A Death Overseas Page 8

  However, even as my fingers reached towards the doorknob proper, English, common sense took hold. To step into someone’s room uninvited, even someone of the same gender, in the middle of the night was the worst of manners. I was not the daughter of my mother for nothing. I gave myself a stern mental talking to and as silently as I could, made my way back to my own bed.

  As I lay there, I noticed that the darkness outside had lightened a shade. The night was inching towards morning. I closed my eyes and imagined myself back at the Muller estate. Mentally I took a walk around the house and then the grounds, recalling every inch of it. I had reached the potting shed when sleep overtook me.

  Chapter Twelve

  Planning the future

  I awoke to full sunlight. My eyes felt gritty and my head heavy, as is common after a bad night’s sleep. I knew that no purpose would be served by lying in bed, so I got up and washed my hands and face in cold water. Before dinner I must find time to bathe, but I would pass for breakfast. I had overslept and suspected it had indeed been the breakfast bell that had awoken me. I struggled into a plain dress and twisted my long hair up into a reasonable knot. I would have to return and brush it out properly later. Then I hurried down the stairs. Bertram was seated at a table spread with dishes of muffins, scrambled eggs, and sausages. There was also a large pile of toast and a variety of condiments. He looked up from his meal and gestured to me to sit. ‘You’re looking very pale,’ he said. ‘You need to eat something. I always find a shock makes me hungry.’

  I could not help but recall his comment about bacon and my stomach rebelled. I poured us both coffee and took a piece of toast to nibble on.[17] Bertram pushed the muffins towards me. ‘These aren’t bad,’ he said. ‘Not as good as Hans’ cook makes ’em, but not bad for foreign ones.’

  ‘Can a muffin truly be foreign?’ I asked as I took one to please him and split it. ‘Is it not always a muffin?’

  ‘Damned if I know,’ said Bertram. He raised his head and displayed a pained expression. ‘When the occasion calls, Euphemia, and it is most normally after port and not at breakfast, I am not averse to the occasional philosophical discussion, but on the nationality of muffins I have no thoughts nor do I wish to entertain any.’

  I sighed. ‘No, I suppose not. It is mornings like these when I have no idea what to discuss. Most trivial subjects would seem utterly callous and any talk of last night is not wanted by anyone over breakfast.’

  ‘No indeed,’ said Bertram, eyeing me warily. ‘Where’s your chaperone? I would have thought she wouldn’t have liked you having breakfast alone with me?’

  ‘I assumed she had come down and left again. Or did she say she preferred her morning constitutional before breakfast? I really cannot remember. I do recall she wanted to walk in the mornings.’

  ‘Silly idea,’ said Bertram. ‘Walking for the sake of it. Is she some kind of sport maniac?’

  ‘I think she uses the time to think and mull over – well, I don’t know. She’s a vicar’s relict, so maybe she has gone to a local church?’

  ‘Humph,’ snorted Bertram. ‘All Papists here, I should think. Wretched woman’s probably got herself lost. We can but hope Rory comes across her.’ I raised an eyebrow. ‘I sent him off early to see if there was any more news about last night’s incident.’

  ‘What happened after I fainted?’

  ‘A lot of fuss,’ answered Bertram. ‘You were awake by the time the gendarmes got there and before that people were just running around, women fainting and a few crazy people lamenting about the evils of going against God’s ways.’

  My ears pricked up at that. ‘In what language were they speaking?’

  ‘English,’ said Bertram thickly through a mouthful of scrambled egg. ‘And something else, German. perhaps?’ He swallowed. ‘What does it matter? There are always nutters about at these things. People don’t like change. Why, Richard was telling me that when looms were first introduced to the Netherlands, the Dutch used to throw their clogs into them!’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To stop the march of progress, of course!’ I must have still looked baffled because he added, ‘It brought the machinery to a halt. Damaged it badly. They still wanted everything done by hand. Ridiculous, there was no way the amount of material the British Empire needed and needs today could ever have been made solely by hand.’

  I managed to choke down a dry piece of toast. ‘Are you honestly considering working for Richard?’

  Bertram shovelled down several more mouthfuls of food until I thought he was not even going to answer me, but I was wrong. He merely wanted to finish his primary task of eating first. When his plate, which had clearly been very full, was empty, he pushed it away – although he also picked up a slice of bread and with terrible manners wiped it around the crockery to gain the last bit of eggy residue.

  ‘I know you don’t like him, Euphemia.’ He held up his hand before I could comment. ‘Hell, I don’t like him. Sorry about the language, but we both know exactly what kind of man he is. The difference with this is he has no intention of moving anywhere near the mills. I am thinking of letting my estate and moving down to the mill area for a few years to help build his business up. He’s not interested in running it himself. He only wants the money out of it.’ He held up his hand again, anticipating my point. ‘Yes, the mills are run in an appalling manner with extreme disregard for the workers’ lives and limbs. Profit is king. However, I’m hoping that what I’ve heard about textile advantages may offer some hope. There are exhibitors here I was already keen on seeing as I was looking for an investment opportunity.’ This time I didn’t even try to speak. ‘I know. It is obvious I am not in high funds. I had a little money left and I have my estate, but at the present neither is bringing in anything. Hans and I have been talking – or rather he has been explaining to me the idea of making one’s money work ... Are you certain you want to hear this? It’s all very, er, lower class.’

  ‘I do not wish to embarrass you,’ I said calmly, ‘but when you talk of being involved with Richard I cannot help but me concerned.’

  ‘Let me explain briefly. I am thinking two things,’ said Bertram. ‘Firstly as mill manager I could do some actual good and improve the lives of the work force. Richard won’t mind what I do as long as he gets his money. Secondly, I could invest in better machinery, forcing him to take me on as a partner. I’d do it through lawyers, of course. I know he's a damn slippery fellow. It’s not a long-term thing for me, but honestly, Euphemia, that estate has bled me dry. I don’t like talking of such things, but I do need to do something to right my fortunes.’

  ‘No lady of breeding will marry you if you are in trade,’ I said, trying to sound humorous and failing.

  ‘That depends entirely on how much money I make,’ said Bertram shrewdly.

  ‘But you would live in the north of England? What about your people?’

  ‘Oh, I’d make certain whoever hired the estate kept on all my staff, and naturally Rory would stay on as factor. He can run the place better than I. I have complete faith in his judgement.’

  ‘I meant Richenda, Hans, Amy ... and me?’

  ‘You’re right. I’d be out of the social scene for a while. I wouldn't, couldn’t, expect any of you to visit. But maybe Hans would still have me around at Christmas if he didn’t feel I stunk of the mill too much?’

  ‘Hans thinks of you as a brother.’

  ‘Yes, well,’ said Bertram blushing faintly, ‘that’s not saying much when you take my brother into consideration.’

  ‘Can you trust him?’

  ‘Richard? Of course not! But if I make him money he’ll leave me be. Probably disown me in public, but happily spend the cash.’

  ‘And you would make assured your remuneration was secure.’

  ‘You’re dashed right I would,’ said Bertram. ‘I’m more than happy to throw my last little bit of money at some lawyers to ensure I get my pound of flesh.’

  ‘Shakespeare,’ I said. ‘You are be
ing serious.’

  ‘Dash it, Euphemia. I did do more than row at Oxford. I went to a lecture or two!’

  ‘I cannot say I like your plan,’ I said. ‘But it is your own business. I only want the best for you, Bertram. We have known each other a long time and been through much together. I would see you happy.’

  Bertram pushed back his chair and regarded me as if I had uttered some amazing epiphany. He smacked his hand against his forehead. ‘I have been as blind as a bat. As dumb as an ox. As stupid as a monkey. All the time ... Right in front of me ... It isn’t as if I expect a great passion from life ... Wouldn’t be good for my heart!’

  He gave a little laugh. ‘But it answers everything. It is not as if you ... And we are good friends, aren’t we, Euphemia? We may have our spats, but at the end of the day it is all too often us against the world. You cannot say that is a bad way to start a ... I mean ... Would you even consider it? I...’

  The words, ‘What are you wittering about, Bertram,’ died on my lips as I realised what he was about to say. Or rather, what he was about to propose.

  Bertram had got as far as rising from his seat and pushing his chair back further out of the way when Rory burst into the dining room.

  ‘Euphemia, you must find Mrs Brown at once!’ he cried.

  I had the extremely unladylike reaction of wanting to throw the coffee pot in his face.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bertram almost comes to the point

  I did not throw the coffee pot at him, even though my fingers had curled around the handle, because Bertram was already retaking his seat. His face was beetroot red and it was clear the moment had passed.

  ‘Why on earth do I need Eugenie?’ I snapped at Rory. ‘I am in a public breakfast room. I have no need of a chaperone.’

  Rory started slightly in the face of my obvious ire. ‘I am sorry to interrupt, but there has been a development and I think it important we ascertain Mrs Brown’s whereabouts as soon as possible.’

  ‘It had better be ruddy important,’ muttered Bertram through clenched teeth.

  ‘Did I interrupt something?’ asked Rory.

  I did not answer him, but instead rose and said, ‘I will check her bedchamber, but I believe it is likely she is out walking.’

  ‘I hope to God that is the case,’ said Rory.

  Now, more than slightly alarmed, I hurried up the stairs. Eugenie did not answer on my knock or even when I called. Eventually I was forced to ask for the owner’s help. I explained in my very rusty French that I feared Mrs Brown had taken ill. He was disinclined to help me. Eventually I fetched Rory, who handed the man a roll of money, and the door was opened at once. ‘That is disgusting,’ I said. ‘I shall ask Bertram to find new accommodation at once. To think that man might open up anyone’s room for a bribe.’

  Rory was already inside and pulling back the shutters. ‘We did have a good reason,’ he said. ‘Besides, I doubt there is any other accommodation left in the town. It’s all the glories of the World Fair for the visitors, but for the locals this is a time to make money in a way they have never known...’ He broke off as he turned round and saw my expression. As light flooded the room it was very clear that Mrs Brown’s bed was as pristine as the maid had left it the previous morning. Whatever else Eugenie might have been doing, she had certainly not slept there last night. Rory said a very rude word.

  We found Bertram pacing in the lobby. Rory shook his head very slightly and Bertram uttered a loud, ‘Damn and blast.’

  ‘I am getting the impression there is something you are not telling me?’ I tried to make my tone light. ‘Does it transpire that Hans has accidentally hired another thief?’

  ‘If only,’ groaned Bertram.

  ‘Let us not be too hasty,’ said Rory, through his face was flushed. ‘It would be extra-ordinary if it was her. The chances of us being mixed up in such circumstances...’

  ‘Yet again,’ interjected Bertram.

  ‘Seem most unlikely,’ finished Rory.

  ‘As you are obviously not ready to tell me yet what you fear,’ I said, my mind racing with possibilities, ‘might I suggest that the two of you make some preliminary enquiries about possible sightings of her on a morning walk? I know Bertram speaks fluent French.’

  ‘She didn’t sleep in her bed, Euphemia. She did not come back to the hotel.’

  ‘Perhaps she slept in someone else’s,’ I said, startling them both. ‘Perhaps she is a lady of the night?’

  Bertram put his head on one side, considering this for a moment. ‘I really cannot see that, Euphemia. Though I would bow to your inner knowledge of a bordello!’

  ‘What?’ erupted Rory.

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ I said airily. ‘One of Fitzroy’s cases. Now be serious, what is it you suspect Eugenie may have done?’

  ‘Died,’ said Bertram.

  ‘Killed,’ said Rory.

  ‘Could you choose one?’ I asked. ‘I am not meaning to be callous, but this situation does seem somewhat unreal. Unless, of course, Richard is somehow involved.’

  ‘I know he gave me the tickets, but I don’t see how he could be. I think he was there himself – or he said he was going to be. He was as interested as me in Monsieur Toussaint’s invention.’

  ‘What has this got to do with Eugenie?’

  Rory led me over to a seat. ‘There is no good way to say this. They have discovered the body of a drowned gentlewoman.’

  ‘And you think this might be Eugenie?’’

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ said Bertram. ‘We don’t know it’s her.’

  ‘No, the gendarmes need someone to make an official identification.’

  I rose from my seat. ‘Oh no,’ said Bertram, ‘you are not doing that!’

  ‘At the very least I am coming with you,’ I said. ‘If it is her then the gendarmes will want to talk to all of her party. By coming forward we are showing we have nothing to hide.’

  Bertram sighed. ‘It is always so annoying when you are right,’ he said. ‘Get us a carriage, Rory. We had better go to the gendarme’s headquarters.’

  ‘Should we not go to the British Embassy?’ suggested Rory.

  ‘Hans hired her. She’s not family. We had no knowledge of her prior associations and I don’t want to run into that bloody man. I wouldn’t put it past him to behind everything again,’ said Bertram.

  ‘Richard?’ asked Rory confused.

  ‘He means Fitzroy. It is a World Fair and I imagine there is a lot going on behind the scenes between nations. Even Eugenie – or was it Mary – said something? It is the kind of situation he would use to pick up plans and information from other nations. He might be here,’ I explained.

  ‘Gendarmes it is,’ said Rory. ‘The last thing we need is to get mixed up in his business again.’

  A waiter passed us with a tray laden with food. Bertram’s eyes followed. ‘I wonder if I will ever be able to eat bacon for breakfast again,’ he said and shuddered.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Bertram displays his intelligence

  Once it became clear that only Bertram spoke French we were all seated together in a bare and dim little room with only chairs and a table in the local police station. The sole window was barred and besides, it only looked out upon a wall some few inches away. A man in uniform entered, spoke to Bertram, who got up, pale faced, and left the room. The door shut behind him and Rory and I were left alone. ‘Where do you think they have taken him?’ I asked.

  ‘There is no point going any further until we know if it is Mrs Brown’s body they have found.’

  ‘Do you know when she was found?’

  ‘There was a lot of gossip going around,’ said Rory. ‘And of course everything I heard was coming second hand.’

  I raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I meant I was hearing the stories from the English visitors and doubtless the stories they heard had been passed around several times before someone translated them.’

  ‘Were they very awful?’ I asked. I b
lushed. ‘That sounds terrible and ghoulish, but I’d rather think she did not suffer.’

  Rory frowned and paused, considering what to say next. ‘Almost all the stories I heard said that she had drowned. Some people said in a local river, but others thought it was that large lake just as you go into the Fair. The latter is obviously the more shocking, so I consider it the less likely.’

  ‘So they think it was an accident?’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Murder?’ I cried, my voice raising involuntarily.

  ‘Calm down, no. Not murder. She was found with a number of papers.’

  ‘What do you mean papers?

  ‘Pamphlets about ungodly works from some society – the True Faith Scientists – or some such thing. I presume she had meant to spread them around but something stopped her.’

  ‘Or someone,’ I said. ‘It would not be a popular view with many people here. Especially those seeking investment for their inventions.’

  ‘I should not think the Fair organisers would like someone carrying on like that in their grounds, but that does not necessarily mean anyone would do her harm.’

  ‘I did mention to Bertram she was carrying a very large reticule,’ I mused, ‘ but he thought it was liable to be an old fashioned one she had picked up at a church fete jumble stand.’

  ‘Not unreasonable,’ said Rory. ‘None of us were to know she was a raving maniac.’

  ‘She did not seem like a maniac to me.’

  ‘Have you ever met one?’ asked Rory.

  ‘I have met people who had been called such, but in reality I have found it is the people who are deemed quite sane who act most outside the boundaries of ordinary morality.’

  ‘Please, Euphemia, don’t go looking for a mystery where there isn't one,’ said Rory. ‘Honestly, I could wring Hans Muller’s neck. He simply has no idea how to appoint staff.’

  ‘He has been rather unlucky,’ I admitted.