A Death by Arson Page 4

  ‘Is that what you got yourself so het up about?’ asked Rory. ‘That I was impugning the honour of your half-brother’s bride to be?’

  ‘Yes. No,’ spluttered Bertram. ‘Euphemia!’

  ‘Ach, you mean I shouldnae have said such a thing in front of her?’ Rory shuffled himself to a seated position. ‘Aye, well, maybe you’re right. I wasnae suggesting what you thought. Rather that yon mannie would be keen to bed his bride.’

  ‘McLeod!’ exploded Bertram. I offered him a sandwich. He took it without apparent thought or recognition.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Rory. ‘I meant no offence, Euphemia. I didnae realise you’d become sich a lady.’

  I placed the plate pointedly in front of him rather than offering it to him. ‘Your comments, as you well know, would be out of order in front of a kitchen maid, let alone myself.’

  Bertram grinned. ‘She’s got you there.’

  ‘Aye, maybe,’ muttered Rory, taking a sandwich and biting into it. In a rather more muffled tone, he added, ‘But what I want to know is how she knew the woman was pregnant.’

  ‘I thought you said she wasn’t?’ said Bertram, now more bemused than angry.

  ‘I said I had no idea either way,’ responded Rory. ‘It was Euphemia that intimated she knew.’

  ‘I had no idea that Sir Richard was even contemplating matrimony,’ I protested. My heart sank as I realised what had happened. ‘Does anyone fancy some tea? There is hot water in a flask, and a teapot included in the hamper.’

  ‘Euphemia,’ said Bertram warningly.

  ‘Who were ye talking about, then?’ added Rory, clearly glad to be the focus of attention no longer.

  There was no way I was getting out of this. ‘I misunderstood you, Bertram. I shouldn’t have said anything. It is a secret as yet undisclosed to any other.’

  ‘You’re not!’ said Rory.

  ‘Richenda,’ said Bertram.

  I gave Rory another of my withering looks, but, really, he seemed to be growing quite impervious to them. ‘Yes, Richenda, but she hasn’t even told Hans yet.’

  ‘Why ever not?’ asked Rory.

  ‘I thought she had gained a bit of weight,’ said Bertram thoughtfully. ‘Not the kind of thing one comments on in a woman. Especially me sister,’ he added with feeling. ‘I assume it’s because Hans’ last wife miscarried so frequently, she does not want to raise false hopes until she is sure.’

  ‘Goodness, Bertram,’ I said, ‘that’s quite insightful.’

  Bertram looked a little hurt. ‘I can be, you know.’

  ‘Aye, well, means she’ll be taking it easy. That’s a good thing,’ said Rory. ‘Less chance of arguments, misunderstandings and catastrophes. Though I don’t like the new nursery maid Muller’s hired; something not right about her.’

  ‘Catastrophes,’ echoed Bertram. ‘Indeed, I hope not. Before I encountered Euphemia I had been into the realm of Scotland many times without anything disastrous befalling me.’

  I spluttered in indignation.

  ‘Aye, well, let’s eat up,’ said Rory. ‘Or we’ll no’ be there before nightfall.’

  Our journey continued. Bertram insisted we stopped for a proper luncheon, despite the lateness of the hour, but Rory made good time and although I had no intention of telling him so, I realised he had become most adept in controlling the automobile. We arrived outside a set of large iron lodge gates just as dusk was creeping into night.

  The gates were tall and surprisingly new-looking. A small, neat lodge house stood to the left, and while this was obviously an older building, with its tiny windows and slate roof, it too looked in remarkably good repair. ‘I take it this is Peterfield,’ I said to Bertram. ‘It appears to be in excellent condition.’

  Bertram grunted. ‘We haven’t seen the house yet, but I’ve heard Richard has been pouring money into the place. That new agent of his – dislikeable fellow, but knows his job.’

  Rory blew his horn and, within moments, the door to the lodge had opened. A bent old man shuffled out.

  ‘Surely he would have heard the car,’ I said.

  ‘He doesnae look of an age to put on a turn of speed,’ said Rory.

  ‘But why would Richard …’ I stopped. Bertram and Richard might be at odds, but they were still family and Bertram believed me to be of much lower status. It was not for me to criticise his brother’s running of the estate.

  ‘Keep him on?’ finished Bertram for me. ‘I said his agent was a clever man. He’ll know the importance of keeping the locals on side.’

  ‘Unlike at the hunting lodge,’ muttered Rory.

  I shivered at those memories. The old man opened the gates. Bertram opened his window and tipped the man a coin. We drove on, the gravel drive spewing up dust around us. ‘Newly laid,’ muttered Rory. ‘Can hardly see a thing. I hope I don’t drive into the house.’

  The drive arched away to the left and then, even above the dust clouds, we saw Peterfield.

  ‘It’s enormous,’ said Bertram.

  In my time, I have had occasion to stay in a few of the great houses of our country and to my eye, Peterfield was no rival. As we grew closer I could see it had some age, though there seemed to be a mixture of old and new stone. The roof was clearly new. It presented a standard square face to us on approach, with a single similarly square tower rising above the wings that ran to a height of two storeys. These wings met at a place that was part house, part wall and part entrance. The actual main house was taller than the entrance, looming above it, and the opening in the front wall as we passed through it showed this section to be no more than one room wide.

  I feel I am not describing the building well, and in my defence, I must say that the whole thing was a mishmash. I think I can best describe it as a building built in the style of the large castles of Scotland, such as Edinburgh, but without either the money for the full extension or the sense of grace and power. Picture a child’s toy fort and you will not be far wrong. Little Joe would have loved it. Bertram was clearly overwhelmed by its faux grandeur, but in the mirror I saw Rory’s upper lip curl into a sneer. For once, I quite agreed with him. The whole structure was a parody and an insult to Scotland’s true castles.

  ‘Looks like we’ve been sighted from the battlements,’ said Rory as he drove through the archway. There, standing at the top of an impressive stair, stood the unmistakable figure of Richard Stapleford. He had his arm around the waist of a slim, girlish figure. Even from a distance, we could see she was dressed in the very latest fashion. I heard Bertram’s sudden intake of breath.

  ‘Gosh,’ he said. ‘That must be Lucinda.’

  ‘I take it ye hadnae met your brother’s intended?’ asked Rory.

  ‘No,’ said Bertram in a slightly breathless voice. ‘I had not.’

  Rory brought the car to a standstill and, first, helped Bertram and I out. Richard came down the steps with his fiancée, still gripping her around the waist. He held out a hand to Bertram, who shook it without thinking.

  ‘My dear Euphemia, my dear Bertram,’ said Richard, ‘allow me the very great pleasure of welcoming you to my small Scottish home.’ He paused and turned to look at the girl. ‘And of introducing you to my bride-to-be, the very lovely Miss Lucinda Hessleton.’

  Close to, the beauty of the girl was even clearer. Her eyes were large and of the deep blue that is almost violet. Her face was heart-shaped and she smiled with apparent sweetness and sincerity.

  ‘We are both so glad you could join us for the wedding,’ she said. The voice was light and pleasing, with only the slightest hint that her accent was due to elocution lessons rather than upbringing.

  By now, Bertram was gulping so hard I feared that we would soon discover if it was possible for a man to swallow his own Adam’s apple. ‘Honoured,’ he said, possessing himself of one of Lucinda’s hands and bowing over it.

  ‘May I call you Bertram?’ asked Lucinda. ‘After all, I shall soon be your sister.’

  Even I had to acknowledge it was
a well-judged comment. It was gently delivered, but reminded Bertram exactly who he was drooling over.

  ‘Of course. Of course,’ said Bertram, straightening up. ‘Delighted.’

  Richard gestured to the head of the stairs, where other figures stood waiting. ‘Please go up. We have heard from the station that Richenda’s train has arrived and they will be here any minute. Lucinda and I must stay to welcome them. My servants will make you comfortable. I believe you know my housekeeper, Mrs Lewis.’

  The last comment was directed at me and obviously intended to remind me of my previous employment as his maid. Or perhaps he was reminding us of Mrs Lewis’ unusual appearance. I still could not look at her without remembering the gargoyles on my father’s church. This was much to my shame, as I knew her to be a fair and kind woman, but more than one of the staff at Stapleford Hall had screamed on unexpectedly encountering her after dark in the house corridors.

  A frown crossed Lucinda’s face and she looked up at Richard, obviously puzzled by his comment. Though he kept his arm around her, Richard did not respond.

  ‘Thank you for inviting us,’ I said to Lucinda. ‘I am very much looking forward to celebrating with you on your special day.’

  Lucinda blushed and, pulling away from Richard, held out her hands to me. ‘And I must thank you. It will be so nice to have another woman of my age to talk to. Mary is here, of course, but she can be a bit stuffy!’

  Richard made a grumbling noise and she stepped back by his side. After a moment’s awkwardness Bertram harrumphed, nodded at Richard and ushered me up the steps.

  ‘Good Lord,’ he said in my ear as we climbed. ‘What is a glorious creature like that doing with my brother?’ I too was surprised and confused. I could practically feel Bertram bristling with chivalric indignation.

  ‘I am sure the young lady knows what she is doing,’ I said in an attempt to suppress any foolishness on Bertram’s part, but in truth I felt as if I should rush to Lucinda’s side and tell her of her groom’s true nature. ‘We would not be thanked for any interference.’

  ‘Hmph!’ said Bertram again.

  Then Mrs Lewis was greeting us and we were caught up in being introduced to the many staff and escorted to our rooms. I went through the motions as my mother had taught me, but I could not rid myself of a strong sense of foreboding.

  Chapter Seven

  Euphemia’s foreboding

  I had been given a room in the tower. A small fire flickered in a quaint little tiled grate. The room was surprisingly large and furnished with a four-poster bed, dressing table, two chairs, a small table and a wardrobe. There was even a sink. Other washing necessities were shared with the other bedrooms on this floor, of which there appeared to be only another two. The room and furnishings had been liberally covered with tartan. Mrs Lewis, who had herself seen me up, must have noticed my face.

  ‘This is the blue tartan room. Quite restful to my mind.’ She grimaced slightly and I realised she was trying to smile. ‘You should see the red, yellow and green tartan rooms. They are quite something.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ I said with feeling. ‘I am grateful. Is there anything I should know about the running of events? Mr Bertram did not inform us that Sir Richard was marrying until we were underway. I fear none of us have brought gifts.’

  ‘Sir Richard wanted things this way,’ replied Mrs Lewis. ‘I do not believe any of the guests have been forewarned about the wedding. We have a local minister and the village church is very pretty and quaint. Miss Lucinda has taken quite a fancy to it.’

  ‘It certainly seems to be a very large property. Though much of it appears new?’

  Mrs Lewis stiffened. ‘There was a fire,’ she said, her voice strangely flat. ‘The previous owners could not face restoring the property, so…’

  ‘Sir Richard found himself a bargain,’ I said brightly. ‘He is a very shrewd businessman, I believe.’

  ‘Yes, miss,’ said Mrs Lewis, turning to leave. ‘The bell is there if you need anything. It does take the maids a few minutes to reach this level, but we are more than adequately staffed to fulfil all our guests’ needs. Dinner tonight will be a formal affair in the Great Hall. I believe Sir Richard will announce the schedule for the visit then. Drinks before in the Red Salon. If you come straight down the stairs there will be a footman at the bottom to direct you.’

  With that, she was gone. Only a few moments later a maid knocked on my door and asked to unpack for me. I allowed her to do so and asked that a dark blue dress might be pressed for me to wear for dinner.

  ‘I could also do with a cup of tea,’ I said. ‘We have been travelling for such a long time. Perhaps you could manage them both at once, if you were careful?’

  The maid, who I judged to be no more than sixteen, freckled and with the flaming red hair that is only found north of the English border, bobbed a little curtsey. ‘That’s nice of you, miss, but we’re all used to running up and down the stairs. Keeps ye trim! So don’t be worried about pulling the bell. I’m here to help!’

  ‘I see…?’

  ‘Enid, miss.’

  ‘Thank you, Enid. Are Mr and Mrs Muller on this level too?’

  ‘No, miss. They’ve been put on the other side, so they can be nearer the nursery for their daughter. It’s Miss Hessleton on this level, along with her friend Miss Grantham. But don’t worry about getting lost. There’ll be footmen patrolling the corridors to direct people.’

  ‘Surely not on the ladies’ floor!’

  ‘Well, no, miss. But one will be in the hall, at the bottom of the stairs. And ye’ve got the bell. Sir Richard has thought of everything. He’s done the place up right nice.’ She then blushed furiously and bowed her head. ‘Sorry, miss. Mrs Lewis is always scolding me for being too familiar.’

  I dismissed this comment with a wave of my hand. ‘So you find Sir Richard to be a good master?’ I asked.

  Enid looked back up at me, her eyes shining like stars. ‘Och, the very best, miss.’

  Later, I made my way down the stairs. They were uncarpeted stone, but each tread had been carefully restored. The result was authentic – and cold; much as I imagine a real castle to be. At the bottom a man dressed in livery bowed and escorted me to a pair of double doors, which he opened to reveal the Red Salon. There was already a crowd of perhaps twenty or more people standing around with drinks in their hands. I nodded to the room as I entered and made my way across towards where the drinks were being dispensed by yet another footman. This room was large, square, and fitted out with dark panelling, and carpeted in a shade all too close to the colour of blood. The ceiling was ornately plastered with images I could not study without craning my neck and looking like a lost giraffe. A row of tall windows looked out not onto the courtyard, but onto a misty vista of green hills with the shadows of what I assumed must be mountains beyond. At one end, a large fireplace, taller than I, roared as it consumed a couple of tree-like logs. Despite this, and the number of guests, the room still felt cold.

  Suddenly, a drink was pressed into my hand. Bertram’s voice spoke into my ear. ‘I know things up here come a lot cheaper, but how the hell is my brother affording all this?’

  It was a question that, as a lady, I should have ignored, but my interest too had been piqued. ‘I have no idea,’ I whispered back. ‘And who is Miss Hessleton? You knew about the marriage. What do you know of the bride?’

  ‘Family comes from trade,’ said Bertram darkly. ‘Mills and the like. Perhaps Richard had a down payment on the dowry?’

  I warred inwardly for a moment with my mother’s ruling against gossip, but gave in. ‘If she is that rich, surely they could have got her someone with a more important title? There are many great houses who would welcome a rich bride.’

  ‘But with a mother who had been a servant?’ countered Bertram.

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  ‘Besides, I believe there is also a son up at Cambridge who wants to enter politics. No use, of course. You need to be an Oxford man to ge
t anywhere.’

  I smiled. ‘I assume you were an Oxford man?’

  ‘Rowing Blue,’ said Bertram with pride. Then his face fell. ‘That was before I started getting trouble with the old ticker.’

  ‘Well, let us hope that this trip into the Kingdom’s northern realm will provide you with some rest and relaxation.’

  ‘If it hadn’t been for Hans …’ Bertram trailed off, but then added, ‘Apart from Amy trying to fall off the roof, we had a rather good Christmas, didn’t we?’

  My heart went out to him. All the Stapleford children had been neglected by their parents, and none had known the happy Christmases that I had enjoyed with my parents and little brother. Richenda would not countenance my going home to share Christmas with my mother and little Joe, but at least I had many happy memories. ‘Actually,’ I said, ‘it was rather nice, wasn’t it?’

  ‘And no one died,’ said Bertram, with a wicked grin.

  ‘Don’t say things like that, Bertram,’ I said.

  ‘You think I am tempting fate?’

  ‘I hope to the Good Lord not,’ I said, but even as I spoke I felt a ghost pass over my grave. I shivered, and urged Bertram to move closer to the fire. But despite the roaring flames, the feeling of cold had settled into my bones.

  Chapter Eight

  An MP with a castle – and a fortune

  I was taken into dinner by the most boring of men – an ageing financier, who was full of bluster about the incomprehensible deals he had done in his youth. On my other side sat the youngest of nine sons of a Scottish Lord, who was clearly uncomfortable about the formality with which Richard was conducting the meal. It has often seemed to me that the newly rich try much harder than established families do when it comes to formal dining. The old brigade do it all without conscious effort, whereas everything Richard did was with flourish and too much silver and gold plate. Not, I should hasten to add, that I am particularly fond of the aristocracy. Until recently, my closest companions have been among the servant class, who I have found much more honest, decent and hard-working than their employers.