A Death at a Gentleman's Club Read online

  Richenda and I stumbled our way out of the vehicle and regarded one another.

  ‘You look like your horse tossed you in a hedge, I’m afraid,’ I said to Richenda.

  To my surprise she grinned. ‘You look like one of Amy’s drawings,’ she said.

  I shivered. ‘That bad?’ Amy had a habit of drawing stick figures and then scrawling crazy spirals on the tops of their heads. ‘We need to visit the powder room.’

  Bertram had got out and was at the front of his motor car, patting the bonnet and telling it it was a good girl. He glanced over at me to smile and it took all my self-control not to burst out laughing. Richenda had no such qualms.

  ‘You look like a hedgehog!’ she roared. A well-dressed gentleman climbing the steps behind us turned to examine her through his monocle with a heavy frown. Richenda and I had worn veils over our faces and thus kept our complexions clean. Bertram had only worn goggles, so along with his wild hair, which stuck out in stiff, pomaded curls, his face was blackened with dirt, except where his driving goggles had been.

  Bertram looked down at his reflection in the bonnet of the motor. ‘Ye gods!’ He exclaimed. ‘I do!’

  ‘We cannot allow my mother to see us like this,’ I said.

  ‘Indeed not,’ said Bertram.

  Richenda leaned over and examined herself in the shiny metal. ‘I think it’s rather funny. It’s not as if we weren’t spruced up before the trip. Bertram went too fast. That is all.’

  ‘I would rather my mother’s first impression of Bertram was not to think of him and his family as a laughing stock,’ I said acidly.

  Richenda shrugged. ‘Then we had better find somewhere we can clean up inside.’ She moved away and began to climb the steps.

  Bertram gave me a startled look and then bolted after her. I followed more slowly. I had no wish to see Richenda trying to storm the male bastion of a Gentlemen’s Club. I thought it quite likely she would fail to mention to the porter that we were invited, and would enjoy an indulgent, and pointless, argument with him about why she could not be admitted. I did not envy Bertram the trouble of sorting this out, but neither did I feel inspired to step into the fray. My nerves, usually resolute and compliant, felt shredded and sore. Bertram’s driving had been breath-taking, in the worst of ways. Ever since the moment he told me that Rory had moved on, the day seemed to have gone from bad to worse. I wondered if I could pay someone to shut Richenda in a small room until we had finished our meal. If they sent in cake, then perhaps she would not mind too much. In fact, if the cake was good enough – or rather large enough, she might not mind at all.

  I mounted the final step and gave my hat a half-hearted tug to straighten it. I felt a coil of hair unroll down my back as I did so. I could have wept, but I lifted my chin and marched forward. A straight-faced doorman opened the large oak-panelled door for me.

  The inner chamber was painted white and lit by sunny skylights in such a way that the day could peer in upon the occupants, but the outside world was firmly shut out. The lobby held a front desk with pigeonholes behind it; around the edges of the chamber were dotted a few small standing desks where members could dash off a note or a telegram and pass it to the porter. It was a sparsely furnished room but contained a few tall pot plants to give those writing some privacy. No doubt it was normally a haven of tranquility, but not today.

  At the front desk, all speaking at once, were Bertram, still in his hedgehog guise, Richenda, gesturing wildly and making herself look even more like a creature out of its wits, and a very tall, thin man in a smart grey suit who had a bass voice. This broke over the others.

  ‘All I am saying is, these people do not have the appearance of the guests I am awaiting. It is possible this gentleman is who he claims to be, but this lady is certainly not the one I am expecting.’ He produced a monocle from his pocket and examined Richenda. ‘Is there a doctor in the house? I fear she is quite hysterical.’

  ‘I am not hysterical,’ shouted Richenda, ‘I am a suffragette and I demand entrance as an equal human being of status!’

  Bertram was umming and erring and trying to get a few words in without appearing uncivil enough to actually interrupt. He was definitely the one losing in the three-way conversation.

  It was at this stage I managed to glimpse the head of a man, shorter than Bertram, wearing a plain, dark grey waistcoat and tie. Looking to be in his early thirties, it was clear from his furrowed brow, and way he kept scratching at his balding pate, that he couldn’t get the situation under control.

  I took a deep breath and then, in an accent my mother had so carefully polished to diamond sharpness, and which I did my best to keep hidden as both a servant and a fiancée, I said in a stern, projected voice, ‘My goodness, what on earth is going on here? I had been led to believe this was a gentlemen’s establishment, but I fear I have entered the wrong building.’

  As short, sharp sentences go, it wasn’t. But my accent, the verisimilitude of how a Earl’s daughter spoke, caused a complete silence to fall before I finished speaking.

  The little man from behind the desk, perhaps sensing help despite my tumbled appearance, asked, ‘And you are, ma’am?’

  ‘The Honourable Euphemia Martins. I am here to dine with my mother and my new stepfather, The Bishop. The journey has been trying and I would appreciate the opportunity to powder my nose before joining my family. I have come some distance.’

  ‘Of course, ma’am,’ said the little man. I believe if he had had a forelock he would have tugged it. As it was, he merely gave a little dipping bow. ‘I shall summon a page to direct you immediately.’ Richenda stood looking at me with her mouth wide open. Bertram had gone an unfortunate shade of red. The tall thin gentleman, however, came forward and kissed me on the cheek. It was only then I saw the cross around his neck.

  ‘I would know Philomena’s daughter anywhere,’ he said and smiled in a most avuncular manner.

  ‘Oh, good heavens,’ I said, ‘are you my mother’s bishop? I mean…?’

  The smile deepened, and I saw a twinkle in his eye. ‘I know exactly what you mean. Despite being dedicated to God, and having a congregation, I am most certainly your mother’s bishop. May I say how delighted I am to meet my new stepdaughter.’

  My hand flew to my hair. ‘An open-topped motor vehicle, I imagine,’ said The Bishop. ‘Ah, to be young again. I do not believe the Archbishop would condone me driving one, but I feel they must be rather fun, are they not?’

  ‘It was a startling drive,’ I said. ‘Breath-taking in places. We were a little late in departing.’

  ‘Ah, I see. I assume you were not doing the actual driving yourself?’ ‘No,’ I said.

  The Bishop muttered something under his breath that, for a moment, I thought was ‘Pity’, but I was distracted by the arrival of the page.

  ‘If you would follow me, ma’am. I’ll take you to the ladies’ facilities.’

  I exited with him quickly, not caring whether Richenda followed or not. I only wanted to get away.

  The page led us to a door that opened into a very well-appointed powder room attached to the necessary utilities. I took off my hat at once and began brushing out my hair. After that I thoroughly washed my face and hands before putting my hair back up and my now-straightened hat back on. I took off my jacket and shoes. I would need to get the page to brush and polish these.

  ‘Are you taking off all of your clothes?’ asked Richenda. ‘Only, you being of the old nobility, I don’t know what you might be capable of.’

  I froze. Then I turned to face the storm. Richenda met my eye and began to laugh. Softly at first, but gradually she broke into a huge belly laugh. In a few moments I could not help joining her.

  ‘Oh, my goodness, Euphemia, what will you do next? I never thought for one moment they would believe your silly voice, but you kept the charade going wonderfully. Honourable indeed. I’ll say something for this bishop your mother has married, he’s a jolly good sport.’

  This was the
moment to tell her that neither my demeanour nor my title had been fake. I took a deep breath. But before I could speak Richenda said, ‘Actually, that’s a good idea. I wonder if that page could do anything with my hat. I think some of these decorative birds are positively bald now. Really, Bertram’s driving is too much.’ She scooped up my shoes and jacket and flounced through the door. Fortunately, the page, who must have been warned that we needed to be contained, was waiting outside and took these, as well as Richenda’s shoes. She returned and slumped down in one of the chintz armchairs that had been provided for recovering ladies. I fled back to the washbasin and finished tidying up as much as I could.

  By the time I had finished and helped Richenda redo her hair - her efforts were quite hopeless - the page had knocked on the powder room door and returned our items. I surveyed myself in front of the long mirror. I expected some remarks from my mother, but overall I had scrubbed up a lot better than I had hoped. The clothing that Hans’ seamstress and Glanville had altered fitted me handsomely. Richenda’s appearance remained raggedy, but she seemed unaware, so I let it go.

  I opened the door and considered how to make a polite request that Richenda made herself scarce.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Richenda suddenly, ‘I know it was a bit much for me to foist myself on you, but now The Bishop has seen me, perhaps I could come and say hello. I will not even take a seat. If they have never met Bertram before you won’t want me hanging around.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  ‘If I wasn’t so ferociously angry with Hans, I would never have come,’ said Richenda with a sorrowful sniff. Richenda weeping was the last thing we needed.

  ‘I will speak to him,’ I said. ‘Everything will be fine.’

  Richenda gave me a watery smile. ‘You’ve always been far nicer than me,’ she said. I dodged the hug she was about to give me by darting through the doorway. I feared she would knock my hat off again, for she was not a lady known for her agility, except on horseback.

  I caught the little page kicking his heels against the skirting board. He straightened up the moment he saw me. ‘Ma’am, can I take you through to your party? Ma’ams,’ he added as Richenda barged through the door behind me.

  ‘Thank you, that would be most helpful. Can you tell me if the gentleman who was with us has already joined them?’

  ‘No, ma’am. But he left this note for you.’ He pulled a folded paper from his pocket and handed it to me.

  Surprisingly, it was un-crumpled, but then the paper was of excellent quality. I opened it to see the club’s emblem and address at the top. Below it I recognised Bertram’s scrawl.

  My Love,

  I am mortified that your stepfather’s first impression of me was that of me looking like prospective wildlife. I intend to take my time restoring my appearance and, if you will forgive me, enjoying a restorative brandy - for my heart, naturally.

  It has also occurred to me that it might be easier for you to break the news that you are marrying into the minor nobility alone. I appreciate a prank as much as the next man, but I could see from The Bishop’s face that he was quite taken aback at your boldness, suggesting you were of the upper ranks. Having married your mother, he can be in no doubt as to your true status. Of course, this carries no weight with me, but the Church is a hierarchical institution and he may have thought the joke improper. If I step in and introduce myself as the son of a Baronet, he may feel we are marrying out of the natural order. Therefore, I think it is better if you assail his defences first and explain your prank was well-intentioned. He will see that you are not attempting to put yourself above your class, so that when I join you later for Luncheon, he will not, with luck, be in the mood to object to our nuptials.

  With undying Love

  Your Bertram

  ‘The pig!’ I cried.

  Richenda, who had had no qualms in reading over my shoulder said, ‘He probably does need a bit of a rest after all the driving and the later fuss. He does have a dicky heart. But yes, I hate to say it about my brother, but he does come over as a bit of a faint-heart.’

  ‘Craven coward!’ I said. ‘And his personal comments directed at me!’

  ‘Well, he is a man,’ said Richenda. ‘In the end they all try to patronise one and control one. Even the best of them. I should know.’ She patted me on the arm. ‘Never mind, Euphemia. I have more moral fibre than the rest of my family put together. I shall escort you.’

  At that moment I was too upset with Bertram, and too caught up with my own predicament, to think of anything other than feeling grateful to her. The little page led us back through to the club’s main lobby and then took us into the coffee lounge. It was laid out with lots of tables across the main stretch of the room, but there were also seated areas spaced out around the periphery for those who required a little more privacy. Today, all the tables sported bright white cloths and tiny crystal vases of white, purple, and pink flowers. This, I imagined, was part of the effort for Ladies’ Day. However, the room was surprisingly empty. The coffee lounge might easily have contained fifty or sixty guests, but I noted, in estimation, that it was currently less than twenty per cent full. Other than my mother and Richenda, I saw only two other ladies. Clearly, this new-fangled habit of letting ladies in to the club was not going down well.

  The page took us over to an excellently situated table under a window. As we approached I saw a lanky, boyish figure with his back to us, swinging on the back legs of his chair. ‘Joe!’ I cried out before I could stop myself. The boy turned. His face was longer than I recalled, but it was clearly my little brother.

  ‘Effie!’ he cried out even more loudly and, pushing back his chair, raced across the room to embrace me. He hit me with the full force of a twelve-year-old and winded me. I was glad I had suppressed the urge to pick him up and whirl him in the air as I had done when we were both younger. I returned his embrace, hugging him tightly.

  ‘Good heavens,’ I managed to say, ‘you’re almost up to my shoulder.’

  Joe looked up at me, his chin resting against my chest with his brown eyes twinkling. ‘I’m going to be tall like our Step-pa,’ he said. ‘Really, really tall. Oh Effie, it is so topping to see you again. Did Mother tell you? I’m a chorister now! I go to the cathedral school and have to sing so loudly. But I don’t have to board because we live right next door! And Step-pa is going to take me around the labyrinth tomorrow. But he says there isn’t a Minotaur. Do you think it could be because they haven’t looked properly yet? You could come and help, Effie. If anyone could find a monster, it would be you!’

  ‘Joe, release your sister at once and return to your seat!’ My mother’s familiar tones rang out - not loudly of course, that would be ill-bred, but with the clear-cut intonation of a lady raised in an Earldom.

  Richenda had moved ahead to the table because she had heard my mother’s voice. ‘Mrs Martins! What are you doing here?’ In that moment I flashed back to when my mother had arrived unannounced at the Muller estate. She had been staying with a local vicar and his family and had heard talk of the new companion Mrs Muller had employed. By some means known only to her she had figured out that it might be me.

  At the time Richenda had been delighted to introduce me to her new friend, the Earl’s daughter. For whatever reason, once my mother had confirmed I was well, appeared happy and was now a companion, rather than a maid, she had seen fit to not undermine my ruse. But, as they say, the truth will out.

  ‘Ah,’ I said, still clinging onto the not-so-little Joe. ‘I think we are about to have a problem.’

  ‘Is that the one you wrote looks like her horse and has the dress sense of a drunken baboon?’ said Joe in a distressingly loud stage whisper.

  Fortunately, Richenda did not appear to hear. She was too busy chatting to my mother. While she was doing this, I had a chance to whisper urgently to Joe that the tales I had written to him were meant for his ears only and they were all made up anyway. Joe gave me a conspiratorial wink but stopp
ed talking. I walked across with my arm around my little brother’s shoulders.

  ‘Richenda,’ I said interrupting her. ‘I must beg your forgiveness. You see, Mrs Martins is my mother. She did not disclose this when you first met her. It is entirely my fault. I had placed her in a very difficult position. She had been trying to find me for some time. She thought it was possible I was working as a servant at your estate, but she didn’t know. I am sure the only reason she did not give me away was not to embarrass you at the time.’

  Richenda turned on me, a look of confusion on her face. ‘What do you mean? Is what your mother says true? You are the grand-daughter of an Earl?’

  ‘Quite so,’ said The Bishop, who had risen at Richenda’s approach and looked even taller now (if such a thing were possible). ‘Perhaps we should all sit down and have a nice cup of tea.’

  I was expecting Richenda to explode with indignation. I couldn’t in my wildest dreams have imagined what she would do next, and it took me quite by surprise.

  She laughed.

  Not wildly with hysteria. Instead she gave a deep, genuine chuckle. ‘I always knew there was more to you than at face value,’ she said to me. ‘An Earl’s granddaughter, no less. No wonder you were so annoyed by Bertram’s note. Oh, his face…’ She laughed again and had to hold on to the back of an empty chair to steady herself before continuing. ‘His face when he realises he’s the one marrying up in the world. Oh, goodness, it’s been worth enduring his driving to learn this. He is going to be so, so, so utterly overcome!’

  ‘I fear so,’ I said quietly. ‘Richenda, it must seem as if I have played the most horrible trick on you all…’

  Richenda placed a hand on my arm. ‘If anyone knows how disagreements can shatter families, it is I. My father and I - well, we never reconciled before he died.’ She paused a moment as an expression of sadness overcame her. Then she turned to my mother. ‘While I am unaware of the circumstances, not that it is any of my business, why you and Euphemia parted, that you came looking for her suggests you still feel that you are bound together. May I say that during her time with my family, Euphemia has shown herself to be intelligent, compassionate, and more loyal than my own kin. She is a first-rate woman and I am not at all surprised that she is so closely related to an Earl. But, regardless of her station, I count it an honour to be her friend. I hope she will still marry into my family, for then I will have the privilege of calling her sister, something I very much hope to do.’ Then she stepped forward and kissed me on the cheek. ‘Good luck,’ she whispered and walked away from the party with a quick, decisive tread.