A Death in the Wedding Party (8 page)

‘Blimey,’ said Merry, ‘they really don’t like you, do they?’

‘Something to do with trying to get Lord Stapleford hanged for murder, I expect.’

‘That and seducing the younger son of the house.’

‘Merry!’ I cried. ‘I have never seduced anyone.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ said Merry. ‘You’ve never been one to take advantage of your position like a proper servant would. But you can’t deny Mr Bertram isn’t sweet on you.’

‘Honestly, I think Bertram’s feelings for me swing between intense annoyance and mild affection.’

‘I’ve seen the intense annoyance,’ said Merry with a grin. ‘Now come here, I’ve got to re-pin all your bloody hair for dinner.’

‘I have to have a bath first and change my dress and jewellery.’

‘Lord, what a bloody palaver!’ said Merry. ‘I’ll be glad when this is all over.’ I couldn’t help but heartily agree.

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After all, he pays them not to have any ...

I doubt there are more dangerous situations than the English pre-dinner drinks. It is a time when reputations can be shredded, alliances forged or severed and all over a sweet sherry.

None of the Staplefords had thought to collect me from my chambers, so when the gong went I made my way down the huge marble staircase trusting the noise of social exchange would guide me. The company was standing in the large entrance hall. On all sides ran a mistral’s gallery and the hall itself was the full height of the building. The gaping maw of a fireplace had been banked up with a small forest, but the warmth had not spread and the company were gently jostling for places close to the fire. Their voice mostly high pitched and nasal echoed unpleasantly. A frequent braying laugh betrayed Tippy’s presence. As I descended I saw him with his arm around Richenda’s waist talking to the Earl. A break in the conversation unfortunately carried Tippy’s comment up to echo in the hall, ‘I’m her birthday night surprise,’ he said and brayed again. The Earl’s face became even more stony. He looked much like a hawk who thinks he is swooping down upon a tasty rabbit, only to discover that it is an inedible toad.

‘He’s not doing himself any favours, is he?’ said a soft voice at my elbow. The voice had a faint West Country burr. I caught my breath and then turned to see Mr Fitzroy looking down at me.
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He was dressed a great deal more smartly than he had been in the Highlands when we had last met, but there remained something neat, tidy and forgettable about his entire appearance. He gave me a slight, wry smile. ‘Allow me to escort you over to the drinks,’ he said and offered me his arm.

‘Sir, have we met?’ I said in crisp English, but a low voice.

Fitzroy’s answer was even softer. ‘Don’t be foolish, Euphemia Martins.’ I slid my arm through his and allowed his to escort me to a silent, stiff servant, who was holding out a drinks tray. He picked up one for us both and led me towards the window. We were now a little way away from the nearest guests, but clearly in sight of the whole hall.

‘I suppose if anyone would see through my disguise it would be you,’ I said taking my drink from him. ‘What do you propose to do?’

‘You mean will I give you up?’

‘Yes,’ I said swallowing and nodding slightly at a gentleman with a monocle.

‘You’re keeping remarkably calm,’ said Fitzroy maddeningly. ‘Tell me there is more to this charade than Richenda Stapleford’ s pride?’

I gritted my teeth. ‘There is the small matter of keeping my position.’

‘I am disappointed,’ said Fitzroy, turning slightly to stare out of the window behind us.

‘So?’

‘If you had done your homework you would know that the lady you are misrepresenting and I have a history.’

‘This is a Stapleford plan,’ I said acidly. ‘Do you think they would have thought things through.’

Fitzroy frowned. ‘Do you recognise anyone in this room. No, don’t look round, use the reflection.’

‘Apart from the Staplefords I now recognise the Earl and his Countess, Tipton, and that looks like Muller, but I doubt I know him in my new persona.’

‘You are very ill-prepared.’

‘I know.’

‘I doubt I will need to give you up. You’ll do that yourself in a matter of moments.’

‘If anyone here has previously met the lady I am misrepresenting then I am lost.’

‘Of course,’ said Fitzroy. ‘But she will have heard of many of the people here.’

‘Really?’ I asked, arching my eyebrow in a distinctly aristocratic manner.

Fitzroy gave a low laugh. ‘She will have heard of Tipton elder brother. He’s over by the fireplace. The tallest man. He’s known as Tip-Top among the upper classes, and not ironically.’

‘And he’s related to Baggy Tipton?’ I asked astonished.

‘I’m here to recruit him. Lots of charm, bored with society and not enough money. All areas I can work with.’

‘Why are you telling me all this?’

‘I am trying to make conversation,’ said Fitzroy, ‘and I am not in the habit of doing that with people who know what I am.’

‘But why?’

‘My dear girl, I am doing you a favour. I am well aware that the only way Richenda could ensure that the lady in question did not deny that she was ever present would be if she knew her secret.’

‘This has all been very interesting,’ I said, ‘but I think I should circulate before your exclusive attention attracts rumours.’

‘But that is what I am telling you, my dear. You and I are lovers.’

‘W-w-what?’ I gasped.

‘I was sent on a mission to gather information about certain areas of her country’s industry. Let’s just say I got rather more than that.’

I could feel myself blushing horribly.

‘Excellent,’ continued Fitzroy. ‘Those in the know will certainly believe now you are who you say you are. Shall I expect you at midnight?’

‘No, you will not,’ I hissed.

Fitzroy chuckled. ‘You need to learn how to embrace your part.’ He turned away from me and caught the eye of an elder man, who came across to us. ‘My lady allow me to present the Earl of …’

As he uttered that last word I felt my world rock. The man standing in front of me was no other than my grandfather.

I fled.

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⁸
See
A Death in the Highlands
for our last bloody encounter

Or I would have fled if Fitzroy’s fingers hadn’t pinched my elbow hard and held me back. I tried to focus on what my relative was saying. ‘… so if you would be so gracious as to allow me to escort you into dinner, your Highness. I’m afraid old Ratty rather feels he has to take in the bride-to-be. I appreciate she is a friend of yours, but she does seem to rather want a bit of a show, what?’

Your Highness. He had no idea who I was.

I heard my voice answering. ‘Of course not. I should be delighted to accompany you in to dinner.’

My grandfather smiled and his face changed, softened. His whole visage was etched with lines and he had the deep complexion of one who had spent much of his life outdoors. He also had a very bristly moustache. I could see the echo of mother in his features. ‘Thank you, my de-your Highness. It will make everything much easier. I shall try very hard not to be too boring an old duffer.’

‘I’m sure you could never be that,’ I said. My mind was racing. Could this be my opportunity to discover why my grandfather still refused to acknowledge my mother, even though she was now widowed and thus free from the connection he despised?

Mr Fitzroy bowed and withdrew. ‘Very charming man, that, Lord Milford’ said my grandfather. ‘Always thought there was something a bit cavey about him.’ He caught himself up with a cough. ‘My apologies. My wife used to be a terrible gossip and now she’s gone I seem rather to have taken up her role. That’s one of the problems of getting old, you don’t get to do things so much. Too creaky in the joints. You end up watching people, don’t you know.’

‘It certainly is a mixed party,’ I said looking around the room and silently absorbing the name Fitzroy was using. Could that be his real name?

‘You can say that again. Ratty didn’t want to hold the wedding here, but it seems that Baggy just wouldn’t let go. Like a terrier with a rat, he said, just kept banging on and on about until Ratty felt it would be easier to let him have it and get the whole thing over with.’

‘Ratty?’

‘The Earl.’

‘Of course, you English do love your nicknames,’ I said.

‘We do indeed,’ said my grandfather. ‘Not that the younger generation seem to come up with anything very imaginative, Tip-Top, Baggy, the Nag.’ He coughed again and ran his fingers through his moustache. ‘Err-umm.’

‘The Nag?’ I caught sight of Richenda smiling broadly and showing large teeth in her very long face. ‘Richenda Stapleford?’

‘She does tend to go on a bit about women’s rights and all that palaver,’ said my grandfather apologetically.

‘Nothing to do with her appearance?’ I asked.

My grandfather fairly snorted into his drink. ‘I can tell we are going to get on, you and I,’ he said and gave me a sly wink.

I smiled, but mentally I was reeling. This was the man who had been painted as an ogre to me all my life? This gossipy, friendly old man?

The dinner gong sounded and we all processed into the grand dining room. A full thirty places were set out at the table. Although the Court had gas lighting, the table had been lit with several candelabras. Crystal and silver reflected the warm yellow flames. Small delicate arrangements of flowers lined the centre of the table at exactly the right height so one could still see across the table. Not that one would talk to the person opposite at such an event. Conversation was on a side to side basis and strictly rotational. I waited to see who I would be seated next to apart from my grandfather.

‘Renard Layfette,’ said a well-dressed man in his thirties. ‘I am a distant cousin of the Staplefords. Richenda will have mentioned me.’

‘I don’t believe so,’ I said carefully. Renard certainly bore the self-important air that all the Staplefords had. Dark-haired, like Bertram, I could see a family resemblance. ‘You are related to the second Lady Stapleford?’

‘Is not everyone related to everyone in our world?’ he said with a small wave of his hand. I detected a slight French accent this time, but really his English was excellent. I told him so.

‘I was raised to speak several languages at home,’ he said with a shrug. ‘It has been useful. I travel a lot.’

My grandfather’s attention seemed to have been captured by the woman on the other side. She was small, stout and talking twenty to the dozen in a hurried undertones.

‘You like to travel?’ I asked my other dinner companion, who had not referred once to my status though he must have known.

Again came the little shrug and a world weary sigh. ‘It has been necessary.’

The soup arrived. It lay clear and brownish in the insignia stamped dish. No doubt it was highly fashionable. It smelled of fish and sprouts. I took a tentative sip. It tasted worse than it looked.

‘The English,’ said Renard with yet another shrug. ‘They cannot cook.’

‘I have had many good meals in the homes of my English friends,’ I said, forgetting for a moment that this was meant to be my first time in the country.

‘Cooked by a French cook, no doubt. Some hostesses are rightly proud of their French cooks. Others try to pretend it is an ordinary chef, but always if the food is good it will be a Frenchman cooking.’

The footman removed my soup. He did not even bother asking if I had finished, but I thought I detected a commiserating demeanour.

The voice of the woman on the other side of my grandfather floated over to me. ‘Honestly, Gregory, I thought we’d never find a woman to take him on, let alone a lady. No one can accuse me of being a doting mother. I know my sons. Tip-top’s the best of them, but little Baggy has always been the runt of the litter, poor chap. No surprise he turned out like he did. At least she has money. I hate to think what their offspring will look like. Ugly buggers I imagine.’

On my other side Renard sniggered. ‘That is Amelia Tipton. Mother of the groom. Apparently she blames the loss of her figure on her third son. In her day she was accounted a great beauty, if you can believe that. Now she is more dumpy duck than woman. But I do not know why she calls him Baggy.’

‘Apparently it is the custom at English boarding schools to de-bag or remove the trousers of someone one dislikes or who has been found to be wanting in some way. A quaint boyish custom,’ I said.

‘I can imagine that the groom often found himself in such a position,’ said Renard. ‘It is unfair when nature gifts a man with more ambition than sense.’

Really, I wondered, did no one here have anything good to say about anyone else? Was this the high society that my mother had so longer for and that she was desperate to thrust my little brother and me into? Next time we met I would tell her frankly I wanted no part of it. There was nothing jolly or celebratory about this meal. The sole aim of all here appeared to be to get a shot off at one another.

I let my eyes drift down the table. I saw Lord Milford/Fitzroy chatting to a young woman, who was blushing deeply. Wouldn’t the Staplefords recognise him as Fitzroy? It appeared not. If I hadn’t declared himself to me, would I have known? He had a very forgettable face.

Bertram had been placed next to an aging dowager, who kept putting up her hand to her ear and bending so far her clothing dangled in her soup. I surmised she was deaf as a post. Bertram certainly wore an expression of frustration.

Lady Stapleford had managed to get herself seated on one side of the Earl at the head of the table. She smiled a lot and turned a head in a marked manner as if deep in thought. I guessed she was attempting to show her best side. I acquitted her of thinking. Richard Stapleford was ignoring his dinner companions and drinking deeply. Richenda, seated opposite Tippy, attempted to flirt through the foliage with nauseating effect. And still the courses continued, each worse than the last. This caused Renard to sniff and chuckle smugly. He began to declaim all the ills of English society, apparently believing that as a foreigner I would agree.