A Death in the Wedding Party (22 page)

‘He sounds perfectly sane to me,’ whispered Bertram. ‘Didn’t think he had that much backbone in him.’

‘He thinks he’s home and dry,’ I said. ‘Look at Richard’s face. He is not happy. Your half-brother bothers me when he’s not happy.’

Tipton and Richard had ended their discussion and were now making their way across to the Drawing room with little sign of their previous animosity.

‘Richard has done some bad things, I grant you,’ said Bertram, ‘but it’s not like he murders people for a hobby.’

‘Are you sure?’ I said. ‘I have two remaining suspects for your mother’s murder and he is one. We’ve just heard him say they’ve been arguing over what will happen with the bank shares for some weeks. The death of any of the three of us would have been thought enough to stop the wedding.’

‘Whoever else he dislikes, Richard has a soft spot for Richenda. She’s his twin.’

‘Yes, but she’s never challenged him before.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Bertram. ‘Who’s your other suspect.’

‘Renard Layfette.’

‘Renard? He wouldn’t hurt a fly, unless you count gossiping it to death.’

‘But your mother wouldn’t even have his name mentioned in his presence and I know he is keen to get back into English society.’

‘My mother wouldn’t have made much difference to that. She’s not the reason he was ostracised.’

‘Renard said your mother once even fancied herself in love with him,’ I said stretching a point. To my amazement Bertram started to laugh. ‘Goodness, that would have been difficult for her.’

‘Renard said he didn’t want what she was offering. What did he mean?’

Bertram wiped a tear from his eye. ‘Have you heard the term ‘men who play backgammon’?’ he asked.

‘What do games have to do with this?’

‘Oh dear,’ said Bertram, blushing. ‘Euphemia, there are some men who don’t like the company of women.’

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘what about that?’

Bertram took a deep breath, ‘I mean … they prefer men romantically!’

I thought about this for several minutes. ‘But how can that even work?’

‘Good Lord, Euphemia, that’s not the sort of question you should be asking me – or anyone. Just accept that my mother’s death would have made no impact on Renard’s situation.’

‘But then the only suspect is Richard and you won’t allow that.’

‘Perhaps the police have come up with something else. I don’t know about you, but I don’t know half the people here.’

‘But what if they say it’s death by misadventure.’

‘Then I will accept that,’ said Bertram. ‘I cannot see any way we can unravel this tangle. It may indeed me that Mama did react to something she ate. It may seem unfeeling of me, but I want to live my life looking forward. Mama adored me in her own way and I know she would want me to carry on.’

‘But what about justice!’ I protested.

‘Euphemia, haven’t you realised by now there is very little justice in this world?’

‘That’s no reason to give up!’

He took my hand in his and stroked his index finger across my palm. ‘I admire your dedication and your integrity, but sometimes it is necessary to concede the fight in order to win the war.’

‘I don’t agree. I will make a point of speaking to Chief Inspector Brownly tomorrow and telling him all I know.’

‘That is your choice,’ said Bertram, ‘but be careful you do not get yourself into a situation you cannot get out of. Now, I am tired. I am retiring. I suggest you do the same. Perhaps the police will be able to explain things fully in the morning.’

He did look tired. There were shadows under his eyes and his shoulders slumped. Bertram was clearly still not fit and I saw no point in forcing an argument he was determined to deflect. I could have railed at him about his sense of justice, but I knew what it was like to lose a beloved parent and now Bertram had lost both his parents in a short space of time. Instead of thinking his morals were weak, I determined to think of him as one battered and bruised by recent misadventures. I felt sure the quick-blooded, impassioned man I had once known would be back on form when he had recovered. Perhaps even after a decent night’s sleep. So I wished him well and retired for an early night myself.

I told Merry the little I had learned. She suggested we tackle Suzette together the next day, but I told her I’d rather not bother. I reminded her that we were not the police and did not need to tackle everything. I said I could not see how it could possibly be relevant to what had occurred.

And in saying this I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life. A mistake I will regret until my dying day.

I awoke to find the sunlight trying to creep through my heavy curtains. I sat up and immediately huddled back under the blankets. No one had lit the fire in my room yet. No one had drawn the curtains. I am able to draw my own curtains, but I draw the line at laying my own fire. I threw the covers back and rushed for my dressing gown. Once I had tied myself firmly into this I gave the bell a hearty tug. Then I took the topmost cover off the bed and wrapped myself up in a seat that was pointedly by the fire. No one came.

Sunlight flooded the room and pushed the temperature up slightly. I could no longer see my breath in front of my eyes. However, now I was beset with chills of another kind. My imagination, which has always been healthier than my mother would wish, began suggesting all kinds of terrors. I rang the bell again. Still nothing. By this point I had become convinced that some serial madman had run through the house murdering people in their sleep and for some unaccountable reason had overlooked me. Fitzroy seemed to like me. Perhaps he had chosen to let me live.

I folded back the blanket and stood up. This is arrant nonsense, I told myself. I may have seen more deaths than is proper for a young woman, and I may have inadvertently become caught up in a suspicious number of murder cases, but that is no reason to think that the world has descended into chaos. It is far more likely, I told myself, that the aging Robbins took the key to the servants’ block to bed within after having one too many tipples and has overslept or has misplaced the key.

But, said my rational mind which was meant to be working to calm me, if that was the case wouldn’t someone else have a key – like the housekeeper or the Countess. I began to mentally scold myself before I realised that this form of internal communication was surely a road to madness and the very best thing I could do was go out and see what was happening.

I opened my wardrobe. The dresses hung there, beautiful and complicated. I could possibly scramble into one, but I would have to leave parts undone. I could try and cover these with a shawl, but not knowing what I would find I wanted to keep my hands free.

This is why at 10 a.m. on the morning of Lady Stapleford’s funeral, I found myself creeping along the corridors in my night clothes. I went to Richenda’s room first. I scratched at the door in the way a lady might, but receiving no answer I gave it a hard knock. The door swung open beneath my hand.

If I hadn’t had the privilege of tidying her rooms at Stapleford Hall, I might have thought the room had been ransacked. She was the messiest woman I had ever met. Clothing and periodicals were strewn across the room. A large amount of powder lay split across the dressing table. I noted her bed had been slept in, so whatever had happened she had awoken or been awoken. I did not see any blood or obvious signs of a fight, so I thought there was no point searching the room further. All I would accomplish would be getting the smell of her clothing on me. Richenda had a terrible habit of not allowing anyone to clean her clothes as frequently as they should be. I had cause to remember this as she had once shut me in a wardrobe with her favourite frocks.

The only other room on my corridor was Lady Stapleford’s. I had no intention of trying that. Anyone in that room would be either up to no good or making an unearthly appearance, and without breakfast I was not up to facing either.

I returned to my room and swapped my slippers for stronger shoes. I brushed my hair quickly and pinned it back simply. I had no choice, but to attempt to get into the simplest gown. Fortunately Merry had found me one for the funeral that was both black and unfussy. In the mirror I saw someone who looked very like Euphemia the housekeeper rather than the Princess I was pretending to be. My reflection showed signs of worry and her hair had tendrils already curling loose from their moorings, but at least I was now fit to be seen in the public areas of the house – and in particular the quarter that houses both the bedrooms of Bertram and Fitzroy. I wanted to go to Rory, but I knew that nothing short of the collapse of the British Empire itself would explain a Princess entering the servants’ quarters.

I crept out of my room and long the corridor leading from the main staircase. From over the banisters I could see a number of policemen standing in the great hall below. Chief Inspector Brownly strode across the hallway as I was watching. He did not look up. His shoulders were set well back and he walked with confidence. From his carriage I surmised he felt he had solved the mystery, but it was more than satisfaction I saw in his movement. He moved very differently than the man who had been forced to be so deferential to the Earl.

You may think I am making too much of this, but in truth servants learn to tell a lot about those they serve by the attitudes by which they carry themselves. In a large gathering the upper classes are no different than a pack of dogs; they will always respect the leader of the pack. Brownly was no longer metaphorically showing his belly. He was very much the man in charge.

Could he have arrested Richenda? That would explain her absence, but I had seen her all too believable relief when she learned that Tipton had not been the culprit. I did not hold the illusion that the two of them loved each other, but I knew they had made a pact that would serve them both well. Tipton would gain money and Richenda status. Had they murdered Lady Stapleford together? But what would be the point?

I crossed the gallery into the area where the single men had been put. I moved as silently as I could for being seen here by the wrong person would shred mine, or rather the Princess’s reputation for ever. Who should I go to? Who did I most trust to be alone with? The answer came to mind at once: Bertram. I hurried along to his room, knocked briefly and went in.

There was no one there. Unlike Richenda’s Bertram’s room was a model of neatness. But his bed too had been slept in. Being left with limited options I went and knocked on Fitzroy’s door. He opened it at once. Fitzroy wore a travelling coat. Behind him I could see a valise on the bed. Until this moment I hadn’t quite realised how tall he was. He looked down at me and frowned heavily. ‘There’s no use coming to me now,’ he said. ‘I told you yesterday to get out of here.’ Then he went back into the room and continued to pack. He had left the door open, so I followed him. I even took the dangerous step of closing it behind me.

‘You’re leaving?’

Fitzroy didn’t even both answering this. ‘Why now?’ I asked.

‘Brownly’s had a call. He’s happy to let me go.’ He pulled a draw from the chest and upended it. A cascade of socks fell haphazardly into the valise.

‘That’s no way to pack!’ I said. ‘You’ll ruin your shirts.’

To my surprise he gave a crack of laughter. ‘It’s the last thing on my mind,’ he said. ‘Though I will get the suits sent on. It would be a pity to have to outfit Milford again, as well as expensive.’

‘So that isn’t who you really are?’ I asked.

This won me a genuine smile, ‘My dear Euphemia, there are days when even I can barely remember who I am. I am sorry for the trouble that is going to come your way, but I need to remove myself from the situation as quickly as possible.’

‘Trouble?’ I asked. ‘I came to you – well, I tried a few other doors first,’ I said with the devastating honesty my father instilled into me, ‘but I have seen no one this morning. Not even the maid who should have lit my fire. I have no idea what is going on.’

‘Tipton’s killed himself,’ said Fitzroy as he did a cursory sweep of the room. He locked the valise and turned to face me. ‘You had no idea?’

‘None,’ I said. My voice shook on the single word. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I know he’s dead,’ said Fitzroy, ‘and I didn’t do it. Other than that I have no firm evidence in any direction.’

I moved over and sat down on a chair. ‘I can’t believe it. Tipton gone.’

‘Death has the reputation of being sudden,’ said Fitzroy. ‘One minute you’re here the next you’re not. The best any of us can hope for is we go quickly.’

He gave me a pat on the shoulder. ‘I hate to be lacking in chivalry, but I need to go and I don’t think it’s going to help your case if you’re found in my room.’

‘The police will be asking a lot of questions, won’t they?’

‘Yes.’

‘You think they will discover who I am, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

I pressed my fingers to my temples. ‘I need time to think.’

‘I’m sorry Euphemia. I’m out of here.’

An idea flashed through my brain. ‘Take me with you!’ I said.

Fitzroy’s eyebrows rose. ‘Why Euphemia,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know you cared.’

‘I don’t,’ I said bluntly. ‘I don’t want you to take me with you literally. I want you to take the Princess.’

Fitzroy didn’t respond, but neither did he walk out the door. I took this an encouragement.

‘You said those in the know suspect that you and she were …’ I blushed.

‘Lovers,’ supplied Fitzroy.

‘Yes,’ I said, ‘that. Would it not be likely that if the police had cleared you to leave, you would help her out of this mess for old times’ sake?’

‘What do you think I might do?’ asked Fitzroy, who was by now looking slightly amused.

‘Take her away before the questioning began. She can hardly be a suspect. Get her to a train or a boat, so she can return home with no noise or fuss? In fact even suggest to the police that any mention of her here might cause a diplomatic incident?’

‘Possible,’ said Fitzroy. ‘But what in practice do you expect me to do?’