A Death in the Highlands Page 9

  I will not flatter myself that he was in love with me, but I was enough out of the norm, yet as Little Joe says: ‘pretty, even for a sister’, and we were in the vast isolation of Scotland, and there lay between us the history of our previous adventures investigating murders – it was no wonder that passions were being stirred.

  How in all this mess could I help Rory? I was convinced he was not a killer and the one man I would have turned to as an ally was blinded by unreasonable prejudice. That Euphemia Martins would have feelings for a grocer’s son was unthinkable – and yet my innate honesty, instilled in me by my lovely and wise father, forced me to consider that my extremely aristocratic mother married far beneath her station. Could this be a family trait?

  But when I thought of my parting with Bertram, Mr Bertram, as I must call him even to myself, my chest hurt.

  I went about my duties in a daze and, because I was not worrying over their correct performance, did them so excellently that I even earned praise from Lord Richard. I avoided seeing Mr Bertram.

  I retired to bed once more in a state of extreme exhaustion and with my mind raging with energy. It took me some considerable time to achieve a state of slumber and I could not long have entered it when I was awoken by a loud crash.

  I awoke instantly, all my nerves tingling. A few moments later there was a blinding flash of light and then, shortly after, another crash. Rain was pelting the windows with an almost preternatural ferocity and it was clear a thunderstorm of epic proportions was centred near the lodge.

  I am not generally afraid of nature, but this was a most fearful storm. To my bemusement Merry slept on, so I pulled the covers up to my chin and determined to wait the storm out. It was likely only a quarter of an hour, although it felt like very much more, when the time between lightning and thunder began to lengthen. I was inwardly sighing with relief and attempting to compose my mind to enter sleep when I became aware of a lesser noise somewhere deep within the house.

  It was not the insistent banging of an open door like the other night, but rather the sounds that might be made by someone creeping through the house. Two thoughts leapt to the forefront of my mind. It was either Susan returning to pilfer the pantry once more or it was Rory attempting to escape. It seemed the height of foolishness to consider a burglar would put himself to the inconvenience of travelling out to a remote lodge such as this one, particularly on a night so fearful.

  It was clear then that I was the one to deal with whatever lay below. I slipped out of bed and wrapped my housecoat tightly around me. I put my housekeeping keys in my pocket in case I needed to relock any of the doors and set forth. I was not sure what I would do if I came upon Rory in mid-escape, but it would not be the first time I had aided a criminal in flight. However, last time I was in no doubt it was the morally correct action to take. This time, I did not know.

  I crept quickly down the stairs, sheltering my candle flame, and ignoring the flickering shadows as best I could. If it were Susan, it was essential I found her before either of the Stapleford brothers. Though what I would do with her, again I did not know. I had already warned her once.

  It did not escape my sense of irony that, whatever I found below, I would have to make a morally difficult choice and that I was currently more concerned over thievery than murder.

  What I did not consider, until I reached the kitchens, was that it might be someone other than Rory and any accomplice abroad. It might be the real murderer!

  I came around the passage towards the pantries with my shadow towering before me. It was then I heard a scraping noise. Someone was indeed trying to break into the food supplies. I let out a cry of ‘Hi!’ and ran forward. The candle flame flickered and died, but not before I saw quite clearly the main pantry remained shuttered and locked.

  There was the sound of feet running away from me. I put my hands against the walls and moved forward as quickly as I dared in the dark. I realised now someone had been trying to break into the pantry that served as Rory’s cell. I rounded the corner and a flash of light illuminated the pantry door. There were scratches all around the lock. Trembling, I took the keys from my pocket and unlocked the door and opened it.

  Another flash of light illuminated Rory, a small stool above his head about to rush forth and strike. I cried out and raised my hands above my head. A moment later I felt his warm arms around me.

  ‘Euphemia, thank God,’ breathed his voice in my ear. ‘Someone was trying to break in here. I think they wanted to kill me.’

  I broke free from his embrace and shut the door behind us and locked it. The lightning flashed once more and I saw a slow smile creep across his face.

  ‘They might still be outside,’ I said.

  ‘You believe I’m innocent?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Ah, Euphemia, but you’re a grand lass,’ said Rory catching me up in his embrace once more. To his credit, he did not try to kiss me and I determined he was simply overly relieved that someone believed in him. I broke free once more, but this time more gently. I noted for reference, purely to prevent any possible future escape, that his arms were pleasingly muscular for a man I had seen lift nothing heavier than a tray.

  ‘We need to talk,’ I said. ‘There has been a serious allegation laid against you that you are a member of the communist party.’

  ‘I think the one of murder is a mite more serious,’ said Rory.

  ‘They’re saying you killed because you’re a communist. Are you?’

  ‘No – that is … I suppose I am still technically a member of the party …’

  ‘Oh, Rory!’

  ‘But I only joined because Jenny Roberts was a member and I fancied myself in love with her. ‘

  ‘Are you still in love with her?’ I demanded, involuntarily stamping my foot.

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Rory. ‘What’s more to the point, I’ve no interest in politics whatsoever.’

  ‘When did you last go to a meeting?’

  ‘Years ago,’ said Rory. ‘It was back in my days as a callow youth.’

  ‘As opposed to your present declining years,’ I said smiling.

  ‘I’m afraid, Euphemia, that my decline might be extremely rapid, if not short, on the end of a rope.’

  ‘I will not allow that to happen,’ I said.

  ‘I’d be happy to think you can help,’ said Rory, ‘but I’m not sure there is much you can do.’

  ‘Did you explain to Mr Edward about your association with the communists and the reason for it?’

  ‘Who is Mr Edward?’

  ‘The investigator. He hasn’t even been to see you? That is very strange.’

  ‘I reckon he thinks it’s a done deal.’

  ‘Then I will enlighten him,’ I said.

  ‘I’d appreciate any help, but don’t put yourself in danger, Euphemia. Remember there is a real murderer out there.’

  ‘You might even say you are in the safest spot.’ I laughed.

  ‘You’re welcome to share it with me.’

  ‘I think not,’ I said gently. ‘It would be very difficult once things returned to normal in the household. Besides, I was brought up quite strictly.’

  ‘All the girls worth knowing are,’ said Rory, I thought a trifle sadly.

  ‘We are overly emotional and it is no wonder,’ I said as much to myself as to Rory. ‘I will speak to people in the morning and make them understand they have made a mistake.’

  The lightning had not flashed for some time, but it did now and I saw the slow, sad smile spread over Rory’s handsome face. ‘You’re a grand lass, Euphemia, but don’t put your head in a noose for me. If you start pointing out the error of their ways they might decide we were in it together.’

  I drew myself up to my full height in a good impersonation of my mother, ‘Just let them try,’ I said in dire accents.

  Rory laughed and before I could stop him darted forward and planted a swift kiss on my cheek. ‘That’s for luck,’ he said.

  I did no
t trust myself to speak, so I let myself out without a word and locked him in once more. I decided against lighting the candle from the stove and instead made my way quickly up the main staircase. Dawn was near and there was sufficient light if I was careful.

  More than once, my hand stole to my cheek. It was as if his lips had imprinted themselves upon my flesh. There was undoubtedly a connection between us.

  I paused on the landing and looked out at the beginning of the new day. What I saw brought a smile to my lips. For once, the elements had worked in our favour. There was no possibility of a trap or automobile leaving the house tomorrow. The storm had washed the drive clear away. Rory was safe for now. I had one more day to prove his innocence and I determined that was exactly what I would do.

  5 I still have nightmares about dragging George by the leg (See A Death in the Family)

  Chapter Six

  The Enigmatic Mr Fitzroy

  Preparations for breakfast had hardly begun before Mr Bertram strode into the kitchen and demanded men.

  ‘I want every able-bodied man on the staff, Euphemia, dressed suitably and out in front of the house in 20 minutes. We need to shore up the drive.’

  ‘Is there not time for breakfast, sir?’ I asked. ‘It looked to me as if most of the drive had already gone and the weather is very bad still.’

  Mr Bertram glowered at me. ‘That’s the point, Euphemia. We’ve lost the top section of the drive already. If the underpinning layers go too it will take weeks to repair and we’ll all be stuck here.’ He frowned even more heavily. ‘As if that wouldn’t suit you!’

  ‘Indeed, sir,’ I said. ‘I can assure you I have no desire to stay at the lodge for longer than the dates already agreed. In fact, I would dare to assume that the majority of the inhabitants of this house, who are at liberty to leave, would wish to do so as soon as possible.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Mr Bertram.

  I flushed as I finally understood his meaning. ‘About that, sir, if I could have a word in private. I do feel that a mistake has …’

  Mr Bertram raised his hand, cutting me off. ‘Enough, Miss St John. I know where your sympathies lie, but there is nothing I can do to help.’

  ‘But, sir …’ I started.

  Mr Bertram turned on me with a snarl that would have done credit to his brother, ‘I said enough!’ he barked.

  I started backwards at the loudness of his reprimand and, to my horror, felt tears sting my eyes.

  ‘Get the men out there now.’

  ‘Would they no work the harder with a bit of breakfast inside them?’ asked Jock, who had been listening quietly.

  ‘There is no time,’ said Mr Bertram.

  ‘If you don’t mind me saying,’ said Mr Fitzroy, ‘I think that is a mistake. A man with a good breakfast inside him will achieve more in two hours than a hungry man will in five.’

  We all jumped at the sound of his voice. He was standing at the entrance to the kitchen, a rain cape over his arm. ‘Sorry if I startled you,’ he said with a smile. ‘I took the liberty of seeing if the storage rooms could provide any heavy weather gear. I presumed none of the other guests would have brought such. One doesn’t generally shoot in this kind of weather.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Mr Bertram, turning his back to me, and speaking in quite a different voice he said, ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if my brother tries to get some of his purchase price back from the seller! I don’t think he counted on the weather being quite so inclement.’

  ‘It’s rare for it to be as bad as this, sirs!’ objected Jock.

  ‘I was joking,’ said Mr Bertram. ‘But I take Mr Fitzroy’s point. The men will be better workers with breakfast inside them. I will bow to his judgement. Ensure everyone is well-fed, but not too well-fed, Euphemia.’

  He didn’t even look at me as he gave the order. I boiled with fury. The suggestion was acceptable from Fitzroy, but not from me! Mr Bertram left the kitchen leaving me facing Mr Fitzroy. Jock turned back to his pots and began clattering them alarmingly.

  ‘Perhaps, I might have a word, Miss St John? Somewhere more quiet?’

  I led him through to the housekeeper’s parlour. I wasn’t entirely sure if this was suitable but, really, I am becoming rather resigned to having a reputation that is unfairly tarnished. Mr Fitzroy sat down in a comfy chair close to my tiny fire and said without preamble, ‘Why, exactly, do you not believe Rory McLeod is our murderer?’

  ‘The evidence against him is circumstantial,’ I said.

  ‘But strong,’ said Mr Fitzroy.

  ‘He only joined the communist party to impress a young woman.’

  ‘Well, men have done stranger things to impress members of the opposite sex,’ he said with a smile. ‘But we only have his word for this, I take it? And who is to say that once he joined he might not have become attracted by their ideals?’

  ‘But he’s not like that!’

  Mr Fitzroy crossed his legs and settled back in his seat. ‘And what is he like?’

  ‘What’s he like?’ I repeated blankly. ‘I’ve only known him a few days.’

  ‘But already he appears to have made a strong impression on you. So I repeat my question: what is he like?’

  ‘He’s keen to run an orderly house,’ I said, thinking. ‘He expects his staff to be above reproach, but he’s fair. If he makes a mistake, he owns it rather than blaming another. He’s very observant and intelligent. He takes his position very seriously. At all times, he acts with honour and integrity.’

  ‘A glowing reference,’ said Mr Fitzroy. ‘He is, though I am no real judge of these things, also a handsome man. Could you, if I required, provide anecdotal evidence of the credits you list?’

  ‘When we first met,’ I began.

  ‘I only need a yes or no,’ interrupted Mr Fitzroy. ‘Please think carefully, Euphemia. I suspect that you are not entirely unaffected by McLeod’s charm. Remember justice is blind for a reason.’

  I sighed. ‘You believe me to be biased.’

  ‘I do, but I also believe you are capable of standing back from that bias and answering my question truthfully. Have you seen signs of the virtues you ascribe to McLeod or are they more fantasy than fact?’

  I took a moment to consider the question. ‘In all honesty, Mr Fitzroy, it is difficult to be precise. I have observed actions that correspond to all the attributes I have listed, but it is more than that. My instincts tell me he is innocent. But what good does that do him?’

  ‘What do your instincts tell you of the other men here?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘What do you think of Max Tipton?’

  I cannot explain why, but I sensed my answer to his question would determine Rory’s fate and so I was more frank than I might otherwise have been about those who I was pretending were my social superiors.

  ‘He’s a weak man with little courage and an overfondness for female company. I suspect he is quite libidinous! He does not seem popular with the others, but tolerated through long association. I heard him arguing with Lord Richard, accusing him of not returning either money or favours.’

  ‘Did you indeed!’ said Mr Fitzroy. ‘What about Muller?’

  ‘He frightens me a little,’ I confessed. ‘Though I can’t say why. He is older than the others and yet chooses to associate with the younger men. I imagine it gives him an added feeling of importance. I believe he works in the city. I suspect he is not as successful as he would like.’

  Mr Fitzroy laughed out loud and clapped. ‘Bertram?’

  ‘I believe him to be an honourable, intelligent man, who is occasionally overruled by his passions and ideals.’

  Fitzroy raised an eyebrow. ‘You know him well?’

  I felt myself blush. ‘Not that well,’ I said meaningfully.

  He nodded. ‘I know that,’ he said. ‘Richard?’

  ‘He is my employer.’

  ‘Come now, Euphemia, this is not the occasion for shyness.’

  ‘Very well.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I believe
him to be an ambitious man of dubious morals, who cares for his own advancement above all else. He is of a choleric nature and, while not overly intelligent, he has a cunningness that many underestimate.’

  ‘McGillvary?’

  ‘I know little of him. Upon his arrival, he smoothed over a row between the staff. He appears more socially skilled than the others. He insulted Lord Richard, but so subtly it had to be taken as a joke. I think he is one of the cleverest, but I have no real impression of his character.’

  ‘The late Mr Smith?’

  ‘He seemed a very nice and kind gentleman,’ I said sadly.

  ‘And last, but not least, myself?’

  ‘You confuse me, sir. You have changed many times in apparent personality since you arrived. One minute you are extremely approachable, the next quite intimidating. I do not think you are exactly what you claim to be, but what you are I do not know.’

  ‘I must be slipping,’ muttered Fitzroy. Then to me he said, ‘Your observations are, for the main part, acute. However, there is nothing in what you say to help McLeod and we both agree the evidence against him, though circumstantial, is strong.’

  ‘What can we do?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t believe Edward believes this to be the open-and-shut case the others would like. There remain other avenues, at least some of which may be easier for you than the others to explore.’

  ‘Will you help me, sir?’

  Fitzroy rose to his feet. ‘No, but if you do decide to pursue matters yourself, I would advise you to have any incidents witnessed and to be careful not to expose yourself to danger.’

  ‘But, sir, won’t you help me? What was the point of all these questions if …’

  I trailed off under his cold gaze. I saw intelligence and calculation in his grey eyes, but the warmth of earlier had quite vanished. ‘I wish you a good morning, Euphemia,’ he said and departed.

  The door closed and I was left in silence. I became aware of the rain once more lashing against the window and the crackle of the little fire, but most of all the thumping of my heart. I realised that during my conversation with Mr Fitzroy I had actually been rather afraid. I could not explain this, as his manner for the majority of the time had been most friendly, but with his departure I found myself flooded with relief rather like a lion-tamer, who once more walks out of the cage alive at the end of a performance.