A Death for a Cause (21 page)

I was about to say something about the misleading tendencies of journalists when I recalled Bertram's tragic (very short) romance with one, who had written a gossip column under the title of Lady Grey, and whose ambitions had been her downfall. ‘Quite,' said Bertram, as if he had read my mind, ‘but if anything had been found I imagine he would have told you.' There was a little too much emphasis on the word ‘he' and the remarkable idea that Bertram might be becoming jealous of Fitzroy began to form in my mind. Before I could ask him if this were true the door opened and Mrs Breem came in. ‘I am afraid that is all the time I can allow you. I am a businesswoman with many claims upon my time.'

‘Thank you for your help,' said Bertram, rising. ‘I believe we have seen all we need to see.'

Impulsively I asked, ‘Did Aggie light the fire in her room on the day of the march?'

Mrs Breem's face darkened. The girls are told by me when fires are allowed. Such a mess they make. Only in the coldest times do I permit their use.'

‘So she did?' I asked eagerly.

‘Yes. I remember because it was quite out of character for her. She was never one to flout rules in the general way of things. A quiet respectable woman, I always thought. Well, we all know different now, don't we? The room still smells of smoke despite the expensive of extra cleaning.'

Silently Bertram handed her a few more coins, although this time I could see there was nothing more than silver in them. Mrs Breem, both offended but also unwilling to let go of an extra penny, showed us to the door and told us not to come back.

We stood on the doorstep in the rain. ‘She burnt it,' I said miserably.

‘It seems likely,' said Bertram. ‘I am sorry, Euphemia. I think this must be the end of it. We have nowhere else left to look.'

Chapter Thirty

Bertram plays poker

Seated once more in the back of a cab, I felt almost as low as I had upon my father's own sudden demise. I gave a big sigh. Bertram laid his hand lightly on mine. ‘We have done everything we could.'

‘I still feel that I have failed,' I said sadly.

‘Even the great Fitzroy was stumped by this one,' said Bertram lightly.

‘Yes, but he was not in the cell when Maisie was killed. I feel responsible. How could I not have noticed?'

‘You had had a difficult and trying day,' said Bertram. ‘I do not doubt you were exhausted. Besides what reason did you have to think she was in danger.'

I turned my head to face him, blinking back tears. ‘She was so young, Bertram, and she was so scared. I should have tried harder to get her to talk to me.'

‘I am sure you did all you could.'

‘I wish I thought so,' I replied. ‘I fear my guilt over her death will always weigh heavily on me.'

‘That is ridiculous,' said Bertram. ‘The guilt lies with the killer.'

‘I am not sure emotions can be over-ruled by rationality. I do know that I am not wholly to blame, but I was a participant in the actions around her death. If I had played my part differently …'

Bertram rapped on the cab with his cane. Then he redirected us to the Blake's house.

‘What on earth are you doing?'

‘Have I ever told you, Euphemia, that I am rather good at poker? I don't play very much because generally I find gambling somewhat of a bore. Or at least the people who play it are, but in the gentleman's clubs in town I am known as ‘Bluffing Bertie.'

‘No,' I said shocked.

‘No, well, but I should be,' said Bertram. ‘I am remarkably good at bluffing at cards.' I must have looked doubtful. In my limited experience Bertram was extremely prone to blushing. ‘It is all in the mind set,' he said. ‘Once one thinks oneself into the game. It is straightforward. Players have many different strategies. I run through the number of fish I know.'

‘Fish?' I said bewildered.

‘Yes, I name all the freshwater ones I can think of first and then I move on to the sea ones. If I have to continue I run through the alphabet naming fruit. In my head of course.'

‘You mean you concentrate on not thinking about the bluff?' I said as understanding dawned. Bertram nodded eagerly. ‘But how does this help us?'

‘I say,' said Bertram, ‘we visit the Blakes. We let Lady Blake know we have made the acquaintance of Mrs Breem and that we know all.'

‘But we don't know anything. We only suspect.'

‘That's the bluff.'

‘But we have no idea why Lady Blake would have done this!' I protested. ‘If indeed she did.'

‘It will be love, money, fear of scandal, or all three,' said Bertram. ‘Perhaps she was having an affair with Wilks and he threatened to leave her.'

‘Or was blackmailing her over it?' I said. ‘There are a thousand and one reasons.'

‘That's why we are going to bluff,' said Bertram. ‘We are going to make her think we know.'

‘This is a very adventurous plan for you,' I said. ‘Even I am daunted.'

‘I am not totally adverse to risk, you know,' said Bertram, looking hurt. ‘Besides, you are so upset by this damn business and Fitzroy has swanned off, abandoning you.'

‘So you are going to fix what Fitzroy could not?' I said, a smile playing on my lips.

‘Yes, I damn well am!' said Bertram.

I felt this plan was the height of foolishness, but I did not have the heart to stop him. Bertram had his pride like any other man. I only hoped he could pull it off.

When the cab drew up outside the Blakes' London residence I half expected sense to have taken up its rightful place in Bertram's brains once more, but it appeared not. He paid the cabman and helped me out. ‘What if they are not in?'

‘It is luncheon time. If she is not at home then I shall persuade the butler to tell us where she is engaged and we will go and wait for her,' said Bertram and strode up to the front door.

Our bearing, accents, and visiting cards ensured the butler admitted us. However, he set us to wait in a side room as luncheon was about to be served. ‘I fear you will have to wait, sir, madam. Unless you would like to call later in the day?' he said hopefully.

‘I am afraid our business with Lady Blake is of some urgency,' said Bertram.

‘In that case I shall see if some tea and fruit can be sent up to you,' said the butler bowing slightly. ‘Unless you would prefer sherry?'

I could see from Bertram's face he was on the verge of asking for a swift brandy, but he pulled himself back from the brink and declined for both of us.

We were in a small morning room that overlooked the street. On a good day doubtless the large windows made it a very pleasant room. The furniture, much padded, was of blue and white and in brighter light might have been quite cheering. However, today it was cold and somehow sad. The fire had not been lit and the empty black hearth reminded me of a black abyss. I said as much to Bertram and he told me to stop daydreaming. The door opened, but instead of the butler, a well-dressed, middle-aged man with iron grey hair and a serious demeanour entered.

‘I am Harrington Blake,' he announced. ‘I hear you wish to see my wife? I am afraid, Mr Stapleford, Miss St John, your names are quite unknown to me.'

‘Indeed,' said Bertram. ‘We are most sorry to disturb you, but our business concerns only your wife.'

‘When a strange man demands to see his wife might a husband not enquire the reason why?'

‘My mother, Mrs Martins, is engaged to your wife's cousin,' I said desperately. ‘Mr Stapleford is merely escorting me.'

‘Which one?'

At this point I realised that my mother had not told me her beau's name. ‘The Bishop,' I said hoping that the Blake family were not generally ecumenically minded.

‘Oh, Larry,' said Sir Harrington. ‘I had heard something of that. Still, it is a very strange time to call, young lady.'

‘The matter is urgent,' piped up Bertram.

‘Very well,' said Sir Harrington, ‘I shall send for my wife to join us, but I will remain. My wife has been out of sorts of late. She has recently returned from a short period of convalescence, but it seems to have done little to restore her.'

Bertram and I exchanged glances. Did her husband really not know where she had been?

Sir Harrington rang for the butler, who appeared with a tea tray which he set down and then went to find Lady Blake.

The lady entered the room, glancing from Bertram to I and I thought I saw a flash of fear, but it was quickly covered as she swept in to kiss me on both cheeks. ‘Euphemia, how charming! Your mother did not tell me that you were going to call on us.'

‘We have been so see Mrs Breem,' said Bertram.

Lady Blake paled.

‘She allowed us to look through Aggie Phelps' effects,' I said gently. ‘To see her letters.'

Lady Blake sank down onto a chair. Her husband hurried to her side. ‘My dear, do you feel unwell. Shall I send for a doctor.'

‘Tea,' said Lady Blake, ‘some tea, Harry.'

Her husband hurriedly poured her a cup and passed it to her. Lady Blake took one sip and pulled a face. ‘I never take sugar with China tea. You should know that my now.'

And then I knew. I knew she had killed Maisie, but how on earth was it ever to be proved?

Harrington Blake turned on us. ‘I don't know what you are about, but you have distressed my wife. I must ask you to leave this house immediately.'

I ignored him. ‘Did Maisie see something?' I asked. ‘Was it you that set the bomb. Is that why she had to die?'

‘Die? Bomb? What are you blathering about?' demanded Blake.

‘And Aggie, did she have any idea she would die? Did she think it was some kind of test? Whatever Wilks did to you, you killed two innocent women. What could be worth such evil?'

‘And you tried to put the blame on the suffragettes,' said Bertram.

Lady Blake gave a low moan and her cup tipped out of her hand. Sir Harrington knelt beside her. ‘My dear, you are unwell. You must go upstairs and rest. I will deal with these people.'

Lady Blake brought her mouth close to her husband's ear and whispered something. Harrington went white. He helped his wife to her feet. ‘Go,' he said. ‘I will arrange matters.'

Lady Blake tottered to the door. She had aged before our very eyes. She shut the door carefully behind her without looking back. ‘Now,' said Sir Harrington Blake turning to us, ‘I don't know what you think you know, but I should warn you I am a man of significance in this country and I will not stand to see my wife slandered in any way whatsoever.'

‘There are deaths to be accounted for, Sir Harrington,' said Bertram. ‘I gather from your wife's reaction and yours that she did what she did to protect you. You are, as you say, a man of significance. A rising star in political circles, so I am told. And rising stars can afford no scandal.'

‘Hah!' said Blake, ‘and this coming from a man related to Richard Stapleford, a blackguard if ever there was one.'

‘You said you did not know me,' said Bertram.

‘One does not
know
persons of such a background. As for you, Miss Martins, I would have thought you had quite enough scandal in your own personal history without adding to it. I warn you both, any allegations you dare to make will be disproved utterly by the best lawyers in the country. You will both be ruined.'

‘You are very loyal to her, sir,' I said. ‘But you cannot condone what she has done.'

Blake hesitated then, and I saw that although he now suspected, he did not know the full extent of his wife's activities.

‘There was a young girl called Maisie in the cell with your wife and myself,' I began, but at that moment we were all distracted by a shadow falling past the window.

‘Good God! Was that a body?' said Bertram rushing to the window. And then the screaming outside began.

Final Correspondence

Sir Harrington Blake announced in the newspapers he decision to retire from public life to focus on his recent purchase of a railway line. In this the article salaciously added he would be joined by his natural son, who two weeks after his wife's unfortunate accident he named as his heir.

Fitzroy sent me a brief note with a smudged foreign postmark. It read

All sorted then? F

P.S. I hear you look well in red.

Of course, I immediately burnt his note.

And, lastly, my mother wrote to say that despite ‘occurrences' she remained engaged to her Bishop and would be married in the New Year. When, she added, she expected me to join her and little Joe, and live at the Bishop's Palace.

To be continued …

P.S.
Euphemia's adventures continue in
A Death by Arson
, but in the meantime you can find out what happens to her later in 1912 in the short story ‘
What the Dickens?
'

A Death For A Cause

A Euphemia Martins Mystery

Published by Accent Press Ltd – 2015

ISBN 9781783757169

Copyright ©
Caroline Dunford
2015

The right of
Caroline Dunford
to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author's imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, Ty Cynon House, Navigation Park, Abercynon, CF45 4SN

Caroline Dunford
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