A Death for King and Country (2 page)

Chapter Two

In which the British Government unexpectedly
calls on my aid in a most unpleasant manner

Richenda stayed in her cabin from that point onwards. Not because of a lack of desire to help, but because without any previous experience she had suddenly become the mother of a sad, confused, and exceedingly demanding toddler.

It transpired that Richenda had actually seen the dead mother brought aboard, with the child still in her arms, and it was as if she couldn’t let Amy, as she insisted on being called, go a minute without being held. Apart from seeing that she had what she needed for the child Hans let her be. He knew she was afraid he would take the child away, and to be fair most men would have done their best to have found the child a place among her own class. But Hans’ first wife had suffered a series of miscarriages, and perhaps it was this as much as his own strength of character that made him loath to take a child from his wife’s arms.

Hans is not from the upper classes, but a respectable middle-class man who has made his own fortune. Because of this he has less class sensibilities than many of his peers, and a strong feudal ethic that makes his small estate one of the best-run and happiest in the country.

But I fear if I praise Mr Muller much more it will seem as if I harbour romantic feelings towards him. I do not, but I do like him very much, and after this voyage I liked him even more. He had promised me that despite Richenda changing status from a guest in his house to his wife I would always have a home with him, and seeing how he responded to Amy made me certain for the first time that he had meant what he said.

On board the
Carpathia
I moved among the passengers, doing what I could and making as few demands upon the overstretched crew as possible. I was surprised therefore on the morning after the rescue, when I had snatched but a few hours’ rest, that I was sought out by a crewman and asked to report to the wireless station.

The wireless station on board a ship is very small and almost shack-like, so I was surprised to be asked to step inside. The wireless operator and the first mate were waiting for me.

‘Miss St John?’ asked the first mate, offering his hand, ‘I understand you and your companions have given up your stateroom. Thank you.’

‘It is no more than many have done,’ I answered confused, ‘and so much less than I would like to be able to do.’

‘Still, the attitude of passengers such as yourself is much appreciated, ma’am.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, preparing to leave. ‘I am sure you have much more important things to do than …’

The first mate shook his head. ‘No, ma’am, that’s not why you were asked here. Although if I were able I would individually thank every one of you who have showed such kindness.’ He paused. ‘We have received a wire for you.’ He frowned. ‘From the British Government.’

‘For me?’

He held out his hand to the wireless operator, who handed him a slip of paper.

‘“To be conveyed in words to Miss St John only by a senior member of the crew. Please ascertain if Mr Fitzroy among the survivors from the
Titanic
. Response desired as soon as possible. Matter of utmost secrecy and urgency. Please destroy message.”’

At this point the first mate put a match to the edge of the paper and did so. ‘We have instructions we are to wire your response as soon as we have it, ma’am.’

‘But don’t you have a list of the survivors?’ I asked.

‘It’s in hand, as is the matter of informing relatives,’ said the first mate. I noticed how tired he and the wireless operator were. The former had deep shadows under his eyes, whereas the first mate standing in my presence seemed unaware that he was swaying slightly. ‘I also understand from both this and another message we have received that any enquires must be made discreetly as much as they must be made swiftly.’

‘How then?’ I asked.

‘I believe, ma’am, that they require you to do this by sight alone.’

I made no further protestation and left the two men to their duties. I suppose I should mention at this point that Mr Fitzroy, also sometimes known as Lord Milton, is a spy for the British Empire. Through my scandalous and seeming unbreakable habit of ending up at the scenes of crimes, and often murders, I have come into contact with Mr Fitzroy on more than one occasion. Indeed, it is arguable he once saved my life. 
[2]

I certainly owed him a debt, but more than that the shadowy department for which he worked was more than aware of my true identity, as the estranged granddaughter of an earl who had been forced into service to assist her family. None of my employers had ever known who I was and I did not wish them ever to do so. It was the unspoken threat by Fitzroy’s department that if I did not help them out they would reveal my identity, as much as any debt to the man, that made me embark on this difficult task. There has been no mending of the decades-long rift between by mother and her father, and accordingly I am the family’s sole supporter.

What would make it harder was that I could not tell either Hans or Richenda what I was doing. I had signed a new-fangled thing called the Official Secrets Act, which prevents me on pain of many nasty and terrible things being done to me from talking about Fitzroy or his department. In similar situations past I had been in the company of others who have also signed the Act, such as Bertram, Richenda’s half-brother, or Rory McLeod, a most efficient butler and my one-time … 
two
-times fiancée, and it had been somewhat easier.

I spent the rest of the day moving among the survivors, helping the crew with the delivery of food and drink, and scanning the faces of all the men. Far fewer men than women had survived. The men, apart from a few passengers from First Class who had commandeered lifeboats (and who I, having seen the suffering of those whose loved ones had nobly stayed behind, felt should be thrown back in the manner of imperfect fish) were in the main the men who had rowed the boats.

I made as sure as I could that I met all the men concerned. Fitzroy, love him or hate him, and most people did one or the other, was not a man I could imagine dead. The world would certainly be the darker for the loss of his irascible charm and quick wits. But he was also a man capable of great coldness who would sacrifice anyone or anything if his King or Country required it.
[3]

As I made my way to the wireless room once more I pondered on what Fitzroy would have done in his final hours. Would he have fought for a place on a lifeboat or would he have been one of the ones compelling the rest to order? Of all of them I imagine he would have realised the situation was dire almost at once. I liked to think that if he had wanted to get off the ship he could have done and his absence dictated that at the end he had behaved like a true gentleman and helped women and children to safety even though he knew it would cost him his life.

I delivered my message to the wireless operator and left feeling rather low.

I was somewhat surprised to receive a summons to the wireless room later in the day. As before the first mate was waiting there for me. ‘I’m very sorry, ma’am,’ he said, ‘but we have received a further message that requires your attention.’

‘What is it now?’ I asked tersely. I was almost dead on my feet from fatigue.

The first mate coughed and looked uncomfortable. The wireless operator would not meet my gaze.

‘Yes?’ I asked imperiously.

‘If I might be so bold, ma’am,’ said the first mate, ‘as to ask if you are sure without doubt that the man they’re seeking is not among the rescuers.’

‘I have made as certain as I can,’ I retorted. ‘Obviously the ship is vastly overcrowded, and despite the sterling efforts of your crew there is still a certain amount of chaos above and below deck.’

‘You might like to check again, ma’am,’ said the first mate.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ I exclaimed. ‘Is this what they want me to do?’

The first mate shook his head. ‘No, ma’am. They’ve asked, if you are certain, if you also will check the dead before we commit any burials at sea.’

I blanched and the first mate rushed to bring me a wooden chair. I sat down.

‘They want me to do what?’ I said, shocked.

‘Look, ma’am, if you could give me a description of this man they are so eager to find, I will check the dead men.’ The first mate’s accent slipped a little. ‘It ain’t right to be asking a lady to look at corpses.’

The operator nodded his silent approval.

I did consider it, but I knew Fitzroy had been jealous of his true identity. Besides, I owed him more than one favour that I would likely now never be able to repay. I think perhaps a small part of me knew I would only be able to accept and move on from his death when I saw his body.

I took a deep breath. ‘It’s all right, Officer,’ I said, ‘I appreciate your concern, but my father was a village vicar and I have had occasion to see the dead before.’ I felt it wise not to include my over familiarity with murdered corpses at this moment.

‘I don’t think you understand, ma’am,’ said the first mate. ‘Some of these men have been in the water for some time.’

‘I imagine that would change their appearance for the worse,’ I said, bravely swallowing back the bile that was hitting the back of my throat.

The first mate winced. ‘There has already been some deterioration in the water. Even a few fish have … ma’am.’

A look passed between us and I understood. I managed to make it to the rail before I lost what poor lunch I had managed to snatch.

Chapter Three

A most surprising and ill-mannered visitor in
excellent shoes

I shall spare you the detail of my searches, but I can say that Fitzroy was not among the dead I saw. At the time I remember thinking, between retches, how very typical of the man it was to put me through such an experience for no gain. I dreamt for weeks of what I saw, and even today I still suffer nightmares. I confess that whole experience gave me a great distaste for travelling by sea.

Fortunately, Richenda shared my misgivings. That, and the fact she appeared to have suddenly acquired a small, but passionate daughter, made a continuation of the honeymoon on to Italy, as had been planned, impossible. I think even Hans was yearning for the safety and familiarity of his home. He made promises of taking us both abroad again soon, but I believe both Richenda and I had never been happier than when we set foot once more on British soil.

We had been back at the Muller estate for three days when Amy awoke with her normal morning scream. Hans and I, always early risers, were already sitting down to breakfast. His handsome face contorted with pain as the child’s cries echoed through the house. They quickly subsided and Hans who had paused mid-meal took the top off his egg with some fierceness.

‘I am sure Richenda will realise that she cannot remain sleeping in the child’s room,’ I said.

Hans bit savagely into a piece of toast, but being a gentleman he chewed and swallowed before he spoke. ‘I have offered her the choice of experienced nannies and children’s nurses, who may have a better idea of how best to help Amy.’

I poured him a cup of tea, rather than the more enlivening coffee. ‘Are you regretting bringing Amy back with us?’ I asked gently. ‘I think it unlikely Richenda would agree to give her up.’

‘No, of course not,’ snapped Hans. ‘Though even if I were I could hardly turn the child out. She has been through more than enough.’ He sighed. ‘I had hoped Richenda would take better to motherhood.’

I sat bolt upright in my seat. ‘That I will not allow,’ I said firmly, ‘Richenda is devoted to the girl and has barely left her side since she was pulled from the sea.’

‘Yes, but Euphemia,’ answered Hans. ‘I am not at all sure that is the best way to handle a child. Was your mother by your side day and night?’

‘I was encouraged towards independence,’ I admitted, ‘but not at the age of two.’

‘At two I was in the care of nursery maids. It was a treat and a pleasure to visit my mother each day. Certainly, there was no question of my keeping my mother from my father’s side. Such a thing would have been thought preposterous.’

I sensed that this was the root of the matter. Not only had Hans lost his honeymoon, he was now losing his bride. It was not a topic of which I could talk openly, of course. Indeed, Hans’ frustration must have been severe for him to refer to it in front of me even obliquely. I was surprised. It had hardly been a love match, but then Hans did need an heir for his estate and Richenda, though certainly not old, was not in the first bloom of youth. I suspected Hans wanted to sort out the matter of his line quickly.

I found myself blushing and became particularly attentive to my sausages.

‘Do you think, Euphemia, you could try and persuade her to accept some staff to help with the child? I will give her free rein on the appointments. We cannot go on like this.’

‘Of course,’ I said, ‘I will certainly speak to her.’

‘Perhaps you could also mention that her … er … absence from my … er …’

Dear God, did the man think he actually had to spell it out to me? The breakfast table was no place for the discussion of conjugal rights at the best of times – with his wife’s spinster companion, it was wholly inappropriate.

Fortunately my blushes and Hans’ behaviour were saved by the arrival of the Mullers’ butler, Stone, a man as solid, reliable, and silent as his name.

‘I apologise for the interruption, sir, madam, but there is a man, I believe a professional man not a tradesman, who desires a conversation with Miss St John. He says, and, if I may be so bold, appears, to have been traveling all night, and has a message of the utmost urgency for her.

‘Then I must see him,’ I said, rising gratefully from the table.

‘Do you want me to accompany you?’ asked Hans, who had also risen as if I were a proper lady and not merely his wife’s companion.

‘No, thank you, Hans,’ I said. ‘I am sure Stone is more than capable of judging the man’s character, and he has assured us this caller is no tradesman.’

‘But he didn’t call him a gentleman,’ pointed out Hans.

Stone, who had been silently standing by, impassive as a monolith, spoke once more.

‘I would not like to attach the title of gentleman to the caller, sir, but I believe him to be as respectable as any professional can be.’

There was the vaguest sneer over the word ‘professional’, for Stone, as with any good servant, regarded with unease a man who made his living by working in any other capacity.
[4]

I muttered something indistinct to them both and hurried to the morning room where I was sure Stone would have put our visitor. I did not wait for him to announce me, but showed myself in. It had occurred to me on my short trip through the house the man might be an associate of my mother and be bringing me news of her or my little brother. My mother was as keen as I that my true identity stayed hidden, and only under the direst of emergencies would she have sent me a message directly.

Awaiting me was a young man with a particularly cultivated moustache and oiled black hair, in a suit that had clearly been cut unostentatiously by the best tailors. These attributes might indeed have signalled him as a successful tradesperson, if it hadn’t been for his overly long face and slight overbite, which marked him as at least related to the aristocracy if not part of its elite. As he turned towards me there was an intimation about him of the devil-may-care confidence that Fitzroy had always displayed. I recognised him for what he was at once: a man in the special service of his country. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach.

‘You come from Fitzroy,’ I said bluntly.

‘Indeed, Miss Martins,’ he said, using my real name.

‘So I take it he’s not dead?’

The man threw back his jacket flaps and sat down. ‘Oh no, he’s still quite dead.’

I gave him a hard stare. It was the height of rudeness to sit uninvited, and even more so to take his seat while I remained standing. I did not like him. I trusted him even less.

I sat down opposite him on the edge of the sofa, my back ramrod-straight as my mother had taught me. I, at least, would display proper breeding.

‘Really dead or
conveniently
dead?’ I asked.

The man spread out his hands in front of him in a mock-helpless manner. ‘As far as I am aware he is dead. The department has had no news of him since he boarded the
Titanic
.’

‘I see. How do I figure in all this?’

‘That is also something I am at a loss to know,’ said the young man, shifting his seat to focus his attention more intently on me. ‘From our records you appear to have had no more than the mere passing acquaintance with Fitzroy.’

‘Indeed,’ I said coldly.

‘So you weren’t secretly his lover?’

I shot out of my seat. ‘I have no idea why you have come here, but if you are intent on nothing but insulting me I must insist you depart at once.’

The man sat back once more. ‘Interesting,’ he said softly. Then more boldly he added, ‘I apologise unreservedly, ma’am. That Fitzroy would ask me to call upon you for this task is extraordinary. I can only surmise he held you and your abilities in the highest esteem.’

‘And what task might that be?’

‘Oh, didn’t I say? He wants you to be his executor.’