A Death in the Wedding Party (4 page)

The day began brightly, beautifully and with the whole household running like clockwork. Only Richenda and Bertram remained in residence. Bertram had declared to Rory the day was so fine he was going to walk the land and see if he could put up some pigeons. I served Richenda a solitary (but hearty) breakfast and observed her to be in an unusually quiet mood.

Then at eleven o’clock a delivery of the trousseau came in on the train, accompanied by Lady Stapleford. Lord Stapleford’s widow was very French. She had been living in Brighton, and she disliked me intently. My first sight of her was of a figure draped in black lace topped by a large and remarkably ugly hat. She was dabbing an overlarge handkerchief to her eyes. As I made my way across the hallway to welcome her she exclaimed, ‘To think it has all come to this!’

I believe that even my mother, with her vast knowledge of etiquette and the right things to say, might have been somewhat flummoxed at this opening. I folded my hands neatly as I approached and bobbed a small curtsey. ‘Lady Stapleford, it is an honour to welcome you back to Stapleford Hall. I am afraid it will take a few minutes to air your rooms, as I was not aware of your arrival today. If you would perhaps like to take tea in the morning room I could ensure everything is perfect for your arrival.’

‘I am not a guest,’ snapped Lady Stapleford, lowering her handkerchief and snapping it violently towards me. ‘This is my home.’

And there it was; the heart of the matter. Even I did not know who technically owned Stapleford Hall at this time. Richard Stapleford paid my wages and he was the eldest son of the late Sir Richard Stapleford, so it was to him I deferred, but I had no idea how Lady Stapleford fitted into all this. Certainly no one had seen fit to build her a dower house. A closer scrutiny of her clothing suggested that bows and turns had been made over. I was not up with the latest fashions. Richenda never bothered to dress well in the country, but I knew all too well the signs of made over clothing. Hadn’t Mother and I done it for years? I was beginning to feel sorry for Lady Stapleford, when her voice cut razor like through my thoughts.

‘And what have you done with my son?’

She meant, of course, Bertram. She had been Lord Stapleford’s second wife. ‘I believe he is out rough shooting,’ I said.

‘That is not what I meant,’ sneered the lady. ‘I was asking about your activities with my only boy.’

It took a moment or several for the coarseness of the question to find its way through the fog of my brain. When it did so, I confess, I suddenly embodied an outstanding impression of a goldfish. I simply did not have the words.

My rescue came from an unexpected source. ‘’Ere yous, watch what yer doing with ‘em cases. The buckle on that’s worth more than you get in a year, you clodhopping dunder-brain.’

A pertly pretty young woman, dressed in the dark clothes of a servant, but with a far too dashing hat tipped to one side, swept in. ‘Lord, these country bumpkins. Beggin’ pardon your ladyship, but there’s not a gnat’s worth of brain between the lot of them.’ She was carrying a small case.

Lady Stapleford’s direct gaze didn’t break from mine. ‘Indeed, Suzette, you will find matters in the country can be quite parochial, even basic.’

‘Don’t know about that ma’am. But that footman didn’t look like he’d ever seen a proper lady’s luggage before. I kept the jewel case meself, not knowing you I was to trust like.’ She turned her attention to me. ‘And who’s this? The village idiot?’

‘This,’ said Lady Stapleford, ‘is Lord Stapleford’s housekeeper, Euphemia St John. She was previously my son’s housekeeper at that terrible estate. She affects a great fondness for the men of my family.’

‘Oh, like that, is it?’ said Suzette. ‘Then I think it’s right condescending for you to come ’ere at all. Nothing’s unpacked. I could have us out of here in a trice, my lady. I’m not sure it is cognisant with your ladyship’s dignity to remain.’ The expression on her face was insolence itself, but I noted a certain eagerness when she talked about departing. This new lady’s maid of Lady Stapleford’s had some secrets of her own, I decided.

‘Lady Stapleford,’ I began calmly, ‘I am aware that you have been living in a retired manner since your widowhood, but I can assure you any rumours that might have reached your ears referencing any misdemeanours of your son would refer solely to his impulsive purchase of White Orchards which has been a sad trial to him.’

‘Oh la-di-da,’ trilled Suzette. ‘Talks like a regular book, she does.’

‘Suzette, oversee that footman taking my cases to my rooms. He will be using the servants’ stair. You remember my explaining the house layout?’

Suzette bobbed a small curtsey. ‘At once ma’am,’ she said and then to my utter astonishment behind her mistress’s back she thumbed her nose at me.

‘My lady, I am the new butler, Rory McLeod. Can I be of service?’

I span round to see Rory had appeared. Over these past months I had noticed he taken the butler prerequisite of appearing silently very much to heart.

‘Ah, yes, the Scotchman,’ said Lady Stapleford somewhat enigmatically. She swept past us both and mounted the stairs. ‘My maid will inform you of my requirements.’

We turned and watched her in respectful silence as she disappeared over the first landing.

‘Would that maid be the cheeky wee miss I just passed on the servants’ stair?’ asked Rory.

‘She thumbed her nose at me,’ I said.

‘I was thinking you were looking a wee bit pale. I gather you’ve no idea how to deal with such rudeness?’

‘Even the boot boy wouldn’t think to do that to me.’ I said. ‘At least not to my face,’ I added on reflection.

‘Well, she’ll get short shift from me if she tries that.’

I sighed. ‘She won’t. You’re a man.’

‘I’m aware of that,’ said Rory, ‘but I fail to see why that should make a difference.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘It’s a female thing. I’d better go and inform Lady Richenda her stepmother is here.’

‘Send Merry,’ advised Rory. ‘You need to work on your authority.’

I found Merry in the kitchen. ‘Ooh, this will set the cat among the pigeons,’ she said gleefully. ‘Do you think she’s come back to oversee the wedding?’

‘She’s more likely to be back because she’s out of funds,’ said the cook.

‘Mrs Deighton,’ I said shocked. ‘It’s not like you to gossip.’

‘I knows Lady Stapleford. Me and her go way back. Can’t say we were ever on friendly terms – and if she took a dislike, like she sometimes did, she could make life hard for you, but she and I, we rubbed along alright. She liked my French chicken. Said it reminded her of the old days.’

‘Well, she has always disliked me,’ I said.

‘Your arrival did sort of start the downfall of the Staplefords, didn’t it?’ said Merry.

‘It was hardly my fault.’

‘No,’ said Mrs Deighton, ‘things were set to implode for some time before Euphemia arrived.’

‘What do you mean?’ I asked suddenly sidetracked. Mrs Deighton never talked about the days before my arrival and I had forgotten how well she knew the family.

‘Like you said,’ she answered annoyingly, ‘I’m not one to gossip.’

‘Right Merry, go and tell Richenda now before her stepmother introduces herself and then get Daisy to make up a bed for her lady’s maid. If I’m any judge of character we won’t be seeing her downstairs for her dinner with us. It will be a tray in her room.’

‘That’s how it should be,’ said Mrs Deighton. ‘Like you should eat in your parlour, Euphemia, and not with us.’

I felt a tears start to my eyes. ‘Mrs Deighton!’

‘Now, now, my dear. I’m not saying that’s what I would like, but if we’re going to be descended on by a load of toffs we should get ourselves sorted.’

I felt someone close behind me, so close I could feel the heat of them. ‘I do not think,’ said Rory’s voice, ‘that the matter of which servant attends the communal dining is a matter for the cook. It is a matter for Miss St John and myself to discuss.’

‘Well, I don’t know, I’m sure,’ said Mrs Deighton.

‘I do,’ said Rory firmly. ‘I am also informing you that tonight’s dinner will need extra courses. It is no longer a simple affair. I have been informed over the telephone machine that both Sir Richard Stapleford and Mr Tipton will be present tonight. This means that all the senior members of the family will be together for the first time since the late Sir Richard Stapleford’s demise. I trust you will be able to create a suitable repast?’

Mrs Deighton gave him a look of horror and then disappeared into the scullery calling for her maid. Rory took me by the elbow and steered me out the kitchen. ‘I need a word,’ he said. His breath was hot and close to my ear. I am ashamed to say it didn’t feel unpleasant. In fact a strange tingle ran down my spine. My lacings must be too tight.

However, I didn’t have time to respond as the garden door flew open and a flushed, but happy-looking Bertram entered the room. He had a broken shotgun over his shoulder and several pigeons strung together. ‘Look at these, Euphemia,’ he cried. ‘Look at these. ‘I’ve not lost my eye.’

‘I think you may find that Mrs Deighton will be delighted to have those,’ said Rory. ‘We will be a very full house tonight.’

‘Your mother has arrived,’ I said, ‘and your brother and Mr Tipton are expected later.’

The bright enthusiasm in Bertram’s face faded. ‘Oh Lord,’ he said. ‘It’ll be nothing but wedding plans.’

‘I fear so, sir,’ said Rory. The two men exchanged a look of understanding from which I was excluded. Bertram then stomped off to the kitchen leaving a trail of muddy footprints.

‘The floor,’ I cried.

‘Leave it,’ said Rory. ‘I need to talk to you.’

‘But!’

‘No one’s going to see it back here,’ he said and then, there is no other word for it, shoved, yes shoved, me into my own parlour.

‘Good heavens!’ I said as he shut the door smartly behind us, ‘what has got into you, Rory McLeod?’

For an answer, the butler took me roughly in his arms and kissed me.

I have been brought up not to think about kissing much less to indulge in it, but I own the sensation was not unpleasant. Rory had soft, warm lips and his arms around me felt reassuringly strong. For a moment I did surrender to his embrace and I confess I enjoyed it. But then with ringing clarity I heard my mother’s voice in my head, ‘The son of a grocer. The son of a grocer with an Earl’s granddaughter.’

Rory let me go. I stepped away from him to help us both resist further temptation. He was breathing heavily and there was a look in his eyes I did not recognise. A glance in the mirror over the mantle showed me my dishevelled hair, a pink blush across my cheeks and a certain wild look in my own eyes.

Rory took a step forward. I took another step back. ‘Enough,’ I said, holding up my hand. Even to my own ears my voice sounded less than forbidding.

‘Och lass, I cannae keep up this charade any longer. We were made for each other, and you know it.’

As I looked into his glorious green eyes, my heart beat faster and my breath came quicker. My voice answered him seemingly without my volition. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘We are.’

It was encouragement enough and before I had time to take another breath I was in his arms once more. This time I made no pretence at resistance. We might be miles apart on the social scale accordingly to my mother, but right here, right now I was a housekeeper and he was the butler. We were social equals and any secret history I might have could remain secret for the rest of my life as far as I was concerned. In Rory’s arms I felt I had come home. I felt safe and secure, and loved and cherished, and other stronger emotions that do not need to be named in words. For all I cared the rest of the world could go to blazes.

This time it was Rory who broke away. ‘Wait,’ he said. ‘I will do this right. I want you for my wife, Euphemia. This is the last time I will propose to you. Will you have me?’

‘Yes,’ I said and I meant it.

What would have happened next I do not know, but the front door bell rang.

‘Stapleford and Tipton.’ Rory uttered their names as if they were the worst swear words he knew. He caught my hands and held them tightly. ‘You said yes,’ he said. ‘Remember that.’

I smiled up at him. ‘I meant it.’

Rory stopped with the door half open. ‘Leave it to me to tell them? We’ll need to pick our moment.’

I nodded. ‘I can’t afford to lose this position – my family.’

‘I know, love. I’ll make it right.’ He winced. ‘We may have to wait until after Richenda’s wedding.’

I sighed. ‘I think that is beyond doubt.’

The doorbell rang again. Rory nodded and closed the door behind him. I realised this would doubtless be the first time the door of Stapleford Hall had been answered on the second ring. I was deeply glad it was my fault.

I made my way towards the kitchen to see how Mrs Deighton was coping. ‘My stepmother!’ bellowed Lord Stapleford from the hallway. I heard the quiet murmur of Rory’s reply. ‘Looks like you’ll have to run the gauntlet, Baggy.’

‘I think we can drop the nickname now, don’t you?’ said Tipton in a stronger tone than I ever remember him using, ‘Your sister doesn’t like it.’

‘What rot! Let’s go meet the mater.’

‘I have met her before.’ The voices were crossing the hall now.

‘Yes, but not as a prospective member of the family.’

‘I don’t think there’s anything prospective about now, old boy,’ said Tipton. ‘Once I had the venue sorted I put in straight in The Times. Should be in the evening edition.’

‘Blast it, man. You haven’t even told me.’

‘I can assure,’ said Tipton sounding exceedingly smug, ‘you’ll be pleased.’

‘Not gone and rented Westminster Abbey or some such place, have you?’ said Sir Richard. I could hear he sounded nervous. It occurred to me he felt obligated to foot the bill. I entered the kitchen with a spring in my step. ‘How goes it, Mrs Deighton?’

Our cook looked up from the big range, which was covered in pots and pans. Her face ruddy and slick with sweat, she nodded grimly. ‘They’ll be having a fine meal tonight. One of them posh London hotels couldn’t do better. But Lord knows I’ll have to get Daisy off to the market first thing tomorrow or there won’t be in a thing in the house to eat tomorrow night. I’m even using Mr Bertram’s pigeons. He always was a good shot. Not a lot of lead in them.’