A Death in the Wedding Party (3 page)

Slowly, as if I being reeled in by a fishing line Sam made his way haltingly towards me. I noticed that his right hand was clenched deep in his pocket.

‘What is in your hand?’ I asked. ‘No, Sam the other one.’

‘Oh, that be’int anyfink I could show a lady like yourself, Miss St John.’

‘Give,’ I commanded.

The little fist hovered above my palm, quivered and then let fall two shillings.’

‘Good heavens, Sam! What have you been up to?’ I knew there was no way either the Staplefords or Tipton would tip this, or indeed any amount, to have their shoes shined.

‘I can’t tell you, Miss.’

I took Sam firmly by the ear. ‘You surely can and you surely will,’ I said and with all the skill of an older sister I led him towards the kitchen. Rory appeared in the doorway. ‘Ah, let the lad have his fun, Euphemia.’

‘I require to know the nature of this fun, Mr McLeod. I take it I need not remind you that as the senior male member of staff you are responsible for whatever misdemeanour this lad has undertaken.’

Rory reached over and undid my fingers from Sam’s ears. ‘Run along with you, lad. I’ll sort this out.’

I looked up at him open mouthed in shock. My fingers tingled, not unpleasantly, from where he had touched them. I was furious. ‘How dare you flout my authority, like that?’

‘Me flout you? I thought you said the boy was my responsibility?’

‘You know exactly what I mean,’ I returned angrily.

‘Sure you are guy bonnie when you’re in a fash,’ goaded Rory.

I took a deep breath. ‘Did you pay that boy to put newts throughout the water system?’

‘Once you’ve had an infestation, as I was just telling Lord Stapleford, you never know when you might get another. Makes the place most unsuitable for a grand function.’

‘You idiot! He might well sell the Hall.’

‘Rubbish! the three of ‘em want this Hall mighty badly. It’s their father’s prize. Goodness knows why. I’ve suggested we have the plumbing system thoroughly cleaned and investigated. It needs a good going over if you ask me.’

‘And I suppose they will find newts?’ I said.

‘Pockets here and there,’ said Rory.

‘But this just delays things. It doesn’t solve matters.’

‘A delay is all we need,’ said Rory. ‘Miss Richenda is determined to be wed on her birthday and that Hall plumbing certainly can’t be refurbished by then.’

‘You think you’re very clever, don’t you?’

Rory gave a self-satisfied shrug. ‘All I know is I want the wedding off Mrs Deighton’s shoulders and that wee weasel-faced shy–’

‘Thank you, I get the idea. I have no more liking for Mr Tipton than you.’

Rory’s face clouded. ‘It’s more than that,’ he said. ‘I tell you, Euphemia, there’s something deeply wrong with that man.’

‘I’m beginning to wish I had never started this,’ said Rory. His shoes and his trouser cuffs were unsuitably muddy. We were standing in the kitchen late at night when the family was abed. Rory was holding two buckets full of newts.

I gave him a smile. ‘You didn’t think this through, did you?’ I said. ‘As soon as they think there is any chance the house will be fine, the wedding invites will be sent out.’

Rory sat down. ‘We’ve been through some daft schemes, you and I, but this is the daftest yet.’

‘Don’t include me. This is entirely your plan. And to be honest I’m surprised at you. It seems outwith your normal character.’

Rory stirred one bucket with the end of Mrs Deighton’s second best spoon. ‘They would have got rid of her, you know,’ he said. ‘Probably without a pension too. I’ve seen it done before. She’s got nae family, you know.’

‘I’m afraid all you have done is delay the inevitable. Mrs Deighton is getting too old to run the kitchen of a large house.’

‘Once Richenda and her husband have moved out …’ began Rory.

‘Who says they will? I hope it as much as you, but you know that ridiculous will for inheriting the Hall states that the children must stay in residence until they produce a legitimate heir, and whoever does so will inherit the Hall.’

‘Aye, and don’t tell me, it’s about inheriting their father’s blessing or some such nonsense rather than the Hall.’

‘I am told that in London the name of Stapleford Hall, built by the Stapleford bankers, counts for something.’

‘Aye right,’ said Rory. ‘But you’re right it doesn’t solve Mrs Deighton’s problem.’

‘We need to get her an undercook. I might have been able to argue for that if the wedding had been here.’

‘So you’re saying it’s all my fault?’

I leant over and touched Rory’s hand briefly. ‘You’ve risked your reputation and your position to protect an old lady from destitution. Your plan is ridiculous plan, but it is nobly ridiculous.’

‘Och, well,’ said Rory becoming alarmingly Scotch. ‘I need away to tend to my newts.’

I retired to my chamber and began to wrack my brains for a solution. Goodness knew that the servants here had been the first to show kindness to me when I showed up at their door, dripping wet and then began to tug dead bodies around by the leg. It seemed so long ago. In two years I felt I had aged twenty. I certainly felt the weight of responsibility for my staff, but as I finally slipped into sleep I owned to myself that not only was I making no progress in bringing the Staplefords to justice, somehow along the way I had given up. I had lost myself in everyday activities. I lived my role as a housekeeper to the full and I was good at it. I was becoming a good servant. And a good servant would never bring Sir Richard down. Things had to change.

The next morning brought change in the departure of Mr Tipton. From the little smirks that Richenda kept giving herself in the mirror at breakfast I guessed something was afoot. However, although I had once been privy to many of this family’s secrets they were doing a very good job now of keeping me out.

‘I shall be writing a letter this morning,’ announced Richenda. ‘It is a most important one and I do not care to be disturbed by the maids. See to it that the fire is lit in the little morning room and the room well-aired by the time I have finished breakfast.’

If Richenda had been a tea-and-toast breakfast type of lady this might have been a problem, but even as I hurried away to arrange matters she was tucking into her second kipper.

Later, I was clearing the breakfast things when Bertram Stapleford, the twins’ younger brother, burst into the room. ‘It’s not all gone, is it Euphemia? I could eat an elephant!’

‘I think we may have a small amount of elephant steak left, sir,’ I said with a smile. Bertram had been away for the house for several months.

‘It’s good to see you again, Euphemia – I mean Miss St John,’ said Bertram.

If I was surprised at his sudden willingness to speak to me again it was not an unwelcome surprise and I immediately busied myself with bringing him breakfast things, as I had once done at White Orchards.

He looked up at me as I set the place before him. ‘Just like old times,’ he said ruefully. ‘I took a look at the house on the way here.’

‘And how fares it?’

He sighed. ‘They have had to take the roof off now.’

‘Oh no!’ I cried.

‘Rotten joists or some such thing.’

‘But it is only just built!’

‘I think ‘thrown together’ would be a more accurate description than built. Still, you will have me back among your number for some time until all the repairs are put in order. There is no chance of my even selling the house now its true state has been revealed.’

‘I am sorry, sir.’

‘Are you?’ asked Bertram, a strange look in his dark eyes. ‘At least I shall be around to see all this wedding malarkey at first hand.’

‘Is that of interest to you, sir?’

‘Richenda insisting she marries on her birthday, the same day she comes into her full inheritance? And considering who she is marrying? I’m far from clear if my brother has played a blinder or if my stepsister is finally about to trump him.’

‘You mustn’t talk to me about the family like that!’ I exclaimed.

‘Come on, Euphemia! You know as well as I do machinations are afoot. And I for one would rather be on hand to see them through and to offer you …’

I gave him a strongly repressing look.

‘Oh yes, very well. Pass the marmalade please.’

I puzzled over Mr Bertram’s remarks, but could make no real sense of them. The business of the house continued as usual. Richenda went up to London to ready her trousseau. Sir Richard gave her a lavish spending allowance and she came back with two motor cars full of boxes. She floated around the place, very much the bride-to-be in all her glory, even though no venue had been set nor invites issued. I decided to merely be content that Tipton stayed away and to avoid thinking about the helter-skelter of planning that would ensue once a place had been determined.

When Richenda returned from London, her mood changed. She took every opportunity to goad me and I took every opportunity to remain calm and professional. I had learnt that nothing infuriated her more than someone not rising to her attacks.

Tipton had still not returned and she was behaving less and less like a bride-in-waiting. I couldn’t help wondering if it were all going to amount to nothing after all. The other sign that things were different was the inordinate amount of letters she was writing.

Then one morning Richenda erupted into my parlour. As the senior female servant I now had a small sitting room where I could study the house accounts. I had managed to rid it of most of the monstrous old, dark furniture my predecessor had favoured, and I had also been ruthless with the remnants of Victoriana. The result was a light, airy space with minimal furnishing, but a sense of harmony. My one luxury was the vase of fresh flowers I kept on the central table. The bright colours of nature always cheered me and reminded me that there was a world beyond the control of the Staplefords; the natural world where no matter how they wished their laws did not hold sway.

It was a good space, but an ecstatic Richenda overwhelmed it. She waved a letter far too close to my face and announced, ‘She is coming!’

‘Queen Mary?’ I asked without thinking.

Richenda’s face clouded. ‘No, Euphemia, I am referring to my chief bridesmaid.’

She thrust the letter further under my nose and I managed to read the name of a minor member of a European Royal House.

‘Er, congratulations.’

‘She is a relation on my late mother’s side,’ Richenda was now pacing the room in earnest. ‘We must of course ensure no one knows. For her safety.’

‘Of course,’ I said, thinking telling your housekeeper wasn’t exactly the best way to begin a campaign of silence.

Richenda stopped and looked at me with her head on one side. ‘Though these things do tend to get out.’

‘I won’t say a word.’

Richenda’s face became mulish. ‘Imagine if anyone knew,’ she said slowly and carefully, ‘every society photographer … Such a shame about Lady Grey
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. I wonder if Bertram knows her replacement?’

I gasped. ‘You’re not going to ask him, are you?’

Richenda blinked and noticed I was still there. ‘Tactless, you think? He’d never have married her. She smelled too much of shop even for our liberal-leaning Bertram.’

I swallowed. ‘I really have no notion of Mr Bertram’s love life, but I am aware he thought highly of …’

‘I wasn’t asking for your opinion.’

‘Of course not. But what it is exactly you wish my help with?’

‘Nothing,’ snapped Richenda. She slammed the door on her way causing my little vase to rock wildly.

I stared after her a strange thought crossing my mind. Could it be the Richenda had no one else to tell about her bridesmaid coup? We had the occasional party at Stapleford Hall, but without exception the guests were connected to Lord Stapleford’s constituency business or the family’s actual business interests. I closed my accounts books. When I had arrived at the household, Richenda had been returning to the house after a period of exile imposed by her father. Her interests in the suffragettes’ movement, and the fact that she had set up a house for fallen women, had not impressed her father. Richenda was unconditionally loyal to her brother, who she failed to see was made in the same mould as her father. I remain unsure if Richenda does support causes that I too would like to champion or was simply set on annoying her father. Whichever it was it had left her without high society friends of her own to the extent her housekeeper was the best person she had to boast of her royal connections. All those letters she had been writing must have been her search for a bridesmaid. I shook my head, pushing away these welcome thoughts. If I continued on the vein I would begin feeling sorry for Richenda and I could not allow such a weakness while Sir Richard Stapleford and Tipton were still weaving their various machinations. Of course, it didn’t help that I had no idea what those machinations might be. Running Stapleford Hall at full strength took a lot of time and attention. We might have been within motoring distance of London, but it could just as well have been a world away as far as news of real events was concerned.

Since accepting this appointment, I had found out far more than was necessary about the linen count of Stapleford Hall, and how many greens the family was likely to consume during the summer season. I knew their intimate details, but I knew nothing about their activities. Sir Richard had sewn me up tightly in a web of domesticity. I was too busy to be bored, but I was also totally ineffective in challenging the Stapleford misdemeanours. I had painted myself into a corner.

I had had some hope that the wedding would allow me access to more information, but Rory’s newt scheme, albeit a philanthropic idea, had changed all that. At least Mrs Deighton was safe for now.

I, on the other hand, was stuck in the doldrums.

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Lady Grey was the pseudonym of a high-class gossip columnist, who had got her claws into Bertram until she suddenly expired. See
A Death in the Asylum
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