A Death Overseas Read online

  Bertram put down his glass and scratched his head. ‘You certainly don’t make it easy for a man,’ he said.

  ‘We were watching a sunset at the time,’ I added.

  Bertram swallowed hard. ‘A sunset. Ah, yes, well, that does change things. You mean you think he had a bit of a tendre for you?’

  I nodded, blushing furiously.

  ‘I thought he was fond of old Richie. And what with her pregnant and all.’

  ‘I too thought they were rubbing along well together.’

  Bertram frowned, ‘Yes, I see. Rubbing along well enough is not quite what one hopes for this early in a marriage. And she’s being ruddy difficult at the moment.’

  ‘I think,’ I said, wondering how much lower I could make my voice and Bertram still be able to hear me, ‘they are leading quite separate lives.’

  ‘Can’t be,’ said Bertram. ‘It’s not that big an estate. And I mean, Richie always knew he’d have to go up to London for business now and then. But he loves it down here. Happy as Larry doing the estate thing...’ He rambled to a close and gave me a look. ‘Separate lives?’

  I nodded again.

  ‘Well, she is in an interesting condition...’ He coughed and reddened. ‘Puts some men off.’

  ‘For some time,’ I said.

  Bertram pulled at his collar and drained his glass. ‘Gosh, well, I know some fellows think that being – er – separate is better for the baby while it’s – er – ripening.’ He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead with it. ‘To think I thought this was going to be a chilly evening,’ he said.

  ‘But he has mentioned that thing about the conversation at sunset – obliquely. Nothing I could react to, but then he touched my shoulder at supper and asked to speak to me later. What with that, the pearls, and not just the separate lives but their lack of conversation or even spending time with each other ... I am concerned.’

  Bertram poured himself another glass of port.

  ‘Tell me I am over-reacting, Bertram,’ I pleaded.

  There was far too long a pause. ‘I would love to,’ said Bertram. ‘I really would. But you are a sensible woman and while not a woman of the world, being unmarried, you have more understanding than one might expect of a spinster that men have ... needs.’

  He drained his second glass. ‘Golly,’ he said. ‘Difficult, isn’t it?’

  I nodded mutely.

  ‘Right,’ said Bertram. ‘Hold on to your maidenly ideals, I think I need to speak bluntly.’

  ‘Please do,’ I said. ‘Then we can get this over with.’

  Bertram nodded furiously. ‘I think it extremely unlikely that Hans would take you as his mistress in his own house while his pregnant wife is in residence. He would most certainly never force you, but even as a man I can see he could be damn seductive and... What?’

  ‘If you do not want to wear that port, Bertram, you will desist. I would never...’

  ‘Well, I know that in the normal way of things, but stuck here and you two always have seemed a bit too fond of each other...’

  ‘I meant only that I felt it was unlikely Hans would fully reconcile with Richenda when he had someone else to turn to.’

  ‘Ah, turn to for what is the question?’ said Bertram, holding his glass well out of harm’s way. ‘I mean you’re here, you’re beautiful, and you’ve got to be goddamned lonely. And you put up with Richenda’s moods. If I wasn’t here I daresay things might already have advanced further. Part of the reason I haven’t left, you know.’

  At this point he put on such pious expression that I had to grit my teeth not to hit him. ‘You are here because your estate is still sinking.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Bertram hotly. ‘Current builders doing a first-rate job.’

  ‘I have had quite enough of this nonsense,’ I said, standing up and thrusting my glass down so hard on the table the stem broke. ‘I am going to bed.’

  As I stormed out, Bertram called, ‘So we’re going to the World Fair then?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said over my shoulder.

  What other choice did I have?

  Chapter Four

  The worthiness of Mrs Eugenie Brown

  The next morning at the breakfast table I found Bertram flicking through material about the World Fair. He folded up the pages when I sat down. ‘Pour us some coffee, would you, old thing?’ he asked.

  I reminded myself it was a new day and a new start. I lifted the coffee pot. ‘No need to worry about what we were discussing last night,’ continued Bertram. ‘I had a word with Hans. Told him what he needed to do.’ He touched his finger to the side of his nose and winked. I can only imagine he thought he was being amusing. My hand trembled slightly.

  ‘Oh?’ I said.

  ‘Come on, Euphemia! You’re almost a woman of the world. I told him to get himself a mistress until Richenda is back on form. He’s had heaps of them before. Between his marriages. He favours small, pretty, brunettes like...’

  At this point two things happened. The breakfast door opened and I poured hot coffee into Bertram’s lap. Bertram shot backwards with a squawk, flapped his napkin ineffectively at the afflicted area, and shot from the room.

  Hans sat down on the other side of me. ‘I shall say one thing for Bertram – he is always a most entertaining house guest.’ He smiled. ‘I trust he has not offended you too badly?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Dare I ask for some coffee?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. As I poured, the pot ran out halfway. ‘Oh dear. I will ring for some more,’ I said.

  ‘Poor Bertram,’ said Hans, chuckling. He took a small sip. ‘It is not too hot. I imagine he will survive with only his pride injured.’

  ‘It was my fault. The door opening startled me.’

  ‘Such an odd thing for a door to do,’ said Hans. His face was calm, but I could see his eyes twinkling. ‘But to other matters. I have already had three telegrams from ladies interested in accompanying you to the World Fair. I have agreed Richenda may interview them all, but have no fear I will also interview her favourite. I have learnt my lesson with that Mrs Ellis. I only wish they had been someone nearby we could have asked to go with you, but Richenda has yet to extend invitations to the neighbouring families. Perhaps your mother might like to go with you?’

  ‘She hates travel,’ I said too quickly. Again, Hans’ eyes twinkled. Really, it would be best for me to go even if he was paying. I would never do what Bertram had suggested, but I have always been a romantic and Hans is the very epitome of the handsome hero – in looks and humour at least. I have yet to see him in action of any significant kind. I was most certainly not in love with him, but I had to acknowledge I did most heartily enjoy his company and I knew no good could come of that.

  In the end, the lady chosen to accompany us was a woman of middle years. She was the widow of a vicar and had born him two children, all of whom were grown now and happily settled. Mrs Eugenie Brown had written to Hans that, ‘while I am fortunate enough to always have a home with one of my dear children I confess I do miss my own establishment. The change of state brought about by my husband’s demise is taking some time for me to accustom myself to. He is departed some two years since, so I am out of mourning. I married young and consider myself not yet elderly, so I hope I would be a cheerful companion to your young lady. I have raised a girl myself and am well aware of the hopes, dreams, worries, and concerns that can assail a young woman, especially one embarked on foreign travel for the first time. My own dear father served in the diplomatic service, so that when I had finished schooling I travelled on the continent with both my parents before my marriage.

  ‘Having told why I feel a suitable candidate for this position, I should also explain I am a keen amateur artist and have a very great desire to see the Fine Art Pavilion at the World Fair. If it is also possible I would dearly love to make some preliminary sketches of the gardens, so I can paint further pictures when I return home.

  ‘I can provide referen
ces from various sources, but perhaps my late husband’s Bishop would be the most suitable...’

  And here she named the man my mother was shortly to marry. I swear that sometimes it feels as if my mother’s influence has no end!

  ‘She sounds a terrible bore,’ was Richenda’s comment.

  ‘Unexacting,’ was Bertram’s comment. ‘I’d have no qualms leaving Euphemia in her care if I needed to go off on my own for any reason.’ This last bit was uttered in an airy tone that suggested he already had a number of plans in hand.

  ‘That poor Bishop,’ said Hans. ‘Not only will I be asking him for a detailed reference, but also a detailed description to ensure it is the same person.’

  ‘Gosh,’ said Bertram. ‘That’s a bit sneaky. Do you think we might end up with an imposter?’

  ‘With this family’s luck,’ said Hans, ‘anything is possible.’

  But when she arrived for interview it was clear to everyone that this lady was exactly as she had presented herself: a woman, in her early forties, respectably presented with all the openness and amiability that a vicar’s wife requires.[6] Hans and Richenda quickly gave their approval; Hans, because she was clearly a sensible woman and her references were good, and Richenda because she recommended a syrup to the housekeeper that took away Richenda’s digestive problems and allowed her once more to eat cake. Bertram accepted her appointment with a sighing goodwill. I had a sneaking suspicion he was hankering for some romance and had hoped she would be some fifteen years or so younger, and in need of rescuing from dire circumstances. As she had clearly stated she had grown children, I do sometimes wonder at Bertram’s ability with mathematics.

  Within two weeks Bertram and I were packed and assembled at the local railway station. Mrs Brown would meet us at the boat train. Hans came to see us off. Amy had insisted on coming too, so we spent our farewells watching and worrying about her falling onto the tracks. When the train finally appeared she was both excited and frightened. Hans picked her up in his arms and the last sight of them I had was of Amy waving so frantically she knocked Hans’ hat off and onto the tracks.

  Bertram and I sat back in the carriage and regarded each other with some uncertainty.

  ‘So,’ said Bertram.

  ‘So,’ I said.

  ‘So, we’re off on an adventure and not a murderer or spy in sight.’

  ‘Oh hush, don’t even say such things.’

  ‘Don’t be superstitious, Euphemia. It doesn’t suit you. There are some woman who all that spiritualism stuff works for – you know the ethereal blonde beauties, but you’re far too earth-bound and sensible.’

  ‘You make me sound as if I have just come in from milking the cows and am covered in mud,’ I said.

  Bertram foolishly laughed. ‘Not quite that bad. But we have been rusticating, haven’t we? I sent to London for new togs. Did you – er – get kitted out? We’re going to be mixing among the beau monde. I could give you some tips if you like.’

  ‘What precisely are you hoping to see at the exhibition?’ I said as calmly as I could. We had many hours travelling ahead of us and losing my temper with Bertram at the start would only make the journey more exhausting.

  ‘Oh, you know, this and that.’

  ‘I thought you might have some precise ideas. I noticed you had been reading up about the World Fair in some detail.’

  ‘Well, I quite fancy the Fine Art Pavilion,’ said Bertram, momentarily depriving me of breath. ‘I also want to see the electric lights they’ve got up and down the avenues. I know Hans is pretty pleased with his little additions to the homestead, but I think these will knock them into a cocked hat. Then there’s the menagerie and a giant joy-wheel – which I am sure will give an excellent view of the Fair. Oh and much more. I got one of the maps and it’s so large. I think we could spend a month there and not see it all! They are even going to trial post by aeroplane from the special post office they have built! What about you, Euphemia?’

  ‘Richenda wants me to go to the horticulture museum. Something to do with my planning gardens at the Estate.’

  ‘You don’t want to be doing that?’

  ‘No I don’t, but I shall report back dutifully. Hans told me not to miss seeing a reconstruction of Old Flanders. Apparently it is very quaint.’

  ‘Well, if Hans says so,’ said Bertram.

  I ignored this comment. ‘Hang on a minute. I've got an idea.’ And so saying he reached up to the luggage rack and brought down the Gladstone bag he had insisted on bringing with him. He opened and pulled out a small box that transformed into a chess set. ‘I thought this might pass the time.’

  ‘Excellent idea,’ I said, and went on to thrash him eight games to three. Fortunately the train had a luncheon carriage, so Bertram was able to bear up under this beating with fortitude. Mrs Brown met us on time at the appointed pillar at the station. ‘How lovely to see you both again,’ she said. ‘I am sure we will all have a very fine adventure. Why, I remember when my father took me to India. My mother was almost eaten by a tiger and my ayah was bitten by a snake. She did recover. But it was so very enlivening. I hear there are to be Tigers at the World Fair in the menagerie. Though one has to hope they have been well fed!’

  Bertram mumbled some kind of startled reply.

  ‘And what is more I have learnt that because the Fair is so enormously there are little trains to carry us about the place. Such a relief. It is always so much hotter on the continent at this time of year and I had not relished the idea of walking for miles in the heat.’

  ‘M-m-miles,’ stammered Bertram.

  ‘Oh, but there are restaurants and coffee shops and even taverns, I believe, where one can refresh oneself. Not that you or I, dear Miss St John, will be going into a tavern. Now, I do believe it that is our train. We must hurry, hurry, hurry if we are not to miss the boat. What a disaster that would be!’

  ‘Good Lord,’ said Bertram quietly to me. ‘Do you think she’s going to be like this the whole time?’

  ‘She’s excited,’ I said.

  ‘Hmm, almost hysterical with it,’ said Bertram.

  ‘What I want to know is why she is carrying such a large and old-fashioned reticule?’

  ‘You do wonder the oddest things, Euphemia. She’s the relict of a vicar. Of course she’s going to be dowdily dressed. Not that she’s not neatly pressed and all that. And at least her hat isn’t one of those ones with thirty dead birds pinned all over it. I hate those. My mother used to wear them.’

  I looked properly at Bertram for the first time since we had arrived at the station. ‘I am so sorry,’ I said. ‘I forgot that the last time you were on a ship it was a less than pleasant experience.[7]

  ‘Humph,’ said Bertram. ‘No, it wasn’t, but at least it didn’t sail away with me. Thanks mostly to you and your flashing ankles, as I recall. By the way, I might not have mentioned it, but I sent McLeod ahead to see our rooms were all that they should be and all that. Thought he could scope out the place for us.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  ‘He’s under the strictest orders to behave, Euphemia. There won’t be any trouble.’

  Chapter Five

  Cold meat for breakfast!

  The train drew into the quaint railway station in Ghent that had been especially designed for the World Fair. The Exposition had not long been open, but already by the sound of all the carriage doors being flung open at once it was clear it was a popular destination. Bertram had woken when the train lurched to a stop. Now he roused himself, shaking his head from side to side not unlike that of a mastiff that had been sleeping by the fire, and bounded out of the door. He stood on the platform, legs wide, surveying the world around. Mrs Brown hovered at the top of the rather steep step. Within moments Rory McLeod had brushed past Bertram and was offering the lady his hand, which she gratefully accepted.

  ‘So kind. So kind. Such a very long way down and one is always afraid one might slip down onto the tracks even though that is such a silly idea. I mean, I ha
ve never heard of such a thing happening or at least if I have it is only once or twice, but when one is positively tottering at the top such thoughts will go through one’s mind.’ Rory, who hadn’t even had the chance to introduce himself, handed her down then extended his hand to me. His expression was all that was proper. He was obviously annoyed with me about something. ‘A good journey, miss?’ he enquired.

  ‘Long. Long. Long. Long journey,’ broke in Bertram. ‘And the sea crossing was diabolical.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ I said. ‘The sea was as calm as a mirror and as for the length of the journey, I don’t know how you might have noticed it! If you weren’t eating you were sleeping!’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Mrs Brown, sotto voice to me. ‘Are you sure you should be quite so – so forthright with the gentleman? It doesn’t seem particularly ladylike. My dear husband always said a lady should be a silent pillar of beauty, looking wise, but never speaking least she break the impression.’

  Bertram, Rory and I were momentarily bereft of speech. Then Rory spoke, ‘A redoubtable gentleman or unusual perspicacity, I am sure. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Rory McLeod, factotum to Mr Bertram.’

  Mrs Brown smiled up at him. ‘A man of all things! How very convenient!’

  Bertram, who had been staring into the distance, suddenly cried, ‘My bag!’ It was a sign of the long service Rory had rendered that he not only understood what Bertram meant, but was able to leap on the train and retrieve it before the train departed. Bertram’s face bore an expression of extreme discontent. I patted his arm. ‘Don’t worry, idiot. All is mended,’ I told him affectionately.

  ‘It’s not that. It’s that I thought I saw...’ Then he broke off, giving his head another doglike shake. ‘I must be still half asleep,’ he said with a forced smile. ‘Have we porters and conveyances, McLeod? I am sure the ladies would like to freshen up and I could do with a small snack before we advance on the World Fair!’

  As he had but two minutes hence finished a large pork pie complete with cheese and an apple, there was much I could have said, but the thought of being in a comfortable room with a bed and proper chairs where the landscape no longer moved before my eyes was greatly appealing. So I did my impression of silent beauty and Rory led us off toward the cart he had waiting. Bertram eyed me askance. ‘Why are you walking so stiffly?’ He asked. ‘Is there a bee up your skirt?’