A Death in the Pavilion: A Euphemia Martins Mystery Page 6

  ‘Oh, Bennie will sort something out. He has been with us for ages and is a most excellent gardener.’

  I lowered my voice. ‘It was he who found her, was it not?’ I was definitely treading on dangerous ground here, so I added quickly, ‘He must be exceptionally loyal to stand by you through such a difficult time.’ Etiquette-wise I could be burning my bridges with Mrs Muller. I studied her reaction closely.

  A number of different emotions crossed her face, but she settled into a gentle smile. This time she laid a hand on my arm. ‘No one should underestimate the value of loyal staff. Why some of them become like family.’

  ‘How lovely,’ I said, moving backward out of reach. ‘I must start on these cards.’

  ‘Excellent, dear,’ said Mrs Muller and left.

  I sighed and settled down at the small writing desk. It took some effort to arrange the list, book, and cards in a manner that I could consult them, write neatly, and not knock everything on the floor. I had no doubt that somewhere Hans Muller had an excellent desk, just as I had little doubt I would not be allowed to use it. I had to make do with this inadequate piece of furniture, designed for the lady of the house to dash off little notes. To a man’s eyes, preparing for a ball was no trouble at all.

  ‘She likes you,’ said a voice from the door way. I turned round to see Lucy bearing a tray with tea and bread and butter. ‘I’ve been told to bring this up to you to keep up your strength.’ She set the tray down on a table in the middle of the room. ‘What you doing?’

  ‘Writing invitations for the ball,’ I answered shortly.

  ‘He’s having a ball!’ shouted Lucy. ‘The autumn ball? Oh my, I never thought he’d have another.’

  With a sinking heart I realised the general staff had obviously not yet been informed. ‘Lucy, I shouldn’t have said anything. Please don’t mention it to the other staff.’

  Lucy’s eyes shone and she tapped the side of her nose. ‘Be our secret,’ she said. ‘Who’s being invited?’

  I pointed at the long list on the desk. To my surprise Lucy picked it up and scanned it. Her face fell. ‘Only the locals,’ she said. ‘And to think we used to be good for at least an earl. Some of the dresses of those ladies!’ She gave an ecstatic sigh. ‘I ain’t never seen anything so beautiful.’

  ‘Did the late Mrs Muller dress well?’ I asked.

  ‘She wasn’t one for very fancy clothes. Didn’t come from that background. She dressed pretty rather than posh, if you know what I mean. Respectable.’

  ‘She sounds nice,’ I said rather lamely.

  ‘She was. Lovely little thing. Broke her heart that she couldn’t carry a child to term.’

  ‘I imagine Mr Muller was just as upset.’

  ‘I think he was more concerned about her. He fell to bits when she died.’

  ‘Poor man.’

  ‘And then those hideous rumours that he had something to do with her death. Cruel, they were, cruel.’

  ‘You don’t think he did …’ I trailed off under Lucy’s fierce glare.

  ‘No, I jolly well don’t! I’m not saying there wasn’t something strange about her death, but Mr Muller loved her. He’d never have hurt her.’

  ‘Something strange?’

  ‘You’re a nosy one, aren’t you?’

  ‘Lucy,’ I took a deep breath. ‘I am only asking because I believe my mistress and your master are growing closer.’

  Lucy let out a peal of laughter. ‘Her! He wouldn’t look at her.’

  I did my best to adopt my mother’s best look of disapproval. (She still claims she once at eighteen made a Duke cry. Though she still refuses to tell me which one it was.) The effect was wasted on Lucy, who continued to rock with laughter. I did my best to chill my voice as I said, ‘I am much attached to my mistress. She has been very good to me.’

  Lucy wiped her eyes. ‘Ah well, there’s none so blind as do not see,’ she said cryptically. She wiped her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, you’re obviously attached to her.’ She hesitated. ‘The master’s valet, Simpson, I had a bit of a crush on him – and he told me a lot of stories.’ I looked at her blankly. ‘Stories about the master and his fondness for pretty women.’

  ‘When he was married?’ I asked, shocked. I couldn’t imagine Muller as an adulterer, but then that could be the key to his success.

  ‘No,’ admitted Lucy. ‘Later. I mean after his wife died you wouldn’t expect him to live like a monk, would you? He’s a gentleman.’

  I opted for not diving into those particularly muddy moral waters and asked bluntly, ‘What did he tell you?’

  ‘Oh, only that he knew the master favoured small, petite, brunettes. He never told me any real details like, but we was all curious to know if the master was going to marry again. After all a single man doesn’t normally keep up a big estate and we was all worried for our jobs.’

  ‘So he told you Muller preferred to entertain himself elsewhere rather than marry again?’

  Lucy shook her head. ‘No, he told us when the master felt up to being interested in women again, as it were.’

  ‘How long after his wife’s death was this?’ I asked. I was beginning to feel very uncomfortable with this topic, but Lucy discussed it with the ease with which I imagine she would have discussed flower arrangements.

  ‘About a year and a half. Simpson said he definitely had a type and all respect due your mistress ain’t anything like it.’

  ‘You said there was something strange about his wife’s death?’ With Lucy in full flow I thought she might finally answer the only question I needed to ask.

  Lucy gave me a thoughtful grin. ‘What’s it worth to you?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I reckon if your mistress has got her hooks into him – Lord knows how – then this kind of information would be worth something.’ She rubbed her fingers together. ‘You know, money.’

  ‘I shall ask Simpson,’ I said, as calmly as I could given the sudden sordid turn of events.

  ‘You can’t,’ said Lucy triumphantly, ‘he’s left. And I reckon I’m the only one he told. You wants to know. You can pay for the privilege. It’s nothing personal, but a girl’s got to look out for herself.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Look, you make up your mind if you want the information and if you does then meet me in the rose garden after tea and before dinner. That’s when both Cook and the housekeeper take their naps. Easier time for me to have a little chat.’ She stood up and fluffed out her skirts. ‘Now, I’ve got real work to do,’ and she flounced out of the room leaving the ‘unlike some’ unspoken, but heavy in the air.

  I picked up my lists, but I found it difficult to focus. At Stapleford Hall we had all chatted about those above stairs, but I had never come across an instance of anyone attempting to sell information about the family, and in particular their love affairs. Though it is true I had had to once oust a press man from the garden. He had offered me money for information, but then the press are generally composed of a very low sort – or so my mother says.

  Perhaps none of us wanted to think of Richard Stapleford as a lover; it was simply too ghastly a concept and would undoubtedly give one nightmares. Strangely it seemed the Stapleford’s’ servants were far more loyal than those of the charming Muller. The world would never make sense to me. I doubted Lucy had any real information for me. She would have been very young at the time, but perhaps not too young to attract the valet’s story. Still, could I take that chance? I would have to approach Richenda about the matter and see what she thought. I certainly was not paying for sordid gossip out of my own money!

  Richenda stopped to check up on me shortly before luncheon to ask how I progressed. I told her of my conversation with Lucy. ‘Sneaky little cow,’ were the first words out of her mouth. Although I would not have put it in such terms, I nodded in agreement. ‘Just what we need,’ she added. ‘How much do you think we should pay her?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ I responded.

  ‘Don’t look so shocke
d, Euphemia. It’s quite normal for servants to make money out of gossip. Admittedly usually it’s between themselves or a ladies’ maid who is after her mistress’s cast-offs. It happens in all the great houses.’

  And so it was, much later in the day, that I took a walk in the rose garden between tea and dinner. In the country it is normal practice to eat earlier than in town, but there is still a significant gap of time between the two meals. I wandered about with Richenda’s generous donation stowed in my purse and pretended to admire the flowers. After the long hot summer, autumn had come in rather brisk. After an hour I found myself begin to shiver. I had assumed Lucy would have some duties for the dinner period and was most likely to turn up closer to tea time. I was being proved wrong. Bennie, the head gardener, a short, blond-haired man in his mid-fifties had now passed me twice. Each time he had doffed his hat to me, but I felt a third time would arouse his suspicions. He was a dapper little man. Not at all like I had imagined a head gardener to be, but he had reverently introduced himself to me the first time in passing in order to point out the location of the prettiest blooms at this time of year. He became quite animated when he discussed the garden and I was not impervious to the fact that he had a particular kind of charisma when he talked about his work. The gardens were lovely and I had no doubt he inspired the men under his direction. I knew he worked closely with Mrs Muller and I felt certain that should we pass by each other a third time he would be liable to mention to her that I had been walking in the cold gardens alone for a considerable time. He might assume I delighted in his work, but I thought Mrs Muller would be liable to be more suspicious as I had previously shown no interest in the flower gardens or the magnificent floral arrangements in the house. The truth was that being raised as a country girl I loved the bright wildness of the hedgerows and found more formal arrangements stuffy and confining. I was careful not to say this to Bennie.

  So I returned to the house cold, irritable and with my mission unaccomplished. I was thinking only of gaining my room and hoping that someone had already lit my fire as I strode across the hall. And so it was I walked into the back of a man standing stock still in the middle of the hall where I simply had not expected to find him, nor had he any business to be.. He turned and caught me by the elbows as we both stumbled about a bit.

  ‘Euphemia!’ cried Bertram, for it was he. ‘What the hell sort of place is this?’

  ‘Bertram, what are you doing here?’ I asked astonished.

  ‘Never mind what I’m doing here!’ he said loudly. ‘There’s a dead parlour maid in the drive.’

  Chapter Ten

  Unsuitable Scenes

  ‘Oh no! Have you run over Lucy? How many times have I told you you don’t pay enough attention when you are driving?’

  ‘I haven’t run over anyone!’ snapped Bertram.

  I pressed a hand to my face. ‘Never tell me it was Merrit!’

  ‘Merrit isn’t with me,’ said Bertram. ‘And nobody has run anyone over.’

  ‘But you said there was a dead parlour maid in the drive.’

  ‘There is!’ cried Bertram, clutching his hair in frustration. ‘Why is she there?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I cried, my voice rising with his. ‘If she’s dead I shouldn’t think she has much say in the matter!’

  ‘Come with me!’ demanded Bertram. He snatched me by the wrist and pulled me back out the front door.

  ‘Shouldn’t we call the police?’ I said, pulling against him, but Bertram would not be stopped. He dragged me round the side where the drive began to unwind towards the house and there, as if some giant hand had pushed her off a bench, lay Lucy, sprawled on the grass. Her limbs were both curled and at the same time at an odd angle, rather like a spider that has gone too near a fire. Her pretty face had contorted into a grimace and well – I am afraid at that point I looked away. Bertram still held my wrist, so I couldn’t flee. ‘We need to go back to the house,’ I said urgently. However, Bertram didn’t move. ‘My God, she is real. I thought I must have imagined the entire thing. How is it everywhere you go, Euphemia, people die?’

  ‘You found her,’ I said hotly. ‘The last time I saw her she was very much alive and blackmailing me!’

  ‘Blackmailing you!’ said Bertram. ‘About what?’

  ‘I was going to pay her for information about the death of Muller’s late wife.’

  ‘That’s not blackmail,’ said Bertram and I heard a certain relief in his voice.

  ‘Did you think I’d killed her?’ I asked indignantly.

  ‘Well, you thought I’d killed her,’ he responded.

  ‘By accident!’ I exclaimed.

  We regarded each other angrily. Both of us were breathing fast and our faces were red – at least it felt like I was blushing. ‘What are you doing here, anyway?’ I demanded. ‘Did Richard send you?’

  ‘No,’ spat Bertram, ‘Muller asked me to come to help protect Richenda’s reputation. You think, after everything, I’d do Richard a favour? After he turned you out?’

  ‘And Richenda took me in.’

  ‘Dammit, Euphemia, you know I couldn’t. You refused to marry me,’ he stumbled over his words. ‘If Richenda hadn’t taken you I’d have done something. I wouldn’t have left you to starve. You know that.’

  ‘Excuse me for interrupting, Miss, Sir,’ said the head gardener’s voice from behind us, ‘but is Lucy quite well?’

  ‘If you mean the girl lying on the ground,’ said Bertram, swinging to face him, ‘she’s dead.’

  ‘Only I thought I heard an argument,’ said Bennie. His blue eyes studied us both closely.

  My blush deepened to the heat of a fiery furnace. ‘Good heavens,’ I said looking at Bertram as I realised how our passions had got the better of us in a very unsuitable way. ‘What must you think of us?’

  ‘Oh, he probably thinks we killed her,’ said Bertram sitting down on the bench and momentarily dropping his head in his hands. ‘Everywhere you go, Euphemia,’ he said shaking his head. ‘Everywhere you go.’

  ‘If you don’t mind,’ said Bennie, moving forward, ‘I will check the young lady is properly dead.’

  ‘As opposed to improperly?’ asked Bertram sounding near hysterical.

  Bennie bent over a Lucy for a moment. Then he straightened and said, ‘Yes, I am sorry to say Lucy is dead. I’ll get a couple of the garden hands to carry her into the house.’

  ‘You shouldn’t move a body,’ I blurted out. Bennie looked at me in surprise. ‘Not if you think there has been foul play.’

  ‘Who would want to hurt Lucy?’ he asked. ‘She’s a parlour-maid. Of no importance to folk like you.’

  ‘I’m sure she was important to someone,’ I said in a small, tight voice as I thought how Bertram and I had argued over her body.

  Bennie considered me for a moment. ‘Then I suppose the proper thing to do is fetch the master of the house. You better do that, Miss. I’ll stay here with Lucy and this gentleman.’

  ‘Bertram Stapleford,’ said Bertram, ‘I arrived a few moments ago. Muller invited me.’

  ‘As you say, sir,’ said Bennie. ‘The master is in the factor’s office. As you go into the stables it is the door on the right, miss. Please don’t go disturbing Mrs Muller with this. It’ll be shock enough when she hears about it. I don’t want her having to deal with the body.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said automatically. Bennie gestured towards the stable block, a neat square of buildings that lay at the foot of a shallow hill. They were large enough to appear near, but in reality it took me a good few minutes to reach them, and when I did I was out of breath and my hair had flown loose from its pins.

  I ran under the grand archway entrance and opened the first door to my right. I didn’t think to knock and so it was I found myself facing a startled Muller and a tall red-haired man in a tweed suit, who were leaning over some plans on a large desk. ‘Lucy’s dead,’ I said breathlessly.

  They both spoke at once.

  ‘Who is Lucy?’ said Mu
ller.

  ‘Lucy, good God!’ said the red-haired man.

  And then helpfully I burst into tears. Muller was at my side in an instant, guiding me into a chair and pressing his handkerchief into my hand. ‘She’s one of the parlour maids, sir,’ said the factor.

  ‘How awful,’ said Muller. Then he turned his attention again to me and placed one hand lightly on my shoulder. It felt a little beyond appropriate, but at the same time extremely consoling. ‘You poor girl,’ he said. ‘You’ve had a terrible shock. Grodin, you must have some brandy in here somewhere. Fetch Miss St John a glass.’

  ‘No, really,’ I gulped. People always press brandy on me when I am upset. I hate it.

  Muller held the glass to my lips. ‘A sip,’ he said gently. ‘It will help strengthen you.’

  I took a sip. As soon as the fiery liquid hit the back of my throat I began to splutter. Muller set the glass down and knelt down beside me. ‘Come on, Euphemia,’ he said kindly. ‘You’re made of stronger stuff than this. We need to know how the accident happened. Where …’

  I cut him off. ‘It wasn’t an accident. She’s been murdered.’

  ‘Grodin,’ said Muller, ‘get up to the house and see what’s happening. This poor girl is hysterical. Send Lady Richenda to us and I’ll meet you up there.’

  I heard the bang of the door as Grodin left. Muller got up and sat on the desk in front of me. ‘My dear Euphemia, a death is a terrible shock. I know you’ve had more than your fair share of troubles both at that hunting house in the Highlands and at that terrible wedding fiasco, but you mustn’t let your imagination run away with you.’ He paused, ‘I recognised you from the start, you know.’

  His comment struck me like a glass of cold water to the face. ‘You knew it was me at The Court?’

  Muller nodded. ‘Frederick had given me rather a glowing description of you.’ He looked faintly embarrassed, but quickly composed himself, ‘I thought it was jolly brave of you to back up Richenda like that. I appreciate your loyalty to her. I think you are,’ he paused, ‘simply outstanding.’ At this point it occurred to me that I was a small brunette of the type Lucy had said Muller preferred. I suddenly felt very vulnerable. Muller smiled again, but made no move towards me.