A Death in the Loch (10 page)
‘Or two!’ I exclaimed. ‘Honestly, Merry, stop with this ridiculousness. You’ll give us both nightmares.’
‘But you do think something’s bad happened, don’t you?’ persisted Merry.
‘I can’t say I anticipate a happy outcome,’ I confessed.
[10]
‘So you do think she’s been murdered!’
‘No, I think this foolishness of using cold water to tighten the skin has been the end of her. It might be all very well to do it on some spa somewhere, but I doubt she anticipated the freezing cold of Scotch water.’
‘You think she’s been killed by the cold?’ said Merry in a voice of disbelief. ‘How very dull.’
‘But still very final,’ I said. ‘And now, Merry, I am going to sleep.’ I lay down, turned on my side and pulled the covers over my head.
I was midway through a dream in which I was explaining to Rory the correct way to eat lobster. I should note here I have no idea how to eat lobster. We were sitting by the side of a beautiful lake, or maybe loch; the dream hadn’t revealed the specifics yet. The day was glorious and Rory, I felt sure, was about to offer me an engagement ring made from stardust and sunshine, when the loch or lake made an alarming loud belch and gave up its dead. The body of the late Miss Flowers floated over to us. Her face was ringed with aspidistra leaves, her eyes wide and dark with death. She parted blue lips and said, ‘For God’s sake, Euphemia, wake up!’
I shot up in bed. My heart was clamouring in my chest as if it wished nothing more than to escape its place. My skin was slick with perspiration. I could feel myself shaking. In the darkness I could just make out Merry’s sleeping form.
‘Euphemia!’
I gave a little shriek and pinched myself.
‘For God’s sake, Euphemia, wake up. Before I set the whole bloody household on us.’ The exasperation in Bertram’s tone more than anything brought me back to reality. I got up and struggled into my dressing gown in the dark. I tied back my hair roughly.
‘I’m coming,,’ I whispered as aloud as I dared. ‘I need to make myself decent.’
He stopped banging on the door at that, but I could practically hear his impatience. Merry, always a deep sleeper, missed the very excitement she had been pining for. Finally I opened the door. I was relieved to see he was fully dressed and apparently sober. Although in this regard I had learned that appearances of sobriety in gentlemen can be most misleading.
‘What on earth is it, Bertram, that you must come to my bedchamber in such an inappropriate manner?’
‘It’s Rory,’ said Bertram. ‘I rather fear he’s murdered Miss Flowers.’
[10]
The importance of being truthful, learned at my father’s knee, has caused me much difficulty throughout my life.
A difficult night with difficult people
My first reaction was one of disbelief. ‘No!’ I said firmly.
‘I’m afraid so, Euphemia. There is little other explanation.’
‘No, no and no,’ I said emphatically. ‘Not only is Rory no murderer, but for him to be accused again in his homeland is ludicrous!’
[11]
‘It is without the bounds of possibility,’ I added for emphasis, and to show that Rory wasn’t the only one who had an extensive vocabulary.
[12]
I reached out and gave Bertram a pinch on the arm.
‘Oi!’ he said in a most ungentlemanly and rather alarmed way.
‘Just checking I was awake.’
‘Aren’t you meant to pinch yourself,’ he said petulantly, rubbing his arm.
‘I’ve done that but you could still be a hallucination. What you’re saying is preposterous.’
‘Look, I know you’re still damn well in love with the fellow …’
‘Mr Stapleford!’ I said in the outraged tone of a Duchess.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, just come with me. He’s in the library.’
‘Have you called the police?’ I asked.
‘Not yet.’
‘All right,’ I conceded. ‘I will come with you despite the hour, if only to save you from your own foolishness.’
Bertram muttered something under his breath about God saving him from difficult females. I decided to feign deafness. It was inconceivable that Merry would not soon awaken if we continued our discussion here and the last thing I wanted was Merry weaving stories about tonight’s doings. Bertram isn’t a naturally imaginative man, but he is a passionate one, and once convinced he is in the right he is staunch in his stance. Or, some might say, as stubborn-headed as a mule.
I followed him through the house to the library. The rest of the rooms appeared to be shut up and dark. Good, no one else was in on this.
‘Who did you leave guarding Rory? Jock?’ I asked.
‘No one,’ said Bertram. ‘He gave me his word he would await our return.’
‘Bertram, you do realise if he was a murderer that would have been a very stupid thing to have done.’
‘A gentleman’s word, Euphemia!’
‘The word of a man you suggest is a killer. The last time I checked, murderers weren’t generally described as honourable.’
Bertram did not answer, but quickened his pace enough that by the time we arrived at the library I was more than a little breathless. He threw open the library door and stormed in as if was preparing to wrestle Rory to the ground mid-escape attempt. I followed more slowly behind, but I was in time to witness the expression on Rory’s face. He had been warming himself by the embers of the fire. He turned towards us and sneered at Bertram. This response made me feel my first qualm. Rory, the butler, would never display his displeasure with those he considered his superiors, even when he witnessed the often extremely poor behaviour of the so called upper classes.
‘Did you think I would go back on my word?’ Rory said coldly. ‘I may not be a gentleman, but my word is my bond.’
‘I didn’t,’ said Bertram flushing, ‘but Euphemia …’
Rory turned to me, his face furious. I held up my hand. ‘No, don’t drag me in to this display of male bravado! I merely said that no murderer could be trusted to keep their word,’ Rory started to speak, but I spoke over him, ‘BUT,’ I shouted, ‘I said there was no way I would ever believe you could be a murderer.’
Rory deflated before my eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Euphemia.’
‘I will always believe in you,’ I said.
Rory moved towards me, his hands outstretched. A look from Bertram checked him.
‘I am afraid I still have the most serious doubts,’ Bertram said. ‘I require an explanation that gives a good reason for your actions.’
Rory’s face closed in upon itself and he stepped back again. ‘I have already said I have nothing to say to you, Bertram Stapleford.’ Hostility was written in every line of Rory’s body. The two men stood opposite one another, glowering.
‘If you do not provide an explanation I will be forced to hand you over to the police, McLeod.’
‘So I understand,’ said Rory, coldly.
‘Oh for heaven’s sake.’ I almost said ‘boys’. ‘The two of you are behaving like children. Will one of you kindly tell me what is going on?’
Bertram said, ‘Very well. I found Rory searching Miss Flowers’s room. Doubtless removing evidence.’
‘What were you doing in her room?’
‘Exactly my question!’ said Bertram.
‘No, I meant you, Bertram?’ Rory’s lips twitched at this.
‘I heard a noise,’ said Bertram with extreme dignity.
‘But why were you prowling around at night?’ I asked.
‘I do not prowl,’ growled Bertram, momentarily looking for all the world like a badly bearded tiger. ‘Anyway, I am not the one on trial here.’
‘So it’s trial I’m on, is it?’ said Rory, becoming alarmingly Scotch. ‘And you’ll be judge, jury, and executioner, man, will you?’
‘I didn’t mean that,’ blustered Bertram.
‘Enough,’ I said, my patience snapping. ‘I am not a butler able to swan around the place. Nor am I guest of the house. I am a maid. A maid! As a maid I scrub stairs, beat carpets, make beds, and generally spend the entire day working until when it finally comes to my overly late bed time – when I get to have a few short hours well-deserved sleep – I am tired. I am sore. And after an extremely long and tiring day I am awoken during my very few hours of allotted and well-earned sleep, dragged from my bed, and brought here to listen to the two of you bicker about ridiculous accusations. I am not a happy lady. Do you both understand that?’
Neither of them actually said ‘Yes, Euphemia,’ but they both looked suitably sheepish.
‘Now, both of you, sit down!’ I can at times summon my mother’s demeanour and this proved to be one of them. Both men exchanged glances united for a moment in the male fear of what they all too often deem mysterious female behaviour. Under my steely gaze they sat. At this point I realised I had never been quite so angry with either of them.
‘Bertram, why were you up so late?’
‘I was trying to discover what our guests were involved in,’ said Bertram. ‘It’s damn difficult trying to do whatever Fitzroy wants us to do when we don’t know what it is.’
I couldn’t but help agree with that. ‘Why do you assume that Rory was not doing the same?’
‘He’s a butler,’ said Bertram.
‘Meaning I’m not important enough to think for myself?’ asked Rory indignantly.
‘Quiet, Rory, you’ll get your chance.’ I spoke dismissively, as if talking to an errant child. Few men are proof against this tone when they deserve it and he lapsed into silence.
‘More precisely, Bertram why did you think Rory was up to no good? Did you also know about his affair with Miss Flowers?’
Both men spoke simultaneously and loudly. ‘I cannot hear you if you both talk at once,’ I said, but I had pushed it too far.
‘I understand you’re tired, Euphemia,’ said Rory, ‘but no man can take being talked down to by a woman like this.’
Bertram made a muttering noise which was probably an agreement.
Rory continued, ‘I have no idea why you think I was having an affair with Miss Flowers. It may be common practice in whatever houses you have visited for there to be upstairs-downstairs trysts, but I have my standards. I would never condone such practice in a member of my staff, let alone indulge in it myself. And as for a woman like Miss Flowers!’
‘Exactly,’ said Bertram, seeming to forget he and Rory had ever been at odds. ‘No man in his right mind would have a dalliance with her.’ I expected him to make some comment about her vulgarity, but he surprised me by saying, ‘Far too scheming by half. That woman’s a shark if ever I’ve seen one.’
‘Agreed,’ said Rory tersely.
‘But what were you doing in her room last night?’ I asked.
‘I have never been in her room afore tonight,’ said Rory.
‘But I saw you!’ I protested.
‘So now who’s been prowling?’ said Bertram. Rory and I ignored him. ‘I give you my word,’ said Rory, meeting my eye.
I closed my eyes and ran through the scene again in my mind’s eye. ‘Oh, the aspidistra,’ I said.
‘Is this some kind of code word?’ asked Bertram, ‘Because Fitzroy didn’t mention …’
‘I must have got turned around when I was wrestling with it.’ I thought hard. ‘That means I saw you come out of the library.’
‘Aye, I was there,’ said Rory.
‘Why?’ demanded Bertram. ‘And what were you doing, Euphemia?’
‘I was woken by a noise. I couldn’t work out what it was, but I tracked it down to this corridor. It’s amazing how sound carries through a silent house at night. It was Miss Flowers laughing – well, giggling.’
‘And you saw me coming out of what you thought was her room. Och, Euphemia, I hoped you thought better of me than that.’
I felt myself go red. ‘Sorry,’ I said very quietly.
‘We seem to have explained everything now except Rory’s repeated nocturnal ramblings,’ declared Bertram.
‘I have no intention of explaining myself. I resign.’
‘Well, leaving aside it’s not me you work for,’ said Bertram acidly, ‘I cannot in good conscience let you leave this house before the woman in question is found.’
‘And how exactly do you plan to stop me?’ said Rory rising from his seat. He had at least three inches on Bertram in height and was half again as wide at the shoulders.
‘Don’t you dare threaten Bertram,’ I snapped. ‘You know he has a weak heart.’
‘Euphemia, I do not need you to defend me,’ cried Bertram, but he was looking a little pale around the gills Rory glanced at his face and must have seen this too as he sat down again.
‘Why did you have to bring her into it?’ he said plaintively to Bertram.
‘I thought you might tell her the truth. I’m more than aware you hold Euphemia in high esteem and that you think little of me.’
Rory winced. ‘You’re one of the better toffs I’ve met,’ he said.
‘Rory, we are at an impasse until you tell us what you were doing. Please,’ I begged, ‘I really do want to get back to my bed.’
‘Och, very well, if you must have it. I was looking for maps.’
[11]
I refer here to a previous adventure. Well, it wasn’t so much an adventure as a nightmare, but Merry called it an adventure.
[12]
Yes, I know Bertram wasn’t around for that particular conversation, but in my defence I was still only half-present in the waking world.
In which things are both more and less than they seem
This time it was Bertram who pinched himself. ‘Maps?’ he said in incredulous tones. His face wore an expression that suggested should Rory have declared his intention to fly to the moon he would have found it more believable.
‘Oh good grief,’ I said. I had the awful feeling that a great deal more conversation would be needed before this situation was resolved. I thought wistfully of my bed. ‘Why,’ I said as calmly and reasonably as I could, ‘were you looking for maps, Rory. Did you want to go for a walk?’
Both men levelled a cold hard stare in my direction, but really I could think of no other reason for wanting a map.
‘Ask him,’ said Rory, he jerked his head towards Bertram. ‘He’s English!’
‘So am I, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Of course not,’ said Rory, ‘you’re a female.’
