A Death at a Gentleman's Club Read online

  ‘Servants cannot guarantee a girl’s virtue,’ said my mother.

  ‘I can assure you Euphemia has been in plenty of situations alone with my brother,’ said Richenda, and then obviously realising how it sounded, ‘and has never come to any harm. Bertram is a consummate gentleman and I will take serious offence with anyone who says otherwise.’ She sat back in her chair looking as formidable as one can when they do not know they have cream on their upper lip.

  ‘You are all forgetting that the establishment has asked me to say some words over the departed,’ said The Bishop. ‘Perhaps I should do that now.’

  ‘Ah, yes, then I had better come with you,’ said Bertram getting to his feet.

  ‘To ensure the deceased’s last wishes are kept?’ said The Bishop.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Bertram.

  The Bishop unfolded himself from his chair. ‘And to be clear, those are…?’

  ‘Complicated,’ said Bertram. ‘I won’t bore you with them. But I’ll be on hand if…’

  ‘Anything needs to be arranged,’ said The Bishop, raising his eyebrows.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Bertram.

  He bent down to give me a kiss on the cheek, inadvertently scandalising my mother. ‘Why does he have to be so tall,’ he whispered in my ear.

  I watched them leave the room with a mixture of feelings. None of them were pleasurable. Fitzroy couldn’t possibly have meant Bertram to take on this situation alone. Aside from the fact my beloved had a dicky heart, and would be facing unknown dangers alone, it went against my principles to be excluded - after all, Fitzroy had recruited me first. Why, he’d even said he only allowed Bertram and Rory to join our activities because we came as part of a package. Rory might have bailed on Bertram, but I had no intention of doing so.

  8Although, in truth, we had to make some very hard choices that Bertram, Rory and I all hope she will never uncover.

  9My father could do exactly the same thing with his congregation, although he could never get it to work on my mother.

  Chapter Five

  Richenda Does Her Bit

  Little Joe ate sandwich after sandwich without a word, but his bright eyes watched me closely. My mother sipped her glass of water, but the cucumber sandwich on her plate remained untouched. Her gaze rarely wandered from my face. I had to put my wine glass back on the table as I was concerned I might snap the stem under pressure from my fingers, I felt so tense. How the devil was I to get away?

  ‘Euphemia,’ said Richenda suddenly. All eyes turned to her. ‘I do not feel quite well. Could you accompany me to the powder room? I may wish to loosen…’ She looked at Joe who was staring at her intently. ‘Something,’ she finished.

  ‘Of course,’ I said rising at once.

  My mother’s gaze flickered between us.

  ‘I am beginning to wonder if I might once again be in an interesting situation,’ said Richenda directly to my mother while placing one hand on her abdomen.

  My mother, being of the generation when such things remained unmentioned, gestured to us to leave at once.10

  Once we were out of the room. ‘Really, Richenda?’ I said. ‘I thought you and Hans…’ I faltered. ‘Oh, but this is delightful.’

  Richenda, who has a quicker intellect than anyone ever credits her with, led me unerringly through the maze of corridors to the powder room. Once we were inside she checked for company and then sat down heavily in an armchair. ‘Goodness, Euphemia. You are meant to be the smart one. Of course I’m not in the family way. Hans and I are hardly speaking, let alone…’

  I could feel heat rising to my face. ‘Then why?’

  ‘It was merely a ruse to get you out of there,’ said Richenda. ‘I could see you were on the verge of exploding when you realised The Bishop and Bertram were going off together, and without you.’ She snorted. ‘And as for his story, whoever was on the end of the telephone apparatus,’ she held up her hand, ‘ no, I’m not asking, but whoever it was cannot be very bright if they think Bertram can handle things on his own. He made a right hash of that story. A simple-minded rabbit would not have believed it.’

  I sank down into another chair. ‘You are very acute,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t worry, I will not bother asking any awkward questions. I never did figure out what you, Bertram, and McLeod were up to, but I have decided that as you and my brother are people of good conscience, I should assist you. Hence my claiming to need your help. You are now free to join Bertram and the “Bish”. I must say, I rather like that as a nickname for him.’

  ‘You don’t know my mother. She’ll come after me.’

  ‘Not immediately. I’ll wait here a while. By the time I go back hopefully you and Bertram will have managed to discuss whatever is needed. I only ask for one thing…’

  ‘Which is?’ I said. ‘Please don’t ask me to speak to Hans for you. I don’t…’

  ‘Believe me when I say the very last thing I want you to do for me is speak to Hans,’ said Richenda with an acidity that surprised me.

  ‘Have I done something to upset you?’ I said, confused. ‘I am very grateful for the escape from my mother.’

  Richenda shook her head and heaved a big sigh. ‘No, you have done nothing. It is Hans. As far as he is concerned, you are the perfect woman incarnate, and would have made him an ideal wife - unlike me.’

  ‘Oh no, that cannot be true,’ I said.

  Richenda gave a sniff. ‘Leave it alone, Euphemia. I’ve always known Hans didn’t love me. It was a marriage of convenience. And you do always behave perfectly - although now I know why, you were brought up to act like a lady. My mother never bothered about such things and my stepmother would have happily seen me drown in a pond. I will have to do better. I am hoping that when you are married, Hans will see sense and that we both have to make the best of the bargain we’ve made.’

  Richenda pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose violently. ‘No, all I was going to say was if there is anything I can do to help in whatever you’re doing, just let me know. I like to feel useful. It rarely happens, but I have helped you and Bertram before, have I not?’

  ‘Yes, you have,’ I said.

  ‘Then if I can help, please call on me again. It would be good to take my mind off other things.’

  I nodded and hesitated. I hated to see Richenda so upset. We had truly become friends, but it seemed the sooner I was married and away from her home the better it would be for her.

  ‘Please go,’ said Richenda. ‘You’re wasting time.’

  I nodded again and left without a word. Richenda had been keen to hand over the reins of responsibility to me when I was her companion. I should never have allowed her to do so. I knew Hans had had a tendre for me, but I also knew he was an honourable man. However, having another woman perform the greater majority of the duties expected of your wife had not helped their marriage. I would have to speak to Bertram about it.

  I turned in the opposite direction to the coffee lounge. I didn’t know where to go but heading further into the gentlemen’s domain seemed a good way to start. I had no doubt that any attempts to keep the situation quiet would only be met by inquisitive members.

  I heard voices in the distance and moved towards them, taking care to keep my footsteps as quiet as possible. I heard Bertram’s voice as I came to a corner in the passageway. I peeped around the edge and saw Bertram, The Bishop, and a man in a steward’s outfit, standing by a large oak door that terminated this hallway. There were no seats or potted plants along the corridor, so absolutely no cover for me to hide behind if I wanted to get closer. They had their backs to me, but I couldn’t count on them not turning around at any moment - much in the way one plays that game as a child. Instead I had to content myself with staying put. I couldn’t hear properly, but I could see, and when they opened the door to enter a room, I might be able to glimpse inside. Better yet, I might even manage to sneak closer, if they were otherwise occupied.

  Bertram spoke again. I couldn’t make out
what he was saying, but I understood the tone. He was attempting to explain that he had the authority to visit the deceased. This was answered by polite intonations of the steward, who clearly had no intention of letting him in. Then I heard The Bishop. I barely recognised his voice. He said something short and commanding. The next sound I heard was that of a key engaging with a lock. The door swung open and the three of them walked in. I crept cautiously forward. Luck favoured me. It was clearly a small room and they left the door open. Although The Bishop was tall, he was lean. Neither Bertram or the steward were of any great height, so as they moved, or rather shuffled, out of each other’s way, I was able to see inside the room. A long window looked out onto a garden. In front of it stood a wide desk. Pulled up to this was what I believe they call a captain’s chair, wooden with a low back, and which can swivel, the kind much favoured by some writers. In this chair, and half over the desk, was slumped a man.

  Nothing about the way he lay looked odd and yet I knew beyond doubt he was dead. In my time I have seen many corpses and I can only say that, to my eyes, the absence of spirit leaves an emptiness that no slumbering or fainted form ever conveys. I leaned back against the wall, trying to keep out of sight. I felt a little faint. Unwanted memories of the nightmarish scenes I had had to contend with when I searched for Fitzroy’s body threatened to overwhelm me.11 That night aboard the Carpathia still haunted me. Only Hans and Richenda had shared some of that experience, and they had not been required to inspect the dead.

  I took several deep breaths. I will not faint, I told myself. From the other end of the hallway I heard a low murmur of voices. If I didn’t make my move soon I would lose my chance.

  Lifting my skirts scandalously high above my ankles12 I moved forward as quickly as I could with as little sound as possible. Fitzroy had shown me a long time ago how to move with minimal sound. However, to do this perfectly, one has to take one’s time. Time, in this particular instance, was one thing I did not have. Moving more rapidly than I would have liked, I was still able to muffle the noise of my approach, and my hope was that the three men were sufficiently distracted by the body in the room to notice. I managed to get to the doorway and flatten myself along the side without anyone noticing.

  ‘It’s a very sad affair,’ said a voice I did not know, but which I presumed to be the steward’s. ‘But Mr Lovelock was one of our older members.’

  ‘I take it he was a long-term member?’ said Bertram.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Well liked?’ asked Bertram.

  ‘I couldn’t answer for the other members, sir,’ said the unhelpfully discreet steward, ‘but he never gave the staff any problems. Always said good morning and what not. Tipped well at Christmas.’

  ‘Did he often come in to the club?’ said Bertram.

  ‘On most days, sir.’

  I could almost feel Bertram’s frustration. The steward, for his own reasons, appeared to be giving the briefest answers possible. Bertram would be thinking that a long list of questions would arouse The Bishop’s suspicion, and while Fitzroy wanted him only to preserve the scene, we both knew that the spy would expect Bertram to do some groundwork while memories and impressions were still fresh. And also, of course, to close down the building should it prove to be more than a natural death. I wracked my brains for what Bertram had told us. It had been some claptrap about the dead man wanting things done a certain way. All he had managed to say to me was that ‘Fitzroy wants’. Wanted what?

  ‘The Lord calls us all to him in the end,’ said The Bishop in a respectful and mournful tone. ‘Does he leave family?’

  ‘I couldn’t say, my lord,’ said the less than helpful steward. I imagined I could hear Bertram grinding his teeth.

  ‘Did you lock the door?’ asked The Bishop.

  ‘Err, no,’ said the steward. ‘The door was locked when the waiter brought Mr Lovelock his soup. He always has - had - soup at the same time every day. He said it helped him to keep to his schedule.’

  ‘Schedule?’ said Bertram, almost too eagerly.

  ‘He liked things done in a certain way,’ said the steward.

  ‘So I believe,’ said The Bishop, his tone dry.

  ‘Err, yes, exactly,’ said Bertram. ‘That’s why I’m here. To ensure things are done a certain way.’

  ‘You appear to be attempting to shield part of the desk with your body,’ observed The Bishop. ‘As I assured your colleague, I am not here to judge.’

  I heard sounds of movement as they shuffled places. ‘Ah,’ said Bertram. ‘I see. That may well explain everything.’

  I willed him with every ounce of my being to say more.

  ‘I see,’ said The Bishop. ‘Was this a long-term…?’ He broke off.

  ‘It’s very common with gentlemen of his age,’ said the porter. ‘He said it helped him focus.’

  ‘Focus?’ said Bertram. I could tell he was desperate to know more, but I thought he was doing a jolly good job of not asking leading questions. It was all so very different from the first case we had tackled.

  ‘Yes, sir. He was writing his memoirs. Every weekday he booked this room between ten a.m. and three p.m. to work on them. Like many of our members, he once held high office.’

  ‘How interesting,’ said The Bishop. ‘Which?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ said the steward.

  ‘Which was his high office?’

  ‘Oh, the diplomatic service, sir. He retired six months ago and has been writing his memoirs ever since.’

  That, I thought, made perfect sense. He must have been writing something that Fitzroy wanted to read before it met with scrutiny from a wider audience. We were poised on the edge of a potential war and the indiscreet writings of a civil servant in the wrong hands could, in a worst-case scenario, tip the balance into outright conflict. Although I thought it was more likely that he had written about the indiscretions of others in high office. Fitzroy, no doubt, intended to do a little editing. He had doubtless put a watch on Lovelock and this was why he had been apprised of the man’s death so very quickly. But if he had someone inside the club, why wasn’t he dealing with the situation? I very much wanted to discuss the situation with Bertram. There was nothing for it. I would have to reveal myself and face the consequences.

  ‘I think it is about time I did my part,’ said The Bishop. I couldn’t think what he meant. It was ridiculous to think he would be Fitzroy’s man, but then stranger things had happened. I stepped out from my hiding place at the exact moment that The Bishop said, ‘Let us pray.’

  I could hardly announce my presence now, so feeling a little guilty, I took the opportunity to examine the scene from my position while the others had their eyes shut. Lovelock had curly, snowy white hair. He had slumped upon the desk in such a way that I could not see his features. He was wearing a white shirt, the left sleeve of which was rolled up. From what I could see, I thought his frame to be spare, suggestive that he had been wiry when he was younger, but certainly not frail. The steward had his head bowed, but his body still shielded a small part of the desk. I craned my neck but could not see what was behind him. Whatever it was it had to be quite small. ‘And so, Our Heavenly Father, we commend unto your care, the soul of Killian Lovelock, knowing that you will accept him with love and understanding, now that he enters a better world,’ continued The Bishop. His praying voice was distinctly melodious as he finished off with the Lord’s Prayer. It tugged at me to join in the prayer, as my father had taught me from an early age. I found myself silently mouthing the words and it was then that I realised what was so wrong with the scene.

  ‘Amen,’ said The Bishop.

  ‘Amen,’ said Bertram and the steward in unison.

  ‘Where,’ I said, ‘are his memoirs?’

  The three of them turned as one to stare at me. Their shocked faces berated my intrusion.

  ‘Look,’ I said, pointing at the desk, ‘there isn’t a single sheet of paper evident. Someone else must have been here.’

  10Som
etimes I wonder how my parents managed to have children, but I believe this is quite normal. No child ever believes that they parents were ever intimate - and I am quite happy to leave the situation there.

  11At the time it was believed he might have been dead, but as evidenced by the earlier telephone conversation, he was very much alive. He is rather annoying like that.

  12Have you ever tried to move quietly in long skirts? Then do not moralise at me.

  Chapter Six

  Everyone is Cross With Me

  ‘Euphemia!’ said The Bishop. ‘This is not a sight for a young lady.’

  ‘Miss, you cannot be here,’ said the steward. ‘Ladies are not allowed in the members’ rooms.’

  ‘Dammit, you’re right, Euphemia,’ said Bertram. ‘Where are the wretched things?’

  ‘I expect, sir,’ said the steward, who by now was rigid with disapproval, ‘that Mr Lovelock put them away as he was expecting soup. In our professional experience, soup and paperwork do not go well together. The members even wrote a by-law about it.’

  ‘Where?’ I said. ‘Where did he put them?’

  ‘I have no idea, miss. Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I must insist you return…’

  ‘And if he was expecting soup, why did he lock the door?’ I said.

  ‘Ah, well, Euphemia,’ said The Bishop. ‘I don’t think we need to go into that, but the gentleman did have a reason. Let us leave it at that.’

  ‘What reason?’ I asked. I looked directly at Bertram, who avoided my gaze. ‘Leave it, Euphemia,’ he said. ‘There was a reason. Trust me.’

  ‘Fine,‘ I said feeling irritated. ‘You won’t tell me the reason. I presume due to the fear of damaging my delicate female sensibilities. Although, Bertram, you of all people should know the unladylike events I have been exposed to.’ The Bishop gave me a strange look and the steward’s eyes fairly bulged from his head. ‘But where are the papers?’

  ‘I expect, miss,’ said the steward, ‘they are in the desk.’