of distressing me. Richenda thought only of her pregnancy, Amy, and cake. Bertram was as capable as I at looking at events in the world and drawing dark conclusions, but took the very stoic approach that if there was nothing he could actually do about it himself at that moment in time then good food, good port, and somewhere to stay while his own estate was being rebuilt was all he wanted. Throw in a good cigar, a roaring fire, and a man with whom to play billiards and he was as happy as a pig in muck – if you excuse the coarseness of my saying so.[3]

  I shivered. It was growing cold.[4] It would have been interesting to see the Expo, but it would have taken up a large proportion of my savings with the expense of travel and accommodation. Bertram would have been a good companion, but Richenda, even if not pregnant, would likely have grown tiresome quickly unless there were displays about cake and horses (these being the only loves in her life after certain members of her family). All in all, it was best that I did not go. I could always read about it in the newspapers; indeed, the pictures of the opening ceremony had been most intriguing. I sighed heavily and went back into the house.

  Bertram was standing with his legs wide apart in front of the fireplace, toasting his posterior. His hands were deep in his pockets and he had what can only be described as an extremely smug expression on his face.

  ‘Goodness, Bertram, are you practicing for the Olympics? If you stretch yourself any wider you will be doing the splits,’ I said crushingly, thinking it was a good idea to start off with him on the back foot.

  Unfortunately, Bertram spoke at the same time as I. ‘Hans has sorted it all out. He is on the telephonic apparatus contacting The Lady as we speak.’

  ‘Bertram!’ I responded in shock.

  ‘Euphemia!’ he replied in irritation.

  But before we could unravel things further Hans walked back into the room.

  ‘There’s nothing odd about the way I am standing, is there, Hans? Bertram immediately addressed him. ‘And is it done?’

  ‘Yes and no,’ said Hans, his eyes twinkling. ‘I do believe I see a wisp of smoke coming from your coat tails.’

  Bertram gave a squeak of alarm, leapt away from the fire, and began trying to extinguish his coat tails, with little effect.

  ‘I think it is only a little singed,’ said Hans, fighting to keep the smile from his face.

  ‘Dammit!’ exploded Bertram. ‘Sorry, Euphemia, but McLeod will murder me! Maybe you could...’ he looked at me and then decided against what he was about to say, ‘never mind, I’ll do it myself!’ He ran from the room.

  ‘You are not kind,’ said Hans, a smile breaking out across his face.

  ‘But he is too short to stand like that,’ I protested. ‘He looks foolish. I only want to ensure he does not make a spectacle of himself.’

  ‘You were trying to take him off-guard,’ said Hans.

  ‘Perhaps,’ I admitted.

  ‘Well, you are too late. I have advertised in The Lady for a companion to travel with you.’

  ‘Hans!’ I exclaimed. ‘Think how well the respondent to your last advertisement turned out.’

  ‘Well, I have learnt from the experience,’ said Hans without a shadow of a blush. ‘Moreover I have set my man to securing travel tickets for your whole party and arranging accommodation.’

  ‘Hans!’ I said in further alarm. ‘I cannot possibly let you pay for this.’

  ‘Oh, Bertram can pay for himself, but you are my responsibility.’

  ‘I most certainly am not!’ I protested, perhaps a touch too stridently.

  ‘Everyone in my employ is my responsibility,’ said Hans sternly. ‘More to the point, we both know that if circumstances had been different we might have been more than...’

  At this point Rory McLeod walked into the room and Hans turned abruptly away from me. I could feel the blood surging into my face.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you,’ said Rory, looking from one to the other of us with a puzzled frown, ‘but it seems Mr Bertram on exiting the room may have lost a button in all the excitement. Could I possibly check the room at a convenient time before the maid sweeps?’

  ‘I was on my way to my room,’ I said, brushing rudely past him. I heard Hans say, ‘Now is fine, McLeod. I must go and speak with my factor.’

  I fairly ran up the stairs and once in my room threw myself in a most unladylike fashion on my bed. Surely I must be mistaken in what I feared Hans was about to say?

  Chapter Three

  Three is not a happy number


  I came down to supper that night in a sombre mood. I had been turning matters over and over in my mind and had come to the conclusion that when my mother married I would indeed have to take up her invitation and live at the Palace. My life from that moment forward would be a matter of fending off suitable elderly gentlemen provided by my mother and I doubted any events of significance, save perhaps a scandal of the sherry being not quite up to standard, would ever occur again. I might moan about the many investigations and shenanigans that the Staplefords had involved me in, but when I forced myself to be honest, I knew I would miss them. I am not suited to the calm, domestic life of a natural woman – or to the life the papers tell me a natural woman should live.

  Of course, there would be no possibility of being involved with the suffrage movement. Should a Bishop’s stepdaughter but sniff in that direction and she would find herself married off to an up-and-coming member of the clergy before one could say ‘amen’. But the alternative was unthinkable. Unless, of course, I could call on Fitzroy to rescue me – and while I enjoy some excitement, Fitzroy’s high jinks were too extreme even for me. Besides, I could no more trust him to toe the moral line than I could ask a leopard to sit up and beg for fish. Fitzroy might have chosen to dedicate his life to the safety of our realm, but his nature was inherently wild and, I suspected, amoral. I had finally learned that people are what they are – and, if you forgive the analogy – as it is said in the adage, spots do not change.

  ‘What-ho, Euphemia!’ said Bertram happily as we sat down to a fine chilled pea and mint soup with warm, crusty bread, and butter fresh from the Mullers’ dairy. ‘You look like a man who has been told he has to take pills for the rest of his life by his doctor and then only been given three.’

  Richenda, who could with only a little exaggeration be described as whale-like by now, gave a hearty laugh. ‘That’s quite good, Bertie!’

  ‘What? You understand it?’ said Bertram, surprised.

  ‘Why does everyone persist in thinking I am without brains?’ snapped Richenda, her mood swerving wildly as only a pregnant woman’s can. ‘I am the member of the family who set up a house for wayward women, much against Father’s protest. I am a socially aware woman.’

  Hans kept his head down. Of late he had adopted the strategy of letting the storms pass over his head. I reflected sadly that this had led to an increasing distance between them. I berated myself for not seeing the warning signs earlier.

  ‘Are you sure you do not mind my going to the Expo without you?’ I asked Richenda. ‘I completely understand that the doctor has decreed travel is now out of the question for you, but I am happy to stay here with you.’

  Richenda reached across the table and patted me with what had become a rather pudgy hand. ‘I know you are, my dear. Of all the people at this table, you are the one I can count on best to be my true friend and confidant. Always at my side.’

  Bertram threw an uncomfortable look at Hans. ‘I say, Rich, not the thing, old girl.’

  ‘I am answering Euphemia’s question,’ growled Richenda and Bertram fairly shrank down in his seat. ‘Of course I mind, but I think it is a good idea for you to go. When you return life is going to become very busy here and I will rely on you more and more, not only to help with the dear children...’

  Hans’ head shot up at this. He had been very clear that I was not to be used as a nursery maid.

  ‘But we must entertain more if Hans is to stand for Parliament. I am not good at doing the polite among the neighbours. I shall be entrusting you to sort out for me with whom I should be currying favour, and who is beneath notice but deserves some sort of charity. Then they are the gardens to plan – not the mention the daily menus, the menus for the various dinners, and the overseeing of the house staff.’

  ‘You do not intend to do any of this yourself,’ said Hans, so quietly I fear only I heard.

  ‘You running for Parliament, old boy?’ asked Bertram. Hans looked at his wife and shrugged.

  ‘If bally Richard can get in I don’t see why a decent country gentleman, who is also at home in the heart of the city, should not. And that, dear, is what I shall be doing,’ Richenda added, turning to Hans. ‘I shall be being the politician’s wife, attending meetings with you, always on your arm, supporting you and smiling. I shall need Euphemia to attend to my less public duties if I am still to retain enough time to take a full part in the children’s upbringing. I intend to spend several hours with them every day.’ She uttered this last comment with some defiance. ‘I am even thinking of wet-nursing them myself.’

  ‘I say! Not at dinner,’ cried Bertram.

  Hans pushed back his chair. ‘Stone, have my dinner sent to me in my study,’ he said. ‘I have urgent matters to attend to.’ He touched me briefly on the shoulder as he left and said, ‘Come to me later. We need to talk.’ He did not look at this wife.

  Hans is usually the model of the English gentleman. If there had been guests present I am sure he would not have left the table in such a manner, but with only Bertram and myself there it was a different matter entirely.

  Richenda’s eyes were bright with tears, but she chattered gaily throughout the meal – of which she ate a great deal. She even implored me to visit the Horticulture Pavilion at the Expo. ‘I believe that flowers and textiles will be at the heart of this World Fair,’ she said. ‘If you can bring me back some samples of textiles and at least learn about the gardens, it would be most helpful. I don’t suppose that cuttings would survive even if you could get them.’

  ‘No,’ said Bertram firmly. ‘We are not travelling home with a whole lot of dirt and leaves in our luggage.’

  Richenda gave a little laugh. ‘I suppose it will be a very long journey. I hope we find you a decent companion to accompany you, Euphemia. I know Hans made a terrible mess of things with Mrs Ellis, but have no fear,’ she took a deep breath, ‘I have insisted I be the one to interview possible candidates.’

  ‘Thank you, Richenda,’ I said meekly.

  Bertram looked at me approvingly. ‘Good girl. I was beginning to think you would refuse to go. What with how you looked when you came down and all that...’

  ‘Oh no,’ I said. ‘I am very much looking forward to this las – to this adventure.’ If Bertram realised I had almost said ‘last’ he gave no sign.

  After supper Richenda hauled herself upstairs to lie down and rest. This had become a usual practice for her and she rarely reappeared. As we kept country hours this made her absence less noticeable.

  I was about to leave Bertram to his solitary port when he grabbed the decanter in one hand and my arm in the other. ‘Get a couple of glasses from the table, there’s a good girl,’ he said. ‘You and I need to have a chat.’

  I obeyed, startled. It was most unlike Bertram to suggest a lady drink port.

  ‘Where shall we go?’ he asked. ‘Hans is in the study. The library is without a fire and there’s a chill in the air. I know! Your favourite room. The smoking room!’

  ‘I thought you had a one-man campaign to keep me out of there,’ I said with a slight smile.

  ‘I do, but not tonight. Need to talk to you somewhere where the servants don’t patrol. I’m not having McLeod come after me for chatting to you in your boudoir, no matter how innocent my intents. Gads, but you’re almost like a sister to me, Euphemia. I certainly don’t think of you in any romantic sense.’ He steered me across the hallway. ‘There, that should cheer you up. You are always worried I’m going to propose again to rescue you from your circumstances. All I can say is I have learned my lesson. If there’s a lady who can look after herself, it’s you. Well, as much as any lady can,’ he added.[5] ‘After your aborted engagement to McLeod – by the way, does Hans know about that? – and my romantic run-in with Felicity, I’ve quite sworn off the idea of marriage for the next few years at least. I intend to be a gentleman of leisure. My doctor says it will be good for my heart.’

  We had reached the smoking room. A reasonable fire was burn
ing in the grate and I took one of the leather wing-backed chairs that stood in front of it, placing the glasses on the small table between them which was complete with ashtray, lighter, and cigarette and cigar boxes.

  ‘You are very chatty tonight,’ I observed.

  ‘And you, my dear Euphemia,’ said Bertram, pouring two glasses of port and offering me the smaller of the two, ‘are deeply concerned about something. C’mon, tell your Uncle Bertram all about.’ He then started slightly. ‘By Gad, I am an Uncle Bertram now, aren’t I?’

  I nodded. ‘Since Amy.’

  ‘Young hellcat,’ said Bertram with the affection of a man who had his own home to retreat to.

  ‘I am fine,’ I said, ‘but actually I could do with a moment of your time. Something has occurred that I hesitate to discuss, but...’

  Bertram got up to shut the door. ‘McLeod can be damnably quiet when he’s sneaking around.’

  I smiled. ‘You see, Hans gave me this amazing string of pearls at Christmas –’

  ‘And I got that automobile,’ said Bertram. ‘Knocked me sideways, that did.’

  ‘But you are family. I don’t believe he should be giving such things to me.’

  ‘Worried Richenda might go all green-eyed on you?’ asked Bertram. ‘I wouldn’t worry. She knows Hans would never embarrass her.’

  I took a sip of port for courage. ‘What about embarrassing me?’ I said in a very small voice.

  Bertram batted my suggestion away like it was an invisible fly. ‘Never. He’s very fond of you.’

  ‘Perhaps too fond,’ I said dropping my voice even lower.

  Bertram sat bolt upright in his chair, spilling a little port down his shirt. ‘What the devil has the man done?’

  ‘He has not done anything – and I am fully aware I may be misconstruing his remarks – but he has alluded recently to a conversation we had shortly before he proposed to Richenda, in which he mentioned how different things might have been if things had been ... different.’