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
)
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.
There was a tap on my door and Merry poked her head round. ‘Euphemia …’
‘Merry, come in. I need to ask you something.’
Merry’s eyes widened in her freckled face, but she entered and closed the door softly behind her.
‘I need your help,’ I said bluntly. ‘I don’t believe Rory McLeod is guilty and I intend to prove it.’
Whatever reaction I might have anticipated to my announcement tears did not come uppermost in my expectations. I was astonished when Merry collapsed weeping to the ground. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she gasped between sobs. ‘It’s all my fault.’
I went over and helped her to a chair. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. It can’t possibly be your fault, Merry. Unless you’re trying to tell me you killed Mr Smith yourself.’
‘I did as good as. It was me what gave him the wrong cartridges. That’s why his gun blew up, isn’t it? That’s what Willie said. He had the wrong stuff and it’s my fault.’ Merry began to wail.
I had prior experience of Merry’s wailing. If I were being unkind, I might say it is one of her most notable skills. It is certainly not something to which anyone would ever wish to be subjected. I slapped her smartly around the face. This brought the noise to an abrupt end.
‘You had better explain exactly what you mean,’ I said. ‘This is a most serious situation.’
‘They’ll hang me for sure,’ said Merry. She inhaled deeply as if in preparation for another noisy exhalation.
‘The next time I slap you it will be much harder.’
Merry stopped short.
‘Explain yourself.’
Merry gulped. ‘Do you remember the morning of the shoot I was up a long time before you?’ she said in a tiny voice.
I nodded.
‘I was meeting someone. I’d got speaking to one of the local lads and ’e reckoned how the morning light’s real special up here. He offered to show me.’
‘Oh, Merry!’
‘Oh, no! It ain’t nothing like that. He really did take me and show me a view.’
My ears were quick to detect a note of regret. ‘And he asked you to add something to Mr Smith’s bag?’
‘Jamie! No, never! He’s got nothing to do with this.’
‘Then why mention him?’ I asked exasperated.
‘’Cos I was tired, like, from getting up so early. I knew I’d let you down the other day – so, even though I felt like sneaking off for a kip, I reckoned the least I could do was get an early start of them bags and stuff that were going up for the shoot. I were sorting ’em all out into the right piles when Susan turned up. She said I’d got everything in a right guddle – whatever that is – and she tried to help me put ’em straight, but I must have got ’em too wrong. I must have given Mr Smith the wrong bag and that’s how he got the wrong cartridges for ’is gun.’ Merry inhaled.
I put up my hand. ‘You were sorting cartridges?’
‘Nah, we were putting all the gentlemen’s stuff together like the notes Mr McLeod had left out. Flask of tea for Mr Smith. Flask of whisky for Lord Richard. Hand-warmers for Mr McGillvary. Putting all their stuff together, shooting sticks, all that kind of thing. Mr McLeod’s idea was that each of their stuff be loaded into a separate wicker basket so it was easy to sort out the other end and get on with the shooting straight off.’ She raised her tearstained face to me. ‘I killed him. Sure as if I’d shot him myself.’
‘No, wait a minute, Merry. You sorted the bags into the different baskets.’
‘Yeah, I must have mixed ’em up.’
‘But you didn’t touch any of the cartridges?’
‘No.’
‘I heard Mr Edward ask Mr Bertram about that. He said the cartridges Mr Smith got shouldn’t have been on the premises at all. Mr Bertram said they must have been the ones meant for his sister, if she’d come.’
‘But there weren’t no basket for her. She’s not here.’
‘Don’t you see, Merry? All the men were using the same cartridge size. Mr Smith’s gun was no different in size to the others.’
‘You mean someone deliberately put them in poor Mr Smith’s bag to kill him?’ asked Merry shocked.
‘But you’re not sure you gave Mr Smith the right bag, are you?’
‘Oh, gawd! You mean, I might have helped kill the wrong man!’
‘Merry, you didn’t kill anyone. Whoever put those cartridges in a bag certainly intended to kill someone. It’s not your fault. You didn’t mean any harm. You didn’t know.’
‘But they might have meant to kill someone different.’
‘Perhaps,’ I said cautiously.