The Mistletoe Mystery (2 page)

Mist surrounded me. It overcame me. It wound through my long hair, drenching it and making my head heavy. I reached out a hand, but only knew that I had. I could not see it. Looking down at my own body I could see but a vague outline, but I knew I was not dead. The mist caressing me with its icy feathery fingers broke every now and then to show me a tantalising glimpse of green or brown. Out there hung the world. I had come from there and I needed to get back.

My jaw ached and I could hear a clacking sound. My teeth were chattering and had been for some time. Touching my clothes I found them wet through. I had become so cold I could no longer feel it.

Why was I here? Something important had happened. I had been angry, but now I was only sad. Sad and cold and fading. I needed to get home. To get back. I knew how dangerous it was to walk in the mist, but the cruel cloud would not let me go and I was cold, too cold. If I didn’t get back to warmth soon I might die. I knew this and didn’t know how I knew it. My brain was working slowly, as if it too was invaded by the mist’s insidious fingers. No one would find me out here. No one would see me. But if I walked on, if I took another step … Shivers shot down my spine at the thought of it. Walking was dangerous. I couldn’t remember why, but the knowledge terrified me. It was so important I did not move. It was so important I got home. It was so important I got warm. I could not do all I needed to do. Something had to give. I took a step forward. I started to fall …

I landed on the floor with a thump. My covers were tightly wound around me, but I was shivering violently. No light shone through the curtains on my window, but somehow I knew it was early morning and I knew I was not the only one awake.

There is no other way to put it than to say I felt compelled to seek out this other person. I managed to quell my impatience enough to scramble into my simplest dress and stockings, but my fingers shook with frustration. I brushed my hair quite inadequately with five firm strokes and wound it into a rough bun, and pinned it so hastily I pierced my scalp.

Outside my bedroom the servants’ rooms were all in darkness. The mornings came late now, but somehow I could see. I didn’t think about this much, only to be grateful I didn’t need a lamp or candle. I made my way through the sleeping house. The shadows around me felt soft and welcoming. I felt no fear at all. Logic dictated I check in the kitchen for the first signs of activity, but I gave it only a cursory glance. I knew there would be no one there. As I came onto the ground floor I could hear the hiss and crackle of fire. My gaze automatically swept the hated gas lamps, but none were alight. Instead one door stood open and from it came an orange and red light that flickered across the darkened hall. I hurried to Mr Bertram study, afraid of what I might find, but all I found was Mr Bertram sitting in his favourite wing-backed chair, wide awake, with the fire banked high in the grate.

‘My dear!’ he cried, jumping to his feet. ‘What a shock you gave me. I was only this moment thinking about you.’

I stood on the threshold dumbfounded. The pins slipped from my hair and it flowed down my back. Mr Bertram came forward and took my hand. ‘Why you’re icy!’ he said. ‘Come, sit here by the fire.’

I let him led me across to his chair. It was still warm from his body heat and a part of my mind was screaming at the inappropriateness of the situation. Another, more treacherous part of my soul wanted nothing more than for him to take care of me.

‘What has happened?’ he asked. He pulled up a footstool and sat down at my feet, taking care not to obscure me from the fire. He had also managed to again possess himself of one of my hands which he rubbed gently between his own to warm.

My tongue felt clumsy in my mouth, but I managed to say, ‘a nightmare’. He nodded understandingly. ‘Poor girl. I was sitting thinking when you came in how selfish I am being in holding this party in the middle of nowhere.’ He gave a deep sigh. ‘I cannot claim that even when my father was alive my home was a happy one, but since his death I find myself torn in two. I yearn most dearly for a happy family.’

‘It’s the time of year,’ I said. ‘We all miss our families at Christmas.’

‘Did you have happy Christmases when you were a child?’

I smiled, though my eyes filled with tears. ‘My father and I were very close. When my little brother came along we were a very happy family. He is a charming boy and I don’t believe anyone could know him and not love him. But when my father died everything shattered.’

Mr Bertram looked eagerly into my eyes. ‘We are not so unlike,’ he said. ‘You and I. I sense you too would like to happily established.’

Some sense of my situation broke through to me. ‘I would have liked to have been with my family at Christmas,’ I said pointedly.

Mr Bertram stood up abruptly. ‘You remind me that your family remains happier than mine will ever be, and that I am cruel to keep so many of my servants from their family at Christmas.’

‘I didn’t mean to be rude, sir.’

He turned and took one quick pace towards me. Then he dropped to his knees. ‘My sweet, I want you as my wife. That you have a loving mother and brother of whatever social status could only add to my life. Please, this is the last time I will ask you be my wife. We are so well-suited.’ Then he flushed and uttered the words I had once yearned to hear. ‘I love you.’

I looked away to quiet my thoughts before I answered. I saw by the light of the fire what I had missed earlier, a wine glass and several empty bottles of wine on a small table. It was like being suddenly drenched in cold water.

‘Sir,’ I said quietly, ‘I think that perhaps tonight you are not yourself. I believe I should return to my room, and that we should both strive to put this incident from our minds.’

Mr Bertram shot up once more and in happier times I would have made a comment about a jack-in-the-box, but now was not the time. ‘This is how you treat my proposal!’ He gritted his teeth. ‘Damn the bloody proposal, if this is how you react the first time I tell you I love you! You owe me more than that!’

‘I only meant, sir, that in the morning I think you will regret your speech. You are feeling melancholy this season, and with good reason, you have sat alone by the fire,’ I hesitated, ‘you have sat alone by the fire brooding and everything must seem even grimmer than it is. I too am not at by best. My mind is still disordered from my restless …’

Mr Bertram cut me off. ‘It’s that damn man, isn’t it? You’re still carrying a torch for him!’

‘This has nothing to do with Rory,’ I said as calmly as I could. My hands shook. ‘I honestly do not believe I would make you a good wife.’

‘Isn’t that up to me to decide?’

‘No. If I feel I would make us both unhappy I have every reason to decline.’

‘So you don’t care for me?’ demanded Mr Bertram.

‘As your housekeeper I cannot possibly answer that question.’

Mr Bertram struck one fist hard against his palm. ‘I don’t want you as my housekeeper, I want you as my wife.’ He dropped to his knees again. ‘I swear to you I would care for you, cherish you, and never make you do anything that you did not want to do.’ He blushed deeply at this point. ‘I mean anything. Allow me to protect you. Allow me to take care of you.’

I swallowed hard. My own parents’ marriage had been a love match and it had not fared well. But despite this and despite every rational part of me telling myself this was the very chance I needed, I knew I did not love Mr Bertram in the way he needed to be loved. That he had declared himself so openly and so passionately to me tore at my heart. I knew a refusal would sunder our friendship for ever, but I also knew I was not the wife he needed, nor he the husband I sought.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, shaking my head. Tears streamed silently down my cheeks.

‘If I see that bloody man again I will kill him,’ ranted Mr Bertram. ‘I’ll not lose you, I warn you. I will not lose you to another man.’

Of all the things he could have said this was the least expected. His face was hard and cold and at that moment I believed him capable of his murderous intentions. I fled back to my room and stayed there sobbing until it was time for me to rise for breakfast.

By morning I had reached the decision that I had no option but to tend my resignation. I had thought through the situation again and again until my head throbbed. My only hope was that Mr Bertram was enough of a gentleman to provide me with a decent reference or failing that I could somehow affect a peaceful reunion with Richenda. In the weak light of the winter morning neither plan seemed that probable and I worried what would happen to mother and little Joe without my support. As for myself I could not have cared less.

The mirror showed me red-rimmed eyes and an alarming pallor. I did my hair with upmost care and dressed formally. I went down to the breakfast room a little later than usual. As I approached I could hear the scrape of cutlery against china. I entered to find Mr Bertram tucking into poached eggs and sausages. A maid must have set the table for me and brought through the dishes. I sighed. It would be good practice for her when I was gone.

‘Morning, Euphemia!’ said Mr Bertram, looking up at my sigh. ‘You’re a bit tardy today. Are you feeling all right?’

Words failed me.

Mr Bertram got up and pulled out a chair for me. ‘It’s my wretched party, isn’t it? I didn’t take into account how much work it would be for you. I really must think of getting a butler. Do you think Merrit would be trained enough to come back yet?’

I sat down. ‘He wouldn’t come without Merry,’ I said numbly.

‘No, of course not,’ said Mr Bertram, rather cack-handedly trying to pour me a cup of tea despite having the advantage of using one of Mr Dresser’s excellently designed teapots. ‘But that would be nice for you, wouldn’t it? You and she were always such good friends. I’ve got to think of something to entice you to stay with me out in this wilderness.’

I sipped my tea. Mr Bertram returned to his seat. ‘Seriously, Euphemia, I know it’s not as interesting as being in a London house, but I didn’t think you minded that too much.’

I shook my head.

‘To be honest I quite enjoy being out of the way here. I like the peace. I don’t want to turn into a hermit of course. Hence my party. I think what I’d really like is to live a very quiet and peaceful existence up here and occasionally have such excellent house parties that my friends don’t forget me. Do you think we could manage that?’

I searched his face for any sign of the conversation we had had last night. I was met only by a sunny, open and friendly expression. He too watched me. His face fell. ‘You’ve heard, haven’t you?’

I shook my head again, words were still beyond me.

‘I’m sorry, but she is my step-sister. I couldn’t refuse. I did make her promise she would have no words with you. But with her husband detained abroad she only has me or Richard to come to at Christmas. Would you go to Stapleford Hall if you could come here?’

I found my voice. It was a little crackly. ‘Richenda’s coming here?’

‘Sorry,’ said Mr Bertram again.

‘Mr Bertram, about last night …’

Mr Bertram blushed. ‘Ah, yes, I should apologise for leaving the study in a bit of a mess. Think I had a glass too many.’

I stood up. ‘I should see to Miss Richenda’s room,’ I said.

‘Oh, and I meant to tell you I’ve asked Sam to get the greenery in early. We can always replace it if it wilts. Let’s have the house looking nice and Christmassy for when she arrives.’

I went about the rest of the morning in a daze. Not once did Mr Bertram refer to our conversation of the night before. I considered that this was his way of dealing with the embarrassment of having declared himself, but this did not sit right with me. My master was many things, but he was neither cruel nor deceitful. I could only conclude that he had been far more inebriated than I had assumed and had no recollection of the incident. My worry then was: would his memory return? Or worse yet, if those nocturnal expressions were representative of his true feelings would the situation re-occur?

At three o’ clock in the afternoon in that very awkward time between lunch and dinner, when it is impossible to know what to offer a guest, Richenda arrived. She blew in through the front door, pushing aside our inexperienced footman, calling for Bertram and for servants to take her luggage. Her long red hair was piled under a monstrous hat, adorned with several pieces of deceased wildlife, but her coat was a blue that set off both her hair and her unfortunately freckled colouring to advantage. Her large feet were shod in suitably buttoned boots and from one hand she dangled an elegant muff. She looked far better than I had, well, ever seen her look. Our eyes met. I had been prepared for battle, but surprise had overtaken me.

Richenda strode quickly towards me and gave me a quick peck on the cheek. ‘I won’t give up the hat,’ she said, ‘but your advice about certain items of my wardrobe has been proved to be correct.’ She put her head on one side and regarded me shrewdly. ‘In fact my dearest hubby expressed his view of my fashions using the words goose, plucked, and stuffed.’

I stifled a smile.

‘Quite,’ said Richenda. ‘I’m not going to apologise to someone in my employ, but I’ll offer you a healthy raise instead if you come back after Christmas. Even I wouldn’t poach from Bertram when he’s trying to hold a party in the middle of nowhere. No one knows more than I that you’re equal to anything, but you have to admit most of those of your class are simply less capable.’

‘Yes,’ I said.

‘Now, I know you will say you don’t want to leave, Bertie in the lurch, but … what did you say?’

‘I said yes, Richenda. I would be delighted to return as your companion.’

‘Goodness,’ she said, practically deflating before my eyes. ‘I had myself all wound up to offer so many good arguments. I practised them in the car till Chillingham must have thought I was a madwoman.’

‘Would you like to see your room?’

‘Yes, I suppose so.’ She gave me a curious look. ‘Bertie hasn’t done something, has he? You look like you’ve had all the stuffing knocked out of you.’

I led her up the main staircase. ‘I have been very busy.’

‘And of course, the atmosphere,’ said Richenda. I stopped to look at her in astonishment. ‘Quite gives one goosebumps. You must have noticed it. Madam Arcana said you were almost as sensitive as me.’

Actually, our mutual friend the clairvoyant Madam Arcana had tactfully avoided saying any such thing about Richenda. She had, however, described me as someone who had often been around death and to whom, she rather terrifyingly said, the spirits were attracted.

‘Place is positively hooching with ghostly emanations.’