A Death in the Pavilion: A Euphemia Martins Mystery Page 9

  ‘Oh, well,’ said the doctor awkwardly, ‘I naturally assumed that as a paid companion she would be the one to attend her mistress.’

  Muller glared at him. ‘You assumed wrongly.’

  ‘Of course. Of course. My apologies, Miss St John. I will arrange for a nurse to be sent up to the house as quickly as possible, Mr Muller.’

  Muller nodded curtly and left the room.

  ‘Sorry, my dear,’ said the doctor to me, ‘I didn’t realise you had such standing in the house or I’d have never …’ he trailed off. It struck me then that he assumed I was Muller’s mistress. I didn’t blush simply because the idea confounded me so much. Instead, with unusual quickness of thought even for me, I took advantage of the situation and asked him about Lucy’s death.

  ‘No one here wishes to remember,’ I finished.

  ‘Unhappy memories and all that,’ said the doctor. ‘She simply had a fit. Choked on her own tongue.’

  ‘Was she known for having fits?’ I asked curiously.

  ‘No,’ admitted the doctor, ‘but it is not uncommon for them to happen to young, excitable girls.’

  This sounded like the kind of nonsense that doctor at the asylum had spouted, but I knew better than to challenge a medical man on his own ground. Especially a medical man who had the backing of the master of the house.

  ‘Anyway,’ he said as I saw him to the door, ‘best if it’s all forgotten now, what? The estate is finally getting on its feet. The autumn ball restored. It’s quite like old times.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Lady Shall Go To The Ball

  The morning of the ball Richenda insisted I send for the doctor. I knew from the state of her reddened face and the state of her skin that there would be little he could do. Nevertheless he was summoned and gave, as I expected, no hope for her attending the ball. ‘You shouldn’t have scratched so much,’ he said sourly as if scolding a naughty child.

  ‘I have a very sensitive skin,’ shouted Richenda. ‘I am a very sensitive person. If I cannot go to the ball it will make me ill!’

  ‘You are ill,’ said the doctor, throwing the nurse, who was backing quietly into the corner, a commiserating look. ‘You cannot attend.’

  ‘I want to go,’ Richenda screamed.

  ‘If you do not only will you make yourself very ill, but everyone will think you a freak,’ said the doctor directly. He grabbed a small mirror off the dressing table. ‘Have you looked at yourself?’

  Richenda took one look and burst into tears. I left her to the nurse’s ministrations. I was certain that no matter what I said or did I could not make anything better. That I knew Muller had intended proposing tonight made matters much worse.

  Muller exited his room and met me on the landing. ‘I heard the commotion,’ he said. ‘I assume Richenda is a little upset.’

  ‘She is deeply disappointed.’

  ‘Do you think she appreciates that it was impossible for me to cancel the ball? If we had already been engaged it would be different, but it would cause the very kind of talk I am trying to avoid.’

  ‘On reflection I am sure she will understand. She is in a lot of discomfort,’ I finished lamely.

  ‘Should I visit her? Mother suggested I could if you chaperoned her.’

  I thought of the awful prospect Richenda currently presented. Her current temperament as much as her temporary disfigurement would repulse many a suitor. ‘You could send her a note?’ I suggested.

  ‘Flowers?’ asked Muller.

  I wrinkled my nose trying not to smile. Muller’s eyes twinkled at me. ‘No, maybe not appropriate. Chocolates? Cake?’

  ‘Definitely cake.’

  ‘I am afraid she will hear the ball up here. Music does echo through the house. Has she asked you to stay with her?’

  I shook my head. ‘I expected her to, but I don’t think she wants anyone to see her as she is.’

  ‘Good. I’m glad. I’m looking forward to dancing with you at the ball,’ said Muller. ‘Are you heading downstairs? Allow me to escort you.’

  We found Mrs Muller at the bottom of the stairs who greeted us both ecstatically. ‘The ballroom, it looks beautiful, Hans! Euphemia has been most helpful with the flowers and her seating plan! A masterpiece of diplomacy, tact, and entertainment. I know it is going to be a wonderful night!’ She reached out a hand to me. ‘Thank you, Liebling, you have been invaluable. We are very lucky to have you here. But after luncheon you must rest. We will dance until tomorrow, yes?’

  ‘I am sure the ball will be a great success, Mrs Muller..’

  ‘Tush. Tush. How many times have I told you, you must call me Philomena. After you have rested, but before we dress you must come to my room. I have a little something for you as a thank you for all your hard work.’

  I blushed furiously. ‘That is not necessary.’

  ‘It is,’ interrupted Mrs Muller. ‘My Hans is happy. He is happy for the first time in years and you have helped to make it so. You will come and see me or I will be very cross. It is nothing. A trifle that will not embarrass you.’ And with that she whirled off shouting for the cook.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Muller, ‘I did say she was very taken with you.’

  I stammered something inarticulate.

  ‘If it’s anything outrageous call me. I’ll sort her out.’

  ‘Do you think it will be?’

  Muller shook her head. ‘Probably a brooch from some long-deceased great-aunt.’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly accept any such thing,’ I exclaimed horrified.

  ‘If it’s anything like any of the other jewellery my mother inherited it will be ghastly and not worth very much. I will need to apologise to you for having to wear it.’

  ‘What will you have to apologise for?’ demanded Bertram appearing from the library. He frowned heavily.

  ‘My mother is determined to give Euphemia a small present to thank her for her help in preparing for the ball.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Bertram, ‘that’s rather nice.’ The frown deepened.

  ‘I was warning Euphemia it will probably be some ghastly old bauble-ball.’

  I blushed. Bertram eyebrows raised. ‘If you don’t mind I’d like a quick work with Miss St John before luncheon.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Muller releasing my arm. ‘I need to go and check that the stabling and motor car parking arrangements have been made properly – and separately!’

  Bertram opened the library door and ushered me in. ‘You don’t have any jewels to wear for the ball, do you?’

  I blinked at him. ‘You don’t speak to me for weeks and this is the first thing you say?’

  ‘What do you mean I haven’t spoken to you? I speak to you all the time at meals, in the drawing room …’

  ‘I meant alone.’

  ‘I’m here to protect reputations, not break them,’ said Bertram, scowling.

  ‘Don’t pull faces like that. It makes you look like an owl that’s swallowed a beetle.’

  ‘Owls don’t eat beetles.’

  ‘That’s what I meant. An owl wouldn’t like to eat a beetle.’

  ‘Mice. Voles. Shrews.’

  ‘And beetles by accident.’

  ‘Euphemia, stop being so maddening!’

  ‘A nocturnal avian’s dietary requirements are hardly my fault,’ I protested.

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  I sighed. ‘Of course I don’t have any jewels, but I will be dressed appropriately sombrely, so people will realise my status. Or do you think I shouldn’t go if Richenda isn’t attending?’

  ‘I think you damn well deserve to go,’ said Bertram. ‘Besides, I was hoping to dance with you. You do know how to dance, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course. My mother ensured that I could.’

  ‘I must meet this mother of yours one day. She sounds formidable.’

  ‘Indeed,’ I said.

  ‘What does she do now? I know you support your family, but does she also work. Is she a cook?’

&n
bsp; I almost choked with laughter at the thought of my mother in the kitchen. ‘No, she teaches pianoforte.’

  The luncheon gong sounded. I opened the library door. Bertram caught my arm. ‘You know you can rely on me, don’t you, Euphemia,’ he said.

  ‘Of course,’ I answered tactfully, but only because I did not want to start another argument.

  ‘By the way, did we ever find out who pushed Richenda into the bushes?’

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘Muller thinks it must have been one of the garden boys racing around and too ashamed to admit it in case he was sacked.’

  ‘Did we ever find out what happened to that house maid?’

  ‘Choked on her own tongue during a fit, so the doctor says. Why are you asking all this now?’

  ‘Oh, nothing,’ said Bertram.

  ‘Tell me,’ I demanded, blocking the way.

  ‘If you must know,’ said Bertram scowling again, ‘I have a very bad feeling about tonight.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  An Eventful Ball Begins

  Mrs Muller spoke enough for all of us during luncheon. I escaped to my room to lie down with my head aching. I hadn’t intended to sleep, but the light through the window had become grey before I knew it. I sat up feeling a little groggy with thoughts of dead maids, miscreant garden boys, and Bertram’s unfortunate premonition running through my mind.

  I have had occasion to question whether spiritualism and prediction of the future is entirely nonsense, but try as I might I could not bring myself to believe that Bertram was in any way psychic. ‘About as psychic as an old sock,’ I muttered to myself as I rose to turn up the gas-lamp. I saw the clock face and remembered my promise to visit Philomena Muller before dressing. I could only hope that she had not been waiting for me too long. I quickly pinned up my hair. Much of it had tumbled out while I was resting. I would need to brush and re-do before the dinner and the ball, but I made myself respectable.

  Mrs Muller answered my knock at her door at once. ‘Come in. Come in,’ she cried. ‘I thought you had forgotten.’

  ‘I am so sorry. I fell asleep.’

  ‘Poor Liebling. You have been working too hard. No matter, I am dressed.’ She twirled before me in a simple but extremely elegant green gown that flattered her figure. I had never seen her look so good. At the point of her décolletage she had pinned a large carved black brooch. I saw what Muller meant. It was truly horrible. However round her neck hung a number of gold and diamond necklaces, drawing attention to her pale skin.

  ‘You look lovely,’ I said sincerely.

  Philomena Muller gave me a huge smile. ‘I am not too old yet,’ she said and gave me a roguish wink. ‘Now you, you have had my son’s seamstress make you a dress. How dare you?’

  ‘I didn’t think he would mind,’ I said, astonished.

  ‘Everyone will mind,’ declared Mrs Muller, ‘it is horrible. I have had another made up from your measurements.’ And then rather like a conjurer she gestured in the air and her maid, who had been waiting to one side, came forward with a dress in her arms. She held it up and I gasped. Silk, and of a deep warm chestnut colour that would both show off my pale skin and increase the glow of my own chestnut curls, it was quite the loveliest thing I have ever seen.

  ‘Oh my,’ I said, ‘I can’t accept this.’

  ‘It won’t fit me,’ said Mrs Muller. ‘Don’t be ungrateful, child. You will look lovely.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘It is extremely kind of you.’

  ‘How the devil do I make these cufflinks stay in,’ demanded Bertram. I looked around in confusion.

  ‘It’s nothing. I am dressed. I want to check the dinner settings and that Pilton hasn’t been sampling the wine! My maid will draw you a bath and help you dress. You cannot possibly do all that hair on your own.’

  ‘The trick,’ said Muller, ‘is to have them large enough to stay in place and not large enough to be vulgar.’

  ‘Do you remember the great big amethysts Baggy used to wear? Made him look like a shop assistant out on the town. Poor old chap. I still struggle to think he topped himself.’

  ‘I don’t think he did,’ replied Muller. ‘I don’t even think it was him who murdered your mother.’

  ‘Don’t expect we’ll ever know now,’ said Bertram. ‘Think I’ll take that other drink now, Muller.’

  ‘To a pleasanter future,’ said Muller, sounding a little drunk already.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Bertram.

  I looked wildly around the room, but could not see them. Unless they were under the bed they definitely were not in here.

  Mrs Muller laughed at my confusion. ‘It is only the boys having a few drinks before dinner. Dutch courage! I don’t believe either of them are natural dancers. Hopefully they will recover themselves over dinner.’

  ‘But where?’

  Mrs Muller gestured at the fireplace. ‘They are in the morning room with a decanter. Hiding from the rest of the staff, no doubt!’ She laughed. ‘Sound carries in this house. I’m so used to it I block it out now. Now take the dress, my dear, and my maid, she is very good. She will make you look like a princess.’

  I gave Mrs Muller an impulsive small hug. She patted me on the back, but seemed pleased. When I returned to my room I found a small box on my dressing table. When I opened it I found a choker length collar of creamy pearls. There was no note. Doubtless Mrs Muller had known I would have been unable to accept such an expensive gift. As I later clasped them around my neck and looked at my reflection in the mirror I found I had quite the opposite feeling about this ball to Bertram.

  I enjoyed dinner. I sat between a jolly bishop and a local magistrate. We had a lively discussion about the morality of poaching in the country and what should be done about it. When the ice creams and jellies were brought in the bishop discovered one he had once had in Italy, Venice in fact, and the magistrate has also visited the same city. I was then treated to an-in depth description of the wonders of Venice. I had read about the city of course, but I remained unconvinced that the two of them weren’t teasing me when they said everything was borne about by boat and that the houses had no land around them whatsoever. But whatever the truth of the matter they were most genial company and when we left the table I felt happier than I had done in a very long time.

  Muller came up behind me and tapped me on the shoulder. He looked very serious. ‘My mother would like you to form part of the greeting line,’ he said.

  ‘I can’t do that,’ I said appalled. ‘It would give entirely the wrong impression.’

  ‘Yes, it would. But she will ask you even though I have advised against it. I thought I should forewarn you.’

  ‘I think I have remembered something I left upstairs.’

  ‘And you must not be without it tonight,’ said Muller. ‘By the way, those pearls look lovely on you – and the dress! Let us say that I never realised Bertram had such a long tongue. He has been positively panting over you at dinner. You could do worse, you know.’

  I left him in confusion unable to answer such a comment and fled upstairs. As long as I missed the first few guests I would be able to join the ball proper. No one would think of adding to a greeting line after it had begun. That Mrs Muller wanted me there showed her intentions very strongly. Even Muller on the point of proposing to Richenda would not have included her in the welcome party at the door.

  The lighting had been lowered on the upper floor. No doubt to help persuade people not to explore the house without invitation. However, by now I knew my way blind-fold about the house. I flitted into the shadows, out of the sight I hoped of the match-making Mrs Muller.

  The gas lights on the landing, turned down almost dangerously low, hissed in my ears like angry serpents. I don’t trust the things, never have, so I moved quickly past them. More quickly than the shadows warranted. I had my hand outstretched reaching for the door handle when I ran into someone. I started back, ready to apologise, but the figure pushed roughly past me. Too roughly. I over balanced and
fell to the floor with an undignified squeak. As he, for the figure wore trousers, ran past a window, I saw only that he was of below average height.

  I sat there for a moment catching my breath. I realise many young ladies would have been fainting or screaming by now, but in comparison with some of my previous encounters in the dark this episode struck me as comparatively mild. I checked the hem of my dress for pulls and ensured my heels did not catch as I stood. The episode didn’t seem worth disturbing the ball for, but I felt I should tell someone. I went in search of Bertram.

  I found him chatting to a very pretty and very young brunette. Bertram is not overly tall, but this girl could not match him in height. Instead she stood there, a large proportion of her milky skin spilling out of her outrageous evening gown, staring up at him with large brown, cow-like eyes.

  ‘Mr Stapleford,’ I said, ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘Oh Euphemia, allow me to introduce Miss Antonia Sims …’

  ‘Very nice to meet you,’ I said and tugged him away by his arm. The little cow-person stood alone looking forlorn.

  ‘Euphemia, you can’t do that it’s so rude,’ protested Bertram as I towed him from the room.

  ‘I’m sure Miss Antonia will wait for you.’

  ‘Not if she sees me being dragged off like prey to your lair.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I need you to come upstairs with me.’

  ‘Euphemia!’ expounded Bertram.

  ‘Don’t be an ass,’ I responded, and this less than lover-like description seemed to convince him something was afoot.

  ‘What have you done?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s what’s been done to me,’ I said.

  ‘Oh God,’ said Bertram, as he followed me up the stairs, ‘you haven’t found another dead body, have you?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Not yet!’

  ‘Come to the back of the landing away from the stairs. I don’t want anyone to see us up here.’

  ‘Euphemia, I am getting very confused,’ said Bertram.