A Death in the Highlands Read online

  My peace was interrupted when my door burst open. Lord Richard, wearing a face like thunder, huffed into the room. ‘You’ll have to meet me guests. Damned bloody locals.’

  I had risen from my desk automatically. ‘Of course, if you think it proper, sir. But wouldn’t Mr Bertram …’

  ‘I’ll be taking him with me,’ growled Lord Richard. ‘Try not to offend anyone, girl. Give them my apologies. Tell them I’m dealing with, er, local issues. Not that the bastards won’t work it out for themselves.’ He then went on to employ a very colourful expression on his feelings about being taken for a fool. It is not something I can bring myself to record here.

  I hardly knew how to respond to this extraordinary outburst but I did not have to, as yet again Rory came to my rescue. He popped his head around the door and offered to accompany Lord Richard in Mr Bertram’s place.

  ‘Won’t do, McLeod. Your sway with the locals isn’t as strong as you thought. It’ll need two pukka gentlemen to sort this out.’

  Rory’s face closed in upon itself. He replied with a very polite, ‘As you wish, sir.’ I didn’t need to be a mind-reader to know he was seething inside. I tried to catch his eye with a sympathetic glance. Unfortunately Lord Richard noticed and as usual misinterpreted my actions.

  ‘Besides, need someone to keep the wench in order, what!’ he barked. ‘Has a tendency to go chasing after toffs. I’m relying on you to keep her in order, McLeod. Don’t get distracted by those big, seemingly innocent dark eyes. She’s as cunning as a vixen,’ declared Lord Richard and departed, leaving me gasping for breath at his rudeness.

  ‘That man is insufferable,’ I finally managed to say.

  ‘Aye,’ said Rory, shortly, and exited. I knew him well enough to understand that to utter a criticism of any kind of his employer was anathema to him. I began to have hope that he would understand the extraordinary nature of the Staplefords. The question was how to encourage such understanding without hastening his departure. Rory might have an unfashionable accent, but he was proving to be an excellent butler and a potential ally among this house of monsters. That he was not unattractive, of course, had no bearing on my desire for him to stay in his post.

  The first guest to arrive almost wholly overturned my composure. I was notified in good time of a carriage mounting the driveway and had installed myself at the foot of the stairs. The senior footman had been briefed to meet the valets and drivers at the servants’ entrance and Merry had allocated their quarters. Rory opened the door on the first ring and ushered our first guest across to me.

  He was a gentleman of medium height, dressed neatly in the first style of fashion, but without ostentation – something that is most difficult to achieve. His dark hair was oiled flat and neat. His complexion was darker than the norm and his rather fine almond-shaped eyes suggested a mixed ancestry. In this age when xenophobia rules I was determined to make him feel welcome. My father had been as clear that all men were brothers as Lord Richard often was on the supremacy of his own race. Needless to say I wholly embrace my father’s perspective.

  ‘Welcome to Stapleford Lodge, sir. I am Miss St John, the housekeeper. Lord Richard sends his regrets but he is unable to meet any of his guests this morning due to local issues that have demanded his attention.’ I stressed the word “any”, but I need have had no fears. The guest answered me with the sunniest of smiles.

  ‘I’m afraid I must confess I am not at all sure who is attending this function. I shall be happy to slip in quietly and observe until my company is required. I am Caesar Brutus Smith.’

  As Lord Richard had only listed the gentleman as the Honourable Mr Smith I was not, I feel, unjustifiably startled by his name. My reaction must have shown on my face, because yet again Rory stepped in, ‘Allow me to show you the way, sir,’ he said smoothly and led the startlingly named gentleman up the stairs.

  He was barely back before the doorbell rung once more. This time two men burst through the door quite in contrast with Mr Smith’s easy entry.

  ‘All I’m saying is the real money is in property,’ said the younger of the two. He was a thick-set man obviously set on eating well through his 30s and wearing a sharp but loud suit. ‘Whatever is coming, land won’t go away. Stapleford has the right idea.’

  His older companion also bore the signs of many good dinners in his rotund form. He walked uneasily like a man who fears his skin is about to burst. His hair was short, curled and grey. He smiled a great deal and showed a large quantity of white teeth. ‘Now, now, Baggy, let the wisdom of an old man guide you. Whatever happens there’s going to be big changes and in all of it there’s only one thing you can rely on.’

  “Baggy” had at this point reached the stairs and found me in his path. ‘What’s that?’ he said, though whether this was in response to his companion or directed at me, I could not tell.

  The older man laughed. ‘Man’s desire to eradicate his fellows.’

  Both men had ignored the taller Rory, who nodded at me over their heads.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ I said and launched once more into my introductions.

  ‘Local issues,’ said Baggy. ‘Is that a euphemism for local girls?’

  ‘I really couldn’t say, sir,’ I said blushing.

  ‘Leave the poor girl be, Baggy,’ said the older man. ‘I am Frederick Muller and this is Max Tipton, sometimes known as Baggy.’

  ‘Mr McLeod, our butler, will be delighted to show you to your rooms, sir,’ I said quietly. As I stepped back out of harm’s reach, Rory took a pace forward, so that we exchanged places as smoothly as the weather figures on a clock.

  ‘Oh pooh!’ said Tipton. ‘I rather liked the idea of being tucked up by you, me dear. Never mind. Always later – what?’ He laughed falsely and brushed against me as he went up the stairs even though there was more than sufficient room to pass. Mr Muller gave me an apologetic smile as he went up, but I could not help but notice his eyes remained cold.

  Rory returned fairly swiftly. ‘It’s shaping up to be gey interesting,’ he whispered as he passed me on his way to the door. ‘And I don’t like interesting. Only one more to go.’

  We did not have long to wait. This time a tall, very moderately and neatly dressed gentleman appeared at the door. ‘I am William Fitzroy,’ he said to Rory – the first man to acknowledge the butler existed.

  ‘McLeod, sir, the butler. At your service,’ said Rory obviously pleased. He guided Mr Fitzroy across to me ‘And this is Miss St John, our housekeeper.’

  ‘I am sorry the master of the house is not available to welcome you,’ I began.

  ‘I’m not,’ said Fitzroy. He had a quiet pleasant voice with a faint suggestion of a West Country accent. ‘I’m afraid my valet was struck down by a letter from an ailing mother this morning and I arrive completely unattended, as you see.’ He stepped aside and gestured to his bag on the doorstep. ‘I would have hated to ask Lord Richard, but do you think I might be able to borrow someone? Not proper valeting, of course. I can pretty well manage for myself, but there are one or two things when a fellow needs a hand.’

  Our surprise must have shown in our faces.

  ‘I really do hate to ask, but it was quite unavoidable. I could hardly drag the poor man 500 miles away while she was ailing, could I?’

  Lord Richard would, I thought, but I said, ‘Of course not, sir. I’m sure Mr McLeod can find someone on the male staff who will be able to assist you.’

  ‘Certainly, sir,’ said Rory, though his expression was unconvinced.

  I took a short break for a cup of tea in my parlour. I felt rather as I imagine the captain of a ship does when it finally sets sail. Our provisions were on board and our passengers had all presented themselves. I only wished I had a clear idea of the destination of our journey. I felt unease stir my stomach and added more sugar to my tea.

  There was a knock on my door shortly followed by Rory entering. ‘Do you need me?’ I asked rising.

  ‘No, stay where you are.’ He sat down opposite me.
‘It’s me that needs a cup of tea. I have a feeling it’s going to be a difficult few days.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ I asked, a little too sharply.

  Rory raised an eyebrow quizzically as he accepted a cup of tea from me. ‘Was it no you standing with me in the hall just now?’

  ‘Of course it was.’

  ‘I’m speaking about our guests.’

  ‘Well, yes, there does seem an unusual gathering, not to mention having unusual names.’

  ‘To my mind he was the most normal of the lot.’

  ‘What about Mr Fitzroy?’

  ‘He’s not a proper gentleman, Euphemia.’

  ‘That’s not a nice thing to say,’ I said hotly.

  Rory held up his hand. ‘I meant no disrespect, but you have to learn to differentiate between the toffs if you want to keep this job. Mr Fitzroy is a nice man, no doubt. He’s the son of a country vicar – some minor civil servant in the Foreign Office. Couldn’t spill his story fast enough to Willie the footman. He’s very wary of doing something wrong.’

  ‘Wrong?’ I echoed blankly.

  ‘He’s not used to mixing with the toffs on this level. Asked Willie to put him in the way of things at the lodge.’

  ‘Oh, poor man,’ I said kindly.

  Rory winced. ‘You’re so naive, Euphemia. It’s all fine as long as things are going well, but the moment anything goes wrong then it’ll all be our fault. It doesn’t serve to get too close to the family or their guests.’ He gave me a hard look.

  I became aware of how interesting the pattern of cracks on the ceiling was and mused aloud, ‘I would guess Tipton and Muller are bankers or work in the city? I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr McGillvary was in arms dealings. Lord Richard has dealings in all these areas. There has been trouble before.’

  Rory did not follow the hare I set. ‘You keep evading my questions, but it is apparent you have an unusual relationship with the family. The master appears to loathe you, but yet you are here.’

  ‘I don’t think Lord Richard likes anyone very much and I do my job well.’

  ‘According to Susan, you call his brother by his Christian name.’

  ‘What? Oh! That was only because he was about to fall on the stairs,’ I said, then added more hotly, ‘Has she been implying something?’

  Rory took a long sip of tea. ‘I think rather than be forced to make assumptions I’d rather you told me what was going on.’

  I raised my hands helplessly. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘Let’s start with how the last Lord Stapleford died.’

  ‘He was stabbed,’ I said.

  ‘By whom?’

  I hesitated only a moment, but it felt like a lifetime. I would have dearly liked to take Rory totally into my confidence but I was aware that my tale was far too fantastic, and explaining the symbiotic relationship that had grown between Mr Bertram and I under the circumstances was as impossible to state as it would be to reveal my true origins. So I offered only the official line, ‘By a rogue communist.’

  Rory dumped his teacup down on the table. Liquid sloshed into the saucer.

  ‘I know, it’s astonishing, isn’t it? I don’t believe they ever decided if it was a Marxist or a Bolshevik, but then so few people know the difference.’

  ‘And you think I might?’ Rory’s voice rose alarmingly. A faint flush of anger transfused his cheeks and his luminous eyes glittered harshly.

  ‘Of course not,’ I said quickly. ‘It was merely a reflection on the constable who conducted the case. I don’t believe the truth was revealed.’

  ‘I’ll see you at supper,’ Rory said abruptly and rose. He was gone before I could ask what I had done to cause such offence.

  Supper in the servants’ hall was a dismal affair. The local staff heartily disliked their new master and distrusted his servants, while we, in our turn, wished for nothing more than to be home. Rory barely glanced at me. The atmosphere was thick enough with resentment that even one of Jock’s sharp knives would not have been able to cut it. I escaped as quickly as I could under the pretence of taking up more brandy to the library. The gentlemen were playing billiards, but might well retire there later. None of the younger servants were allowed to transport hard liquor unaccompanied and Rory made no move to take my place.

  I hurried upstairs, clutching my tray. There were no servants’ passages on the upper floors, so I needed to move quickly if I didn’t want to be caught by any of the guests. I had already began to regret my plan when I heard voices from behind the library door.

  Tipton’s voice said, ‘Look, old bean, I know it’s not the done thing to mention this kind of stuff …’

  ‘So don’t,’ said Lord Richard gruffly.

  ‘But I’ve bally well put you on the right track, had words in the right ears and generally helped a chap out. It’s what one does for the old Alma Mater, what? But it’s a two-way street, Dickie. I went out on a limb …’

  ‘Oh stop whining, Baggy, or I’ll set the fellows on you!’

  ‘We’re not at school any more. You can’t just bully a fellow.’

  ‘Be like old times,’ said Lord Richard. ‘I could do with a laugh.’

  ‘I’m warning you, Dickie, if you try …’

  ‘You’re warning me!’

  Tipton’s voice rose high and wavering, ‘All I’ll say is influence can turn the tide both ways, Dickie.’

  ‘Why, you little …’

  There was a sound of scuffling within and a yelping noise, which I presumed to have been uttered by Tipton. I had no desire to rush into a brawl, but I suspected, what Lord Richard could do, albeit unproven, and I doubted Mr Tipton did. Something smashed loudly inside the room. Tentatively, I reached out for the door handle. A hand descended on my shoulder.

  I managed not to drop the tray and looked up into the soft brown eyes of Mr Smith. ‘I think I should take that in for you,’ he said with a slight smile. ‘Tipton does tend to bring out the worst in all of us.’

  ‘Then why was he invited?’ I asked entirely forgetting it was not my place to ask. ‘It seems like a recipe for disaster.’

  ‘Habit, I imagine,’ said Mr Smith. ‘Whatever his reasons, Dickie’s got the old gang together.’ I must have looked puzzled, as he continued. ‘Dickie, Tipton, McGillvary and I were all at school together. Muller was head boy. Bertie was my fag. Happy days.’

  ‘I don’t …’

  ‘No one liked Tipton much then either. He was debagged so often we used to tell him not to bother getting dressed in the morning. Fellows even used to hide his trousers. Never took part myself, but I imagine I’m guilty by association in his mind. But school days are about keeping your head down and keeping in with the sons of your father’s friends. That’s how the game is played, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Mr Fitzroy?’ I asked not wanting to pass up the opportunity for gathering information. I determined the wine at dinner must have loosened his tongue.

  ‘Foreign Office. Dickie’s trying to curry favour as usual. Landed a bit of a small fish, if you ask me. Nice enough bloke though. Pretty horrible being among all us lot.’ He took the tray from my hands. I beat a hasty retreat. Mr Smith had been nothing but charm itself, but naive though Rory might think me, I knew gentlemen didn’t generally gossip with female house servants unless they are interested in becoming much better acquainted.

  That night I tossed back and forth in my bed. I had chosen not to use the housekeeper’s bedroom and was still sharing a room with Merry. I cannot say if this was because I felt that although I might allowably use her parlour, sleeping in Mrs Wilson’s bedchamber was usurping the real housekeeper’s status too much, or whether I simply wanted the company. Unfortunately Merry was snoring tonight.

  Outside the rain appeared to have ceased, but the wind was whipping through the trees and rattling at the windows. I grew up in the country and the noises of the night rarely discomfort me, but tonight I was prey to grave misgivings. I searched my thoughts and could find no good reason f
or my fears. I therefore rationalised that I must have forgotten to do something and that it would nag at me until it was done.

  I got up and stuffed my feet into my slippers. I had brought a hearty, thick and utterly unbecoming dressing gown with me and I wrapped this tightly around me. In the distance I thought I heard a faint slam. Doubtless I had forgotten to close a shutter. Carefully I lit the candle on my nightstand, shielding the flame with my hand so it did not disturb Merry.

  Once I was sure the wick was well alight I stepped out into the corridor. It was very dark and the shadows cast by the single flame danced grotesquely around me. I decided not to take the servants’ small confined stone staircase and make use of the main stairs.

  This was a mistake. As I stepped onto the main landing, the moon came bright through the long window that illuminated the double height of the staircase. It cast into sharp relief the bone-white skulls of the dead deer that adorned the hall. The shadows of their poor stripped antlers danced like a forest of knives around me as I crept down the stairs still shielding my poor candlelight. At this moment I wanted nothing more than Rory to appear and chastise me back to my room. There was a banging in the distance which grew louder as I descended. I wished I was able to rouse Rory for support, but it was unthinkable for me to approach the men’s quarters for anything less than a fire. I could use the dinner gong that stood at the bottom of the stairs, but I could almost hear Rory’s soft burr in my ear as he explained that my desire for company in pursuit of a loose shutter would not be deemed a good enough reason to awaken the household.

  I reminded myself I had long lived by a graveyard and the dead had never troubled me. Another part of me objected that those dead, as far as we had known, had died of natural causes and not by being hunted and shot to death. Could deer come back as avenging ghosts?