A Death in the Asylum (2 page)

‘Euphemia, this has got to stop,’ said Mr Bertram. ‘Our relationship …’

Our eyes met, but whatever Mr Bertram was to say next was cut off by the sudden arrival of eight-year-old Sam hurtling round the corner.

‘Is it true, sir, that you’re taking me to the great Stapleford Hall? Is it? Oh, sir, I’ll polish all them boots better than anyone ever has.’

The moment shattered into a thousand pieces.

‘Stapleford Hall isn’t what most people would call great, Sam, but my elder brother would tan your hide for running around upstairs.’

‘Oh lor’,’ said Sam stricken.

‘It’s a much more formal house,’ I said kindly. ‘But as long as you stay below stairs I’m sure you’ll be fine. Mr McLeod, the butler, is a good man.’

Mr Bertram shot me a look of pure poison and strode off. This time I did not follow him.

It was at this moment of high personal drama that a loud crash echoed through the household. ‘Dear God,’ I cried and ran towards the sound with Sam hot on my heels.

I cannoned into the kitchen barely stopping in time to avoid falling through the large hole in the floor. ‘Mrs Tweedy!’ I cried in horror.

‘I’m here, dear,’ came a faint reply. Then slowly Mrs Tweedy climbed up the cellar steps. She was covered in dust.

‘G-g-ghost!’ squeaked Sam.

‘Lord love you, Sammy boy,’ said Mrs Tweedy in a shaky voice. ‘It’s just dust. I was checking to see what we could save from the waters when the bloody ceiling came down on my head.’

‘Are you injured?’ I asked in horror.

Mrs Tweedy shook her head. ‘Gave me a bit of a fright, I can tell you, but that ceiling ain’t no more than dust and plaster and we’ve been walking over it for months. This whole ruddy place is a death-trap.’

Mr Bertram arrived in time to hear Mrs Tweedy pronounce sentence. The look he gave me clearly suggested that he considered everything my fault. After all I had been the one who had urged him to buy his own home and I suspected in his eyes this made me ultimately responsible.

Less than 48 hours later I had completed our leaving arrangements. Mr Bertram and I were studiously avoiding each other, but there were still occasions when I entered a room too precipitously only to encounter one of his black looks before he exited smartly.

It was thus with a whole riot of mixed emotions tumbling through my head that I found myself approaching Stapleford Hall. This place had been the scene of much suffering and was still owned by a man, who if not evil incarnate, was at least of black heart. But it was also where my good friends Merry the maid, Mrs Deighton the cook and, of course, Rory McLeod lived and worked. My mother would be appalled that I considered those working below stairs infinitely superior to those above, but I believe my father would have understood.

I jumped down from the cart, which had conveyed me from the station, and made my way to the servants’ entrance. As a housekeeper of White Orchards I felt no need to help with the baggage. The door opened before I reached it and two figures came out to greet me. I quailed inwardly. The servants’ entrance at Stapleford was almost as large as our main entrance at White Orchards. I had forgotten how big the house was.

‘Did you not bring any luggage?’ asked Mrs Wilson, her black eyes snapping.

‘I’m glad to see you are recovered, Mrs Wilson. The luggage is on the cart,’ I said. ‘Merrit, Jenny and Sam can bring it over. Although I daresay they would appreciate a little help.’

‘Get it yourself. I’ll not have airs and graces on my staff!’

‘Mrs Wilson,’ I said as diplomatically as I could manage. ‘I am not on your staff. Mr Sta-Mr Bertram has arranged for three of his staff to help out with light duties as long as they do not conflict with our current duties. As a senior member of staff I have no more intention of lifting luggage than you would have.’

‘Current duties! I daresay we can all guess what those might be.’

‘I will be acting as Mr Bertram’s secretary for our duration here,’ I said through gritted teeth. I was so angry I managed not to blush while uttering the lie. What Mr Bertram had actually said as I was leaving the house for the train – he came by motor – was, ‘Help out as you can, Euphemia, but don’t let Wilson shove you back into being a maid. It wouldn’t look good for either of us.’

Mrs Wilson muttered under her breath and turned away. It might have been ‘Pah!’ or even worse, but I closed my ears. I noticed she walked with a slight limp. She doubtless blamed me for her accident and I tried to find a charitable corner in my heart. I was still searching when Rory came up and offered his hand to me.

‘It’s gey good to see you, Euphemia.’

I took his hand in mine and smiled up at him. Those luminous green eyes were as striking as I remembered and his bright blond hair shone despite the grey clouds overhead. ‘It’s good to see you too, Rory,’ I said. ‘How are Merry and the others?’

‘Och, fine. Merry’s been as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs since she heard you were coming. Can’t seem to make up her mind if you’re liable to be friendly or all starched up now you’re a housekeeper.’

‘As if!’ I exclaimed hotly. ‘She is my dearest friend.’

‘Aye, that’s what I told her,’ said Rory smiling. ‘But you know Merry.’ He paused and looked behind me. ‘Who did you bring with you? Tell me you no brought your cook?’

I shook my head. ‘Much as I love Mrs Deighton I wouldn’t have dared,’ I said. ‘Most of our staff were local so we sent them home with wages, till the house is fixed. I’ve got Sam, Jenny and Merrit. Sam’s from the local orphanage, a bit of a scamp, but grateful for the chance he’s been given. He’s bootboy at the moment, but he’s bright and he’ll go places. Jenny’s our kitchen-maid. She’s a good girl and a hard worker. Merrit’s our senior footman. He’d be a butler if the place were larger and a London man, so we brought him down too. He’s very eager to learn from you since when Mr Bertram enlarges his household he’ll be in prime position to become butler.’

‘You’ve no butler! Euphemia, you’ve been running that man’s staff alone?’

‘There’s not that many of them.’

‘That’s not the point. You, a young woman, in the middle of nowhere, running a bachelor’s household. It’s unseemly.’

‘Oh Rory, please. It’s been a long journey and I’m tired. You know full well that female staff under this roof have far more to worry about than any of Mr Bertram’s ever will.’

‘Not while I’m butler!’

‘Maybe not, Rory. But you know Mr Bertram is an honourable gentleman.’

Rory bit his lip. ‘Aye, well. Yer a grown woman and yer life’s your own.’

‘Please let’s not fight. I’ve so looked forward to coming home and seeing you all.’

‘Aye, well, come away in. Merry and Mrs Deighton have laid out a tea in the kitchen for you and your staff. Mrs Wilson’s furious.’

The bright, modern kitchen was full of light and glorious baking smells. Mrs Deighton, cap askew, rushed forward. ‘It’s good to have you back, girl!’ She hugged me hard. ‘But you’re all skin and bones. Where’s your cook – I need to have a word with her.’

‘In Norfolk,’ I said. ‘Merry, is that you hiding back there?’

Merry came forward shyly and I hugged her. ‘I’ve missed you all so much.’

They both beamed at me. ‘Sit down and have a cup of tea,’ said Mrs Deighton, ‘and tell us all about it. Is it true your roof came down?’

‘I’ll see to your staff and the luggage,’ said Rory.

I sipped the very welcome hot brew and settled down to fill in Merry and Mrs Deighton on all the details.

It was considerably later when Rory came back into the kitchen. ‘Mrs D,’ he said, ‘our other guests will be arriving soon and I need Merry to make a last check of the bedrooms.’

‘You have a house party?’ I exclaimed. ‘I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have taken up so much of your time. Mrs Wilson never said a word.’

‘She’s up with the Master and Miss Richenda. They’ve still not sorted out between them how long and what exactly this house party is,’ said Mrs Deighton darkly.

‘It’s ever so exciting,’ said Merry. ‘Madam Arcana is coming – and Lady Grey.’

‘Is it some kind of fancy dress?’ I asked bemused.

Rory’s grim face broke at that and he laughed out loud. ‘Aye, you might say that. I’m sure Merry can fill you in on the details later. I hate to ask, Euphemia, but with Mrs Wilson closeted upstairs, I could do with a few things checked. Can you come with me?’

‘Of course,’ I said rising. Although I was puzzled as to how I could help. Rory knew his job far better than I did and was more than adequate to the task of compiling the most complex seating plan.

Rory took me into one of the smaller downstairs rooms – one of those sorts of rooms modern architects think look so good on plans, but for which it is difficult to assign a proper use. In the middle of the room the round library table from upstairs had been placed with many seats around the edges. In the very centre of the table was a crystal tumbler and scattered in a semicircle around the table on small cards were the letters A-Z and the words “Yes” and “No”.

‘Oh no!’ I cried.

‘Aye, I’m not too keen on it myself. There’s some things it’s better not to be messing with, but Miss Richenda has ordered it.’

‘Has she lost her mind?’

Rory gave a wry smile. ‘It’s not for me to comment on Miss Richenda’s mental faculties, but if I were of a mind to do so I’d say that Lady Grey had more to do with this than a belief in ghosties.’

‘Lady Grey? Does the house have a ghost? It’s not old enough.’ I frowned. ‘Although it’s seen more than its fair share of death. But I don’t believe in these things, do you?’

Rory shrugged. ‘My father always reckoned his mother had the sight, but I’m inclined to think this is more a parlour game to them upstairs than a serious effort to contact the dead.’

‘What does Lord Stapleford think?’

‘He’s into pleasing Miss Richenda at present. He’s hoping that if she’s happy she’ll look more favourably on his friend’s suit.’

‘Miss Richenda is getting married? But why would she want that? I thought the will said if she has the first child she gains possession of Stapleford Hall. Of course, I could have the details wrong.’

‘Is that right?’ asked Rory a shade more coldly. ‘I’m not as conversant with the affairs of the family as yerself.’

I blushed. ‘Rory, we need to talk. My taking the appointment at White Orchards was a big mistake.’ I saw his face darkened and added quickly, ‘Oh no, nothing like that. It’s just that Mr Bertram has never run a house before and his, er, impulsive nature makes me think he needs a housekeeper with a little more experience than me.’

‘But where would you go?’

‘I don’t know,’ I sighed. ‘I’d like to come back here or rather go back in time to how things were.’

‘Short of Mrs Wilson falling down another lot of stairs, Euphemia, I can’t see that happening.’

‘Neither can I,’ I said sadly.

The door burst open and Miss Richenda sailed in. ‘It’s in here,’ she called over her shoulder. She saw me and stopped short. ‘You,’ she said dramatically.

‘I was just leaving, ma’am,’ I said dropping a small curtsy.

A woman in her middle years and a huge purple turban with scarves trailing around her form like some plump and stunted maypole flowed into the room. ‘But, my dear, you absolutely must not leave. There is an aura about you.’ She turned to Rory. ‘You, on the other hand, must leave at once. You are disturbing the spirits.’

Rory swallowed, nodded slightly and fled. I thought it most unmanly of him.

‘Are you absolutely sure, Madam Arcana? This is a servant of my younger brother who is visiting with us a short while. I don’t think I should trespass on his territory.’ The words were sweet enough but the look she was giving me would have felled a horse.

Madam Arcana came close enough that I could tell she preferred sweet sherry to dry. ‘Ah, but this one has been touched by death.’

‘Marked by death?’ asked Richenda in what I felt was far too hopeful a tone.

Madam Arcana laughed, a deep fruity sound. Although I thought her profession hideous I could not help but warm to her. I noticed for the first time her eyes were a peculiar but attractive shade of violet. Under the padding she had acquired over the years I could see she must once have been a very beautiful woman. ‘No, no, Richenda. You are too fanciful.’

I felt this was a bit much coming from a medium. In the distance the doorbell rang.

‘I detect that this woman has been around death – two, three, four times!’

That startled me. The deaths associated with the Staplefords were all too public knowledge, but she had counted my own private bereavement in her total.

‘I do know a little of what I speak,’ she said to me with a twinkle. Then she turned to Richenda. ‘You see, the spirits are more comfortable around those who have been nearly involved in the demise of others. They become, if you will, guardians of the gateway.’

Richenda opened her eyes wide and, instead of decrying this piffle as I would have done in her place, clasped her hands to her chest and said, ‘Oh, Madam Arcana, is that why I am sensitive? Because of Papa?’

Madam Arcana patted her arm. ‘There, there. I don’t know who told you that, but …’

The door opened to admit a familiar and most unwelcome figure. In his 30s, but already fleshy and wearing a vulgarly sharp suit, Max Tipton bounced into the room. ‘Hel-looo!’ he cried. ‘Darling, you’re looking sublime.’

For a moment I thought he was addressing Madam Arcana, but I could hardly have been more surprised when he grasped Miss Richenda’s large and manly hand and pressed it to his lips. Miss Richenda simpered.

‘Goodness, Baggy, do try not to be too sickening,’ drawled a very well-bred voice. ‘You’ll put us all off our dinners. Tell him, Richie darling. He is just too, too much.’

A willowy female made her way into the room – sashayed is more the correct term. She had white blonde hair and was dressed richly and fashionably that gave everyone to understand she came from more money than any of us would ever see.

‘Hallo, Beatrice,’ said Madam Arcana with a smile. ‘I see you finally got yourself invited to one of my sessions.’

Beatrice flounced over to a chair, looked pointedly at Baggy until he scurried over to pull it out for her and then leisurely sat. ‘I’m here in my professional capacity,’ she said.