The Mistletoe Mystery (3 page)

I ushered Richenda in to see her step-brother, and while they were making their somewhat awkward reunion and ‘are-we-actually-friends-now?’ noises to each other I took the opportunity to slink away and see if I could get Mrs Tweedy to rustle up some tea and cakes. I knew Richenda improved remarkably after an intake of cake.

Mrs Tweedy had a visitor in her kitchen. At first I thought it was a pile of old sacking, so crumpled and dirty was the heap in the chair. But a few strands of hair sticking out of the top and a pair of dark beady eyes helped me make out the figure of an old man, seventy if he was a day.

‘Young Ben,’ said Mrs Tweedy by way of introduction.

‘Young?’ I asked before I could stop to think.

‘Aye, young,’ said the crumpled pile. ‘Me father’s Old Ben. Ninety-five this year and all his own teeth. What do you think of that?’

‘That he’s done very well,’ I said.

‘Young Ben and his father have worked these Fens since – well, for ever,’ said Mrs Tweedy. ‘There’s nothing they don’t know about the pathways …’

‘And the treacherousness of the Fens,’ said Young Ben, his voice gravelly with warning. ‘Don’t you be going out there on your own, young Miss. It might look like a muddy field, but it’s as liable to swallow you up as a spider is to catch a fly.’

I smiled and assured him that I was far too busy at present to be at leisure to go for a long walk.

‘That’s good then,’ he said and lifted up an enormous teacup and slurped loudly. ‘That was lovely, Mrs T. A right good drop. I’d best be off. I can see yon young Miss be needing you to do something.’

I realised this was my chance. ‘Before you go, Young, er, Ben, I wonder do you know anything of what happened to the old Hadwell House?’

Young Ben scratched the outside of his nose and the inside for good measure. ‘That’ll be what Mrs T and I were just discussing.’

‘Yes,’ said Mrs Tweedy, ‘and we were just deciding it were old stories and not for this modern house.’

‘I don’t know about that, Mrs T. You’ve got some of them old stones in the build. That daft builder didn’t even have the sense to scrub the soot off.’

‘Reckon he thought the rain would wash it off,’ said Mrs Tweedy, turning to stir a simmering pot. The smell of cinnamon filled the kitchen.

‘But it didn’t, did it?’ answered Young Ben. ‘Don’t reckon there’s anything that’ll wash that burning out.’

‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘Best they reckoned was the master of the house was up drinking late and knocked candles over. Burnt the whole lot down, including himself. Christmas Eve it was. House full of guests. Only one maid and the boot boy got out.’

‘How horrible,’ I said.

‘Yep, you could hear the screams right down to the village.’

‘You were there?’

‘I were the boot boy, weren’t I? Anyway, what’s gone is gone, and I need to be on my way before Father misses me. He sleeps in the afternoon, but he’ll want me by when he wakes.’

When he was gone I said, ‘I didn’t realise it was all so recent.’

‘It’s more than sixty years ago,’ said Mrs Tweedy, ‘but the village remembers. That’s your problem.’ She added unconsciously echoing my thoughts, ‘There isn’t much that happens up here, except the odd drowning and that’s looked on as being – well – not out of the norm. People round here say the Fens claim two in a generation. Of course, that’s not counting visitors and incomers.’

‘Of course not,’ I said faintly. ‘It all sounds rather pagan.’

Mrs Tweedy grated a pinch of nutmeg into her pot. ‘You know what happened to the church, don’t you?’

‘I thought you gathered in the Brown Barn?’ I answered. Being a vicar’s daughter I missed the routine of a Sunday service, but Mr Bertram had quickly borne it on me that the Brown Barn was for servants and tenants only.

‘We do,’ said Mrs Tweedy, her face glowed red with the heat from her range, ‘but that’s because our old church sank.’

‘S-s-sank?’ I echoed.

Mrs Tweedy nodded. ‘That’s right, me dear. The Fens swallowed it. Now, what was you wanting me for?’

I didn’t answer for a moment. My mind was filled full of images of the drowned church, with fronds growing between the pews and fish in the pulpit. Mrs Tweedy had never struck me as someone with a sense of humour. Although her blunt way of speaking often made me bite my lip in mirth. ‘I wanted tea and cake. Mr Bertram’s step-sister has arrived.’

‘You know, you’re looking right peaky, girl. You’re not having any nightmares, are you?’ She placed a hand on my forehead. I flinched under the touch; she was burning hot from cooking. It took me aback. No one but my father had ever checked me like this and I reflected if she had done it with the first housekeeper I served under she would quickly have got a gin bottle cracked over her head.

Mrs Tweedy turned back to her pots and began stirring furiously. ‘Oh, don’t mind me,’ she said. ‘It’s the hard work talking. Mind you, it’s fair a pleasure to be cooking such good food. The master has laid down not only enough wine but plenty of the exotic too.’

‘It’s a testament to your skill,’ I said. ‘What’s this about nightmares?’

Mrs Tweedy harrumphed and snorted, but I would not leave it alone. ‘Ghosts,’ she finally said, ‘ghosts from the burning.’

‘To be precise?’ I asked.

‘Young Ben only told you half the story. Lady Belinda ran off and broke Ernest Hadwell’s heart. Engaged to be married they were, but she was a touch above him. No one round here thought she’s stick it. Rumour was she accepted because she broken up with some other gent. Only he came to get her back.’

‘And she went with him?’

Mrs Tweedy screwed up her face in thought. ‘No, she didn’t. Not right away. The two men almost came to blows, so she sent him away before either of them could do the other any real harm. But then she sneaked out to meet him that night and away she went.’

‘And that’s why Ernest was drinking?’

Mrs Tweedy nodded. ‘People blame her as much as him.’

I felt the crawling sensation of being overcome by village superstition. Never had a place been more in need of an active ministry!

‘But Bertie, I’m telling you this whole place is filled with ghosts. You need to get Madam Arcana up here pronto to put them to rest.’

‘Richenda, please, I’m not in the mood.’

‘Got a touch of the old head, have you? Maybe you and my twin are more alike than I thought. Brandy, was it?’

I entered the room, bearing my tray of tea and many, many cakes. ‘Some light refreshment after your journey, Richenda?’

The lady’s eyes lit up. ‘Now
this
is why Euphemia is so invaluable. She always knows what I need.’

I placed the tray down on a low tea table and before I had even had the chance to pass Richenda a plate her gloves were off and her fingers deep in moist, squishy cake. ‘Yum,’ she said loudly.

‘Richenda, can’t you at least pretend to be a lady when you’re eating?’ said Mr Bertram with a pained expression.

Richenda shook her head. ‘All those years being forbidden cake in the nursery took their toll. Now I am finally a free adult I shall do as I please!’

‘Then you will grow as fat as a zeppelin,’ snapped Bertram.

I quickly passed Mr Bertram a plate with an éclair on it, hoping he’d have the sense to stick it in his mouth before he upset Richenda any more.

‘Sit down, Euphemia,’ said Richenda, ‘and join us.’

‘She’s my housekeeper!’ said Mr Bertram thickly through a mouthful of cream.

‘Not for long,’ said his step-sister, ‘she’s coming back to work for me after Christmas!’

‘How dare you,’ said Mr Bertram spluttering cream all over his shirt, ‘pinch my staff.’

‘Oh, come now,’ said Richenda helping herself to an éclair, ‘we all know Euphemia is far more than staff. She’s a family asset. You pinched her from me and now I’m taking her back.’

‘You threw her out!’ roared Mr Bertram. ‘I would never do that.’

I edged backwards towards the door. Two pairs of eyes immediately fixed on me, one set dark brown and the other a watery blue, but both with the beady attention of a cat watching a mouse.

‘So who are you going to work for?’ asked Mr Bertram in a dangerously calm voice.

‘I’ve just been hearing the most interesting story in the kitchen,’ I said desperately. ‘Apparently the master of the original house that stood here burnt it down because his fiancée ran away with another man. All the staff are terrified that some catastrophe with happen this yuletide as it’s the first Christmas this house has ever been fully inhabited. And Mr Bertram has decided to have a Christmas party just like the previous owner did.’

Richenda put down her cake. ‘How juicy!’, she said.

‘Oh, good grief,’ cried Mr Bertram setting his teacup down with unnecessary force. ‘I don’t have the time to listen to this nonsense.’ And he stormed out of the room.

Richenda invitingly patted the sofa cushion next to her. ‘Sit down, Euphemia, and tell me all about it! Is there any suggestion that she might be still lurking in the attic?’ This drew a smile from me. Richenda and I had once worked together on a mystery.

‘That’s better,’ she said. ‘Honestly, I don’t know what Bertie’s being doing to you, but you’re as pale as a ghost.’ She caught herself and blushed. ‘I didn’t mean …’

‘I know,’ I said, sitting down next to her. ‘Actually it would be a bit of relief to tell you about it. I can’t talk to the servants as they are spooked enough already and Mr Bertram has been behaving very oddly.’ And I told her about Mr Bertram’s outburst in the night.

‘Good Lord,’ said Richenda. ‘Do you think he’s being influenced by the late master of the house?’

As soon as she said, it was like a key turned in my brain. ‘Yes, I do,’ I said. ‘It seems impossible, but it is more believable than Bertram saying those things to me.’

‘You don’t think he loves you?’ asked Richenda.

I felt myself blushing. ‘I admit I have wondered in the past if his feelings for me were tender, but whatever they were he would never say he loved me.’

Richenda snorted. ‘That I can believe. When he does marry some poor woman he’ll never tell her either. My step-brother might be a passionate man, but he’s as inhibited as any male that’s gone through the public school process.’

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask if she thought Bertram loved me, but I found that I didn’t want to know the answer. Either response would distress me. I realised Richenda was still speaking. ‘So what we have to do is spy on him tonight.’

‘Spy!’ I cried, horrified.

‘Do you want him burning us all up in our beds?’ enquired Richenda.

‘You have a point,’ I said unwillingly.

‘Besides you’re coming back to work for me soon, so it doesn’t matter if you upset him.’

But I found deep down inside it did matter very much to me if I upset Bertram. However, I had the sense not to say this to Richenda.

I didn’t see much of Richenda for the rest of the day. She had gone to lie down and relax in preparation for tonight’s adventure. I, on the other hand, had a thousand and one things to see to before the other guests began to arrive. Most of the party would turn up tonight, the 23rd of December, in time for dinner. One couple were arriving just after breakfast on Christmas Eve and then the celebrations would really begin.

Sam made good on his promise and brought in bough after bough of holly and mistletoe. I set one of the housemaids to following him around to both clean up the mess he was dragging through the house and to ensure that nothing was placed too near candles or the wretched gas lamps. All this wasn’t helped by an artistic bent that had suddenly developed in Sam. No sooner than he had finished one room when he would think that a bough would look better somewhere else and begin the work all over again.

‘You’ve got to stop him, miss,’ said Lee. ‘I thought at first he was doing it to cause mischief, but if I so much as move one leaf he shouts and then trembles on the edges of tears.’

‘That sounds most unlike our Sam,’ I said.

‘It’s this house at Christmas,’ said Lee. ‘It’s getting to us all.’

‘Nonsense,’ I said briskly and set off to apprehend Sam. I found him in the middle of Mr Bertram’s study surrounded not only by holly and mistletoe, but also boughs of pine and ivy. ‘What on earth –’ I begun.

Sam turned a tear-streaked face to me. ‘The master said how he needed it to be perfect and no matter how I try, I can always see room for improvement!’

‘How I wish you felt that way about boots,’ I said meaningfully. ‘Of course, it’s not possible to do something perfectly, Sam. Mr Bertram meant that he simply wanted to do your best.’

Sam sniffed. ‘He said how much he paid would depend on how good it is.’

‘Well, I shall highly recommend you and suggest he pays you top price. But honestly, Sam, everything is covered in greenery. You have to stop now before you turn the entire house into a fire trap.’ I knew at once I had said the wrong thing. I continued quickly, ‘I suggest you store the extra boughs in small outhouse by the kitchen door. Then we will have replacements should anything wither over the festive season. You should cover them with wet sacking to keep them fresh. I’m sure Mr Bertram will pay for the extra effort.’

A war between fear and greed raged on Sam’s face. Greed won. ‘So I’ve kind of done the job twice, m’um?’

‘I shall certainly suggest that to Mr Bertram,’ I responded.

I left Lee and Sam to clear the extra greenery and attempt to get the leaves, mould, and any of the small inhabitants that had been clinging to the branches out of the house. When I returned half an hour later to check through all the rooms I was pleasantly surprised to see how good a job they had done. The house looked wonderfully Christmassy. Candles were burning in the entrance way where the most unreliable of the gas lamps were. The candles had been placed carefully in sconces so they would not blow out when the door was opened. The effect was extremely warm and welcoming. I heard Mr Bertram come up behind me.

‘Well done, Euphemia,’ he said. ‘The house looks truly lovely. Mrs Tweedy has been showing me the menus you have planned and I don’t believe Mrs Wilson in her heyday could have done better.’

I blushed with pleasure. ‘You have an excellent staff here, Mr Bertram. They have all put enormous effort into house party. I believe all of them, despite some superstitious foolery, are most loyal to you.’

‘So much of this is down to you,’ said Mr Bertram, reddening slightly under the candlelight. ‘My employing the factor, rebuilding the village cottages, and stream-lining the farm were all your suggestions. You make a fine …’

‘Vicar’s daughter,’ I finished firmly. ‘My father always took a great interest in his parish.’

Mr Bertram shrugged, knowing when he was beaten. ‘I’ve put a little something extra in all the staff’s pay packets as a Christmas bonus, but not yours.’

‘Oh,’ I said confused.

Mr Bertram smiled. ‘I hope you don’t mind but I actually have a small gift for you. As long as you don’t feel it inappropriate I would like to give it to you on Christmas Day itself. I’m sure we can find a moment or two together in the midst of all the celebrations.’

I assented despite some deep misgivings.

By dinner time we had almost a full house. There was a great deal of shrieking and laughter. I hate to think ill of my own gender, but I swear some of the young ladies positively delighted in being caught under the mistletoe. However, the high spirits all seemed good natured and no one tried to take advantage of any of my staff. In fact once dinner was under way there was a palpable sense of relief in the air. The reality of the happy party was dispelling any foolish misgivings. When I thought of what Richenda and I had planned to do this night I almost laughed out loud.

But my relief was short lived. After dinner, when the guests decamped to the drawing-room to play charades Richenda apprehended me in the corridor. ‘All set for tonight,’ she hissed in a dramatic stage whisper.

‘Do you think it is still necessary?’ I asked. My feet were sore, my head ached, and tonight I felt the whole force of bringing the house up to scratch and the toll it had taken on me.

‘Absolutely,’ said Richenda. ‘I can sense emanations! We meet as arranged.’

If I was going to go back into her service, which was better paid and far away from the Fens and Mr Bertram, then I was going to have to do as she wanted.