A Death in the Wedding Party Page 5

  ‘Well, all ladies’ maids tend to be a bit hoity-toity.’

  ‘No, she’s not that. Not at all. She thumbed her nose at me in the Hall behind Lady Stapleford’s back.’

  ‘Thumbed her nose at you,’ said Rory and laughed. ‘You’ll have to put a stop to that right quick. I take it she has a little too much of the common for a lady’s maid?’

  ‘Oh, she’s common, alright,’ I said.

  ‘Och, Euphemia, if she speaks common then that will be it. She’ll be embarrassed. It’s not everyone that can move in society, like you do, without being made to feel inferior. You know half the time I have to remind myself you’re not a toff the way you speak and act. I’ll be guy proud to have you seen on my arm.’ He kissed my forehead. ‘Trust me. That will be it. Suzette’s being defensive about being out of her class. Can’t say I blame her. This world of the Staplefords wouldn’t do for me. I’m a grocer’s son and proud of it. What did your father do?’

  ‘He was a vicar,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, so I’ll be the one marrying up,’ said Rory, giving me another squeeze.

  Oh Rory, if only you knew, I thought, but I could not bring myself to explain. He was so happy. We were so happy. I didn’t want to destroy this moment I told myself. I’ll explain later. Before we marry, of course, but there will be time to sort all that out later. But I really had no idea of how I was going to sort any of it out. What was it Lady Stapleford had said about romance, and it not fitting well with practicalities and position? Well, I was going to have to make them fit.

  Chapter Eight

  In Which Breakfast Becomes Too Eventful The next day dawned bright and sunny. Daisy set off before breakfast to visit the local markets and place orders with our suppliers. The blackcurrant stain had come out overnight after being soaked in Mrs Deighton’s secret recipe for stain removal. Lady Stapleford had sent word she would breakfast at noon in her bedchamber, so breakfast could be the normal informal affair Sir Richard preferred and which Mrs Deighton could create with her eyes closed.

  Tipton had left straight after breakfast to further the wedding plans and Richenda was closeted with fashion plates, considering whether or not to upgrade her wedding outfit.

  Rory was humming softly to himself and going about the place with his head held high. Probably even the Robin in the garden had caught a good, few juicy worms this morning. All in all, the day was showing signs of being excellent for all but me. My night’s sleep had been disturbed my dreams of my mother’s furious tirade when I told her of my marriage and off Mr Bertram wandering lost and disconsolate through endless rooms seeking something he had lost, and try as I might, I could not help him. Merrit came in from the garden, whistling and hold a basket of various fruits and vegetables. ‘These help, Mrs D? Get you through lunch?’

  ‘Oh, you’re a marvel, young man,’ said Mrs Deighton planting a smacking kiss on his cheek. Really, everyone was revoltingly happy with themselves and each other.

  I needed to be away from the lot of them, so I decided to inspect the flowers in the hallway. Merry did these and she always did them faultlessly, but with the extra work we all had on, I decided to double check. I had triumphantly found my first dead-head when the telephone clanged. It was just as well I wasn’t holding the vase as I still cannot get used to the wretched machine’s sharp interruptions. I did not even consider answering it. This was Rory’s domain. He arrived quickly, moving smoothly, but never breaking into what one might call a trot or a run. He was definitely getting the business of being a butler well in hand.

  ‘Lord Stapleford’s residence. Stapleford Hall. (Pause.) Miss Richenda does not currently have a secretary. Would you like me to fetch her ladyship? (Pause.) I see. (Pause.) I am his lordship’s butler. (Pause.) I see. (Pause.) Then I will fetch her ladyship.’

  Rory rolled his eyes at me as he headed across the hall. I was acutely aware that the telephone remained on. Any noise I made could be heard down the line, so I remained as still as a statue. There was a whirring sound from the telephone. I eyed it warily. It didn’t appear to be doing anything else.

  Richenda clopped past me and gave an audible sniff of distain. She picked up the telephone. ‘Y-yes,’ she said. (Pause.) ‘This is she.’ (Pause.) ‘You must be mistaken. She wrote to me herself. I am an old friend.’ (Pause.) ‘Can I speak to her Highness? What do you mean she is unavailable? I don’t know who you think you are … Hallo? Hallo? McLeod! McLeod! This wretched thing is malfunctioning.’

  Rory, who had somehow been there all along, took the received from Richenda and listened. ‘They have ended the conversation, your ladyship.’

  ‘Then you must get them back at once!’

  ‘If you could tell me the number you wish to call I will endeavour to do so.’

  ‘I have no idea. The exchange will have to find it. Euphemia, stop fiddling with those flowers and go away!’

  The last two words were positively shouted. I felt under the circumstances I need not curtsey and made as dignified an exit as I could to my parlour to check over the days menus.

  I was in the middle of trying to decipher whether Lady Stapleford, who had immediately taken over the duty of the daily menus, did wish a porridge of cauliflower with truffle sauce, which seemly highly unlikely, when all hell broke out across the hall. Richenda and Richard were screaming at each other in the hall. All I could hear was Richenda’s demanding tones and Richard sounding steadfastly refusing. A door slammed with finality and I guessed this was Richard retreating into his study. Richenda began to scream hysterically. She appeared to have a particularly well-developed set of lungs. Much as I would have loved to empty cold water over her I doubted it was my place. I heard the faint sound of the butler’s parlour door closing. Rory had obviously decided to discreetly remove himself from the scene. Even the sounds of Mrs Deighton in her kitchen had ceased or were being eclipsed by the screaming. Richenda continued and the whole house waited.

  I jumped at a tap on my door. Mr Bertram came in. ‘Can’t you do something?’ he asked.

  ‘How did you …?’

  ‘I used the servants’ stair.’

  I suppressed a smile. ‘She’s your sister, sir.’

  ‘Half-sister. And she’s a female.’

  ‘Sisters usually are.’

  ‘Euphemia, I have no idea how to deal with Richenda in hysterics. I’ve never seen her do this before.’

  ‘Much as I would like to slap Lady Richenda, I need to retain my position.’

  ‘Only because you declined my proposal,’ said Mr Bertram grimly.

  ‘Honestly, this is really not the time.’

  But Mr Bertram was using the opportunity of being in my room to cross the room and become far too close to my person for politeness sake.

  ‘Euphemia, you can’t prefer dealing with my family’s whims to being my wife!’

  ‘Please, I thought we had considered this subject closed.’

  ‘Do you not care for me at all, Euphemia?’

  ‘That isn’t the point.’

  Mr Bertram’s face lit up. ‘So you do?’

  ‘Mr Bertram, this isn’t fitting,’ I said, placing my hands behind me and bracing myself against the chair back. ‘I am a housekeeper.’

  In the distance Richenda continued to scream. It was most distracting. I could not seem to be able to order my thoughts as I wished. The sole retort that kept coming to mind was the ridiculously, ludicrous, but you do not love me, when in truth all I needed to say was I was promised to another. Whatever else Mr Bertram might be, maddening, infuriating, and impulsive, he was most certainly a gentleman. But somehow I could not seem to form the right sentences.

  Suddenly the screaming stopped. I felt as if someone had abruptly stopped beating my head with hammers. The relief was astounding. ‘I should go and see what has happened,’ I said and I pushed past him.

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ said Mr Bertram and I could tell from his tone that nothing I said would make any difference. He was in his terrier-wit
h-a-bone mood that I knew so well.

  In the hall we found Richenda standing open mouthed with one hand pressed to a reddening cheek. In front of her, totally calm, was Lady Stapleford.

  ‘How dare you hit me!’ said Richenda.

  ‘How dare you make such an inappropriate and unladylike a noise.’ There was heavy emphasis on the ‘unladylike’.

  ‘She – she – isn’t coming. I didn’t even speak to her. It was her secretary. He hung up on me. I’ve – I’ve told everyone.’ Then Richenda began to cry in earnest, wracking, noisy sobs. Some ladies cry well and even to advantage. Not Richenda Stapleford. Mr Bertram threw one alarmed look at his mother and turned tail and fled. I began to back quietly away.

  ‘Miss St John, Miss Richenda requires hot tea and brandy. Immediately. In my boudoir. Bring it yourself.’ And, grabbing Miss Richenda by an ample upper arm, Lady Stapleford towed her away.

  I allowed some minutes to pass before I executed her commission. I had no desire to see Miss Richenda in such distress, not least because she would always resent me for it. So when I did enter the boudoir the scene was quieter. Lady Stapleford appeared to be on a long scolding diatribe the message of which was the always unwelcome I told you so.

  Miss Richenda fairly gulped down her brandy. ‘Fine. Fine. Stepmama, you were right. What do I do?’

  ‘Accept the situation with good grace.’

  ‘But I can’t. The Earl. The Court.’

  ‘If I might make a suggestion,’ came Suzette’s voice in strained, mock-refined accents, ‘am I right in understanding that no one you know has actually met this Highness person?’

  Miss Richenda nodded. ‘Indeed, part of the coup was persuading her to come to England for the first time.’

  ‘Then that’s alright then.’ said Suzette.

  ‘What on earth can you mean?’ asked Lady Stapleford.

  ‘I reckons you could hire someone to play the part. Lord knows most of the time we’re play-acting our way through the world.’

  ‘What a nonsensical idea,’ snapped Lady Stapleford.

  ‘No,’ said Miss Richenda, ‘it might work.’

  ‘Her Highness’s people would deny it.’

  Miss Richenda shook her head. ‘I could arrange that they would neither deny or confirm.’ She said slowly. ‘Part of the reason she agreed was that I know something she did that summer which her parents certainly don’t know.’

  ‘Ooh,’ said Suzette, ‘do tell.’

  ‘I don’t know who it was,’ said Richenda, ‘but she had a lover.’

  ‘Good heavens, Richenda,’ said Lady Stapleford, ‘you are playing with fire here.’

  ‘I could write and say I quite understood her office’s response, but …’

  ‘Richenda, that is blackmail!’

  ‘Reckon it would work though!’ said Suzette, her eyes bright. I knew her type. She didn’t want to help out Miss Richenda as much as hold this new secret over her.

  ‘But who could I get to do it?’ said Richenda. ‘It would have to be someone who wouldn’t expose us ever.’

  ‘Euphemia,’ said Lady Stapleford.

  ‘Perfect!’ cried Miss Richenda.

  Lady Stapleford stiffened, ‘I was going to say, Euphemia, remove the tea tray.’

  ‘At once, your ladyship.’

  ‘Oh no you don’t,’ said Miss Richenda. ‘She’d be perfect. Absolutely perfect.’

  Chapter Nine

  Play-acting

  The argument raged over my head. I couldn’t look anyone in the face. While I might not have royal blood in my veins, I knew that I was more of a lady by birth and breeding than anyone in the room. I was partly horrified by my situation and another part of me was almost hysterical at the ridiculous irony of it all.

  Surprisingly enough Suzette argued hard in the favour of the scheme. ‘She’s hoity enough and with my skills I can make ’er look the part. Her own mother wouldn’t recognise her when I’ve finished.’

  ‘That wouldn’t be a problem. No one on the guest list except the family know Euphemia,’ said Richenda.

  ‘The visitors to the Highland Lodge,’ I said quickly. ‘They would know me.’

  ‘And this above all else tells me the girl is not fit for such a charade,’ said Lady Stapleford. She turned to me. ‘Men do not look at the faces of servant girls.’

  Suzette gave a little giggle. I felt a hot blush crawl across my skin. Richenda began to argue violently once more. The just of her argument was the social disgrace she would suffer if her chief bridesmaid did not appear.

  ‘Enough,’ said Lady Stapleford, raising her hand to her forehead. ‘You are giving me a head. There is only one way to settle this argument.’

  And so I found myself in the kitchen explaining to Mrs Deighton that there would be one more guest for dinner.

  ‘Who?’ asked Rory. ‘I have not been notified of any planned arrivals today.’

  ‘It’ll be the dashing groom unable to keep from the side of his bride,’ said Merry.

  ‘Actually, it’s me,’ I said.

  A stony silence greeted my announcement. Then Merry begun to laugh. ‘Oh you had me there for a minute,’ she said. ‘I’ll say this for you, Euphemia, you don’t tell jokes often but when you do.’

  I held up my hand. ‘No, really. It’s some mad idea of the ladies. I will be sitting down to dinner with the family. Merry, you will have to take over my role.’

  Every began talking at once. Rory dealt with the situation, by gesturing at the passage to the butler’s pantry. I led the way.

  ‘What is going on?’ he demanded.

  ‘The chief bridesmaid Richenda has been boasting about to everyone is unable to come.’

  ‘So she has decided to invite her housekeeper instead?’ Rory’s eyes were flinty hard.

  ‘No, of course not. She wants me to pretend to be the lady concerned.’

  ‘You cannot have agreed to such madness?’

  ‘It was agree or lose my position. Besides, this dinner is a test. If I cannot comport myself properly here Richenda will have to give up her idea.’

  Rory gripped me firmly on the upper arms. ‘Are ye telling me the truth? This is no Mr Bertram trying to convince his family that you are worthy to be his wife?’

  I broke away angrily. ‘How could you think that after I had accepted your proposal?’

  ‘Aye, well, a landed gent is a much better prospect than a butler.’

  ‘I had my chance to marry him before.’

  ‘And maybe you’re regretting you did not take it.’

  ‘If you think that then you don’t know me at all!’

  ‘Euphemia, I forbid you to get involved with this ridiculous scheme.’

  ‘You forbid it! Who are you to forbid me?’

  ‘Your affianced husband if you are to be believed.’

  ‘No man, even my wedded husband, shall ever forbid my actions! My moral conscience is my guide.’ And with that I flounced out of the room.

  I regretted much as soon as I left. Not that I would ever allow any man to forbid me. My mother would say it is tiresomely fashionable of me, but I do not intend to ever be any man’s chattel. But I regretted our argument. Richenda had put me in a terrible position and I would have welcomed Rory’s support rather than his suspicion.

  An hour with the sarcastic Suzette and a borrowed dress saw me ready to sit down to dinner. The men had been apprised of the plan. When I entered the drawing room, Sir Richard stared at me with his mouth open. Then he gave a bark of laughter. ‘Good gad, sis. If I didn’t know it was our starchy housekeeper I’d never have guessed. You’ve worked wonders.

  ‘It was Stepmama’s maid. For all her coarseness she is quite a wonder.’

  I went and sat very correctly, back ramrod straight, on a small chair near the fire. Mr Bertram brought me a small glass of sherry. ‘You look every inch a lady, Euphemia. Just as I knew you would.’

  ‘Ah, there he goes again,’ broke in Sir Richard,’ don’t forget little brother,
this is all a game. She isn’t one of us and never will be.’

  Bertram blushed and turned away from the group. ‘Still got your claws into him, I see,’ continued the hateful Sir Richard. ‘Well, it won’t do my girl. I won’t do. Richenda’s idea is a capital bit of fun for a dull evening, but there is no way one such as you could pass for a real lady.’

  Oh the sins of vanity and pride! I had intended to make several mistakes at dinner to quash the plan. Nothing too obvious but social faux pas enough to ensure Lady Stapleford would insist the plan went no further, but Sir Richard had my blood up. That he, at best a countryman who pretended to be a gentleman, might suggest that I, with my connections, was unworthy, was intolerable.

  I sincerely regret to say I made it through the entire dinner without once making a mistake. I did not rise to Sir Richard’s ribbing. I pretended either to not hear or not understand unsavoury comments when they were made. I acted all in all as if this family of bankers and murderers was beneath my notice. I would have made my mother proud.

  At the end of the meal, Lady Stapleford dismissed me. I walked slowly across the hall towards the stairs and Suzette, who would need to unpin and undress my costume, wondering what I had done. Rory stood waiting for me in the hall. I could not read his expression.

  ‘You heard,’ I said to him, ‘you heard Richenda admit it was all her plan.’

  ‘I did,’ said Rory evenly. ‘I also saw you. Your performance was flawless.’

  ‘I am around the family every day. Some of it must have rubbed off.’

  ‘I’ll go further,’ said Rory, ‘your behaviour was the most ladylike in the room.’

  I smiled and dropped a little curtsey. ‘Why thank you, kind sir.’

  No answering smile met mine. ‘I always knew you were hiding something, Euphemia. I thought you’d tell me in your own time, but seeing you tonight I have to ask myself if I know you at all. What is it you haven’t told me? If we are to be wed I need to know the truth.’

  I looked his straight in the eye. ‘I cannot tell you the whole of it, but I am related – distantly related – to people who might be deemed aristocratic by some.’