By now, I reasoned, the gentlemen would be gathering for dinner and most of the staff caught up with the preparations. It would take only a moment to make my way to Lord Richard’s room and check all was in order. Much as I disliked the man, I felt I could not in conscience do otherwise.
However, luck was not on my side. I had just gained the upper landing and was about to open Lord Richard’s door when I heard the sound of footsteps behind me and Rory’s voice explaining to the young bootboy when he was allowed on the floor. I darted round the corner only to find myself at a dead end facing a lone door. The footsteps continued. It seemed Rory felt it necessary to show the lad every door. I did the only thing I could and slipped into the room ahead of me, fervently hoping it was unoccupied. Merry and I had been given the layout of the bedrooms, but Rory was charged with allocating them to the guests, so I really had no idea of what I might find within.
In this, luck again was not with me. A portmanteau stood neatly on one side and a fine suit was hung over what I believe is called a gentleman’s valet, but denotes a wooden frame rather than a servant. I had entered McGillvary’s room. There were no sounds from the adjoining bathroom, so I crossed my fingers and waited for Rory to move on. Shortly afterwards the footsteps did begin to fade and I heard the bootboy’s voice, this time repeating nervously the occupants of each room. I was about to make my escape when I caught sight of the book on the bedside table. It was a compendium of conjuring tricks. Without thinking what I was doing I picked up the book and began glancing through it. All I could think was how much Little Joe would enjoy this.
Before I could bring myself to the consideration of the impropriety of my actions there was a noise at the door. I tore my eyes away from the fascinating intricacies of how to make a lady in a palanquin vanish
4
and saw to my horror that the door handle had begun to turn.
4
To this day I do not know how the trick is done.
‘That’ll do, Bobby. If you forget, you come and ask me. I’d rather you did that than I had gentlemen coming to me bootless and angry.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Right, off you go. Supper is due and that looks suspiciously like mud under your fingernails. You’d better get cleaned up before Miss St John sees.’
‘Oh, right you are, Mr McLeod.’
The door handle stopped turning and I began to breathe freely once more. I mastered my desire to flee immediately, but I still exited the room all too soon. On my headlong flight towards the kitchen I ran straight into Rory.
‘It is not necessary, Euphemia, to attempt to knock me flat on my back to get my attention,’ he said, the faint touches of his Scottish burr softening his words. ‘Likewise I suspect it is not necessary, nor seemly, for you to appear so flustered. Our guests deserve a calm environment. It appears to me, with the exception of
your
behaviour, all is running well, no?’
‘How can you say that?’ I answered breathlessly. ‘Susan almost caused a serious incident this morning.’
‘I think that is open to interpretation,’ said Rory, frowning.
‘What else could it be? She hadn’t wiped the beeswax off the treads properly and Mr Bertram almost fell. I noticed in time and called to him to stop.’
‘People do make mistakes. The last owner said she was an exemplary worker.’
‘I have this feeling she doesn’t like the Staplefords much.’
‘Be very careful, Euphemia. There is enough ill will here without you implying such a serious accusation.’
‘But …’
‘When I said you should be stricter with the staff I never meant you to forget they are people – hard-working people – and sometimes we all make mistakes. I understand this is new to you and you need to make your authority felt, but accusing the staff of attempted murder is not the right way to go about it.’
‘I’m not saying she meant to kill him,’ I began.
‘Aren’t you?’
‘I don’t think she’d thought it through. And when she learned it was Mr Bertram, not Lord Richard, she was very upset. Ask him, if you want. He’ll tell you the same.’
‘I am not in the habit of bothering the family with below-stairs issues and I trust neither are you.’
I sighed. ‘Look, all I am saying is, I don’t think she would have minded if Lord Richard had fallen on his – his … er …’
‘Arse? You may have something there. I’ll have a wee word with her myself. As you foiled her terrible scheme,’ he grinned, ‘she’d be a fool to try anything like it again. I do not believe we have anything to worry about.’
‘I hope you’re right, Rory.’
‘I usually am. And, Euphemia, I won’t ask what you were doing up on the gentlemen’s floor but, now we have guests in residence, I would strongly suggest you do not go unaccompanied up there again. The nature of gentlemen is not to be taken lightly.’
Hatefully, I felt myself blush from head to toe. I dropped my eyes and said nothing. Rory walked off.
The morning of the 11th dawned grey and drizzling, quite unlike how I understood the month of August to be, but then we were in the wild north and who knew what was normal here? Certainly, no one seemed that put out by the drizzle. The only difference it seemed to make to the local people was the men squashed tweed caps on their heads and the women moved their shawls from around their shoulders to cover their hair. I sat in my parlour going over the menus one last time and attempting not to be dispirited by the patter of rain against the window. In a fit of extravagance I had even asked for a small fire to be lit in the grate and the whispering crackle of the flames was as comforting as the small heat they gave.
My peace was interrupted when my door burst open. Lord Richard, wearing a face like thunder, huffed into the room. ‘You’ll have to meet me guests. Damned bloody locals.’
I had risen from my desk automatically. ‘Of course, if you think it proper, sir. But wouldn’t Mr Bertram …’
‘I’ll be taking him with me,’ growled Lord Richard. ‘Try not to offend anyone, girl. Give them my apologies. Tell them I’m dealing with, er,
local issues
. Not that the bastards won’t work it out for themselves.’ He then went on to employ a very colourful expression on his feelings about being taken for a fool. It is not something I can bring myself to record here.
I hardly knew how to respond to this extraordinary outburst but I did not have to, as yet again Rory came to my rescue. He popped his head around the door and offered to accompany Lord Richard in Mr Bertram’s place.
‘Won’t do, McLeod. Your sway with the locals isn’t as strong as you thought. It’ll need two pukka gentlemen to sort this out.’
Rory’s face closed in upon itself. He replied with a very polite, ‘As you wish, sir.’ I didn’t need to be a mind-reader to know he was seething inside. I tried to catch his eye with a sympathetic glance. Unfortunately Lord Richard noticed and as usual misinterpreted my actions.
‘Besides, need someone to keep the wench in order, what!’ he barked. ‘Has a tendency to go chasing after toffs. I’m relying on you to keep her in order, McLeod. Don’t get distracted by those big, seemingly innocent dark eyes. She’s as cunning as a vixen,’ declared Lord Richard and departed, leaving me gasping for breath at his rudeness.
‘That man is insufferable,’ I finally managed to say.
‘Aye,’ said Rory, shortly, and exited. I knew him well enough to understand that to utter a criticism of any kind of his employer was anathema to him. I began to have hope that he would understand the extraordinary nature of the Staplefords. The question was how to encourage such understanding without hastening his departure. Rory might have an unfashionable accent, but he was proving to be an excellent butler and a potential ally among this house of monsters. That he was not unattractive, of course, had no bearing on my desire for him to stay in his post.
The first guest to arrive almost wholly overturned my composure. I was notified in good time of a carriage mounting the driveway and had installed myself at the foot of the stairs. The senior footman had been briefed to meet the valets and drivers at the servants’ entrance and Merry had allocated their quarters. Rory opened the door on the first ring and ushered our first guest across to me.
He was a gentleman of medium height, dressed neatly in the first style of fashion, but without ostentation – something that is most difficult to achieve. His dark hair was oiled flat and neat. His complexion was darker than the norm and his rather fine almond-shaped eyes suggested a mixed ancestry. In this age when xenophobia rules I was determined to make him feel welcome. My father had been as clear that all men were brothers as Lord Richard often was on the supremacy of his own race. Needless to say I wholly embrace my father’s perspective.
‘Welcome to Stapleford Lodge, sir. I am Miss St John, the housekeeper. Lord Richard sends his regrets but he is unable to meet any of his guests this morning due to local issues that have demanded his attention.’ I stressed the word “any”, but I need have had no fears. The guest answered me with the sunniest of smiles.
‘I’m afraid I must confess I am not at all sure who is attending this function. I shall be happy to slip in quietly and observe until my company is required. I am Caesar Brutus Smith.’
As Lord Richard had only listed the gentleman as the Honourable Mr Smith I was not, I feel, unjustifiably startled by his name. My reaction must have shown on my face, because yet again Rory stepped in, ‘Allow me to show you the way, sir,’ he said smoothly and led the startlingly named gentleman up the stairs.
He was barely back before the doorbell rung once more. This time two men burst through the door quite in contrast with Mr Smith’s easy entry.
‘All I’m saying is the real money is in property,’ said the younger of the two. He was a thick-set man obviously set on eating well through his 30s and wearing a sharp but loud suit. ‘Whatever is coming, land won’t go away. Stapleford has the right idea.’
His older companion also bore the signs of many good dinners in his rotund form. He walked uneasily like a man who fears his skin is about to burst. His hair was short, curled and grey. He smiled a great deal and showed a large quantity of white teeth. ‘Now, now, Baggy, let the wisdom of an old man guide you. Whatever happens there’s going to be big changes and in all of it there’s only one thing you can rely on.’
“Baggy” had at this point reached the stairs and found me in his path. ‘What’s that?’ he said, though whether this was in response to his companion or directed at me, I could not tell.
The older man laughed. ‘Man’s desire to eradicate his fellows.’
Both men had ignored the taller Rory, who nodded at me over their heads.
‘Gentlemen,’ I said and launched once more into my introductions.
‘Local issues,’ said Baggy. ‘Is that a euphemism for local girls?’
‘I really couldn’t say, sir,’ I said blushing.
‘Leave the poor girl be, Baggy,’ said the older man. ‘I am Frederick Muller and this is Max Tipton, sometimes known as Baggy.’
‘Mr McLeod, our butler, will be delighted to show you to your rooms, sir,’ I said quietly. As I stepped back out of harm’s reach, Rory took a pace forward, so that we exchanged places as smoothly as the weather figures on a clock.
‘Oh pooh!’ said Tipton. ‘I rather liked the idea of being tucked up by you, me dear. Never mind. Always later – what?’ He laughed falsely and brushed against me as he went up the stairs even though there was more than sufficient room to pass. Mr Muller gave me an apologetic smile as he went up, but I could not help but notice his eyes remained cold.
Rory returned fairly swiftly. ‘It’s shaping up to be gey interesting,’ he whispered as he passed me on his way to the door. ‘And I don’t like interesting. Only one more to go.’
We did not have long to wait. This time a tall, very moderately and neatly dressed gentleman appeared at the door. ‘I am William Fitzroy,’ he said to Rory – the first man to acknowledge the butler existed.
‘McLeod, sir, the butler. At your service,’ said Rory obviously pleased. He guided Mr Fitzroy across to me ‘And this is Miss St John, our housekeeper.’
‘I am sorry the master of the house is not available to welcome you,’ I began.
‘I’m not,’ said Fitzroy. He had a quiet pleasant voice with a faint suggestion of a West Country accent. ‘I’m afraid my valet was struck down by a letter from an ailing mother this morning and I arrive completely unattended, as you see.’ He stepped aside and gestured to his bag on the doorstep. ‘I would have hated to ask Lord Richard, but do you think I might be able to borrow someone? Not proper valeting, of course. I can pretty well manage for myself, but there are one or two things when a fellow needs a hand.’
Our surprise must have shown in our faces.
‘I really do hate to ask, but it was quite unavoidable. I could hardly drag the poor man 500 miles away while she was ailing, could I?’
Lord Richard would, I thought, but I said, ‘Of course not, sir. I’m sure Mr McLeod can find someone on the male staff who will be able to assist you.’
‘Certainly, sir,’ said Rory, though his expression was unconvinced.
I took a short break for a cup of tea in my parlour. I felt rather as I imagine the captain of a ship does when it finally sets sail. Our provisions were on board and our passengers had all presented themselves. I only wished I had a clear idea of the destination of our journey. I felt unease stir my stomach and added more sugar to my tea.
There was a knock on my door shortly followed by Rory entering. ‘Do you need me?’ I asked rising.
‘No, stay where you are.’ He sat down opposite me. ‘It’s me that needs a cup of tea. I have a feeling it’s going to be a difficult few days.’
‘Why do you say that?’ I asked, a little too sharply.
Rory raised an eyebrow quizzically as he accepted a cup of tea from me. ‘Was it no you standing with me in the hall just now?’
‘Of course it was.’
‘I’m speaking about our guests.’
‘Well, yes, there does seem an unusual gathering, not to mention having unusual names.’