A Death in the Asylum (9 page)

I went over to the window and tried to make out the view below, but it was too dirty for me to do so. I sat for a while, but found I could not easily stay still, so I contented myself with pacing and thinking about what I would say. By the time Mr Edward entered the room I had convinced myself this was a foolish errand, but had marshalled my facts into good order.

He looked much the same as he had in the Highlands. There was no reason why he should have changed but in this strange and shabby setting I had expected him to be different. But he remained a man in his middle years, with a mild and unprepossessing face except for a pair of extremely bushy eyebrows. He was wearing a very well-cut but underplayed brown suit. His voice, when he spoke, had lost none of its authority.

‘Miss Martins, I hear you have been troubled by inconvenient corpses again.’

‘Only one corpse so far, Mr Edward. The fate of the other victim hangs in the balance. But I am not at all sure this is something for you. If you are indeed …’ I looked around helplessly. ‘… what you were before.’

Mr Edward chuckled. ‘You of all people, Miss Martins, should know that appearances can be deceptive. Have a seat and tell me why this particular puzzle will not interest the bureau.’

I related the facts in order and in some detail as I was unsure what was important and what was not.

‘So it is your belief that the message about a lost child was what caused Mrs Wilson distress?’

‘I may be making too much of what Dr Simpson said, but I got the impression there was some secret in Mrs Wilson’s past. His warning to me also of not allowing history to repeat itself lends credence to the suggestion.’

‘Do you know if the late Lord Stapleford’s rather eccentric will applied to all his children or only his legitimate heirs?’

‘I have no idea,’ I said startled.

‘In my experience most men repeat their mistakes.’

‘You mean there may be other children?’

‘It is an avenue worth considering.’

‘Is it too much to think that Miss Wilton may have pushed the glass?’ I asked.

‘She is – was – an ambitious young lady. We have been aware of her activities for a while.’

‘Do you mean she was a foreign spy?’ I asked breathless.

Mr Edward gave a bark of laughter. ‘I do enjoy your company, Miss Martins.’ He took out a handkerchief and dabbed at one eye. ‘No. Merely that in her attempts to become a journalist of note rather than a mere society writer she was asking a lot of awkward questions in a lot of difficult areas. You see, most women of note longed to appear in her column, mentioned favourably, of course, and most women of note …’

‘Are married to men of note,’ I finished for him.

‘I was considering recruiting her,’ said Mr Edward. ‘She had a fine network of information, but further study suggested her personality as well as her health made her unsuitable for our work.’

I blinked at the word “our” but decided he was adopting a royal stance.

‘The asylum she took you to is one of the very best in the country. Dr Frank is extremely well regarded.’

‘I fail to see the connection,’ I begun.

‘But that is it exactly, Miss Martins. It is all about connections.’

‘Miss Wilton kept notes.’

‘I shall have them retrieved from the local police force. As to this matter of a second doctor. Was she, in your opinion, the kind of woman who would have told her admirer that the doctor had been merely so he would leave her alone?’

‘No, she was the kind of woman who revelled in attention.’

‘Perhaps not if she was feeling extremely unwell?’ suggested Mr Edward with a fierce frown.

‘Sir, my head is going round. I cannot see how all these pieces are connected.’

‘Neither can I. But I can see certain lines of enquiry to follow.’

‘So you think it is worth pursuing?’

‘If there’s an outside chance of getting Richard Stapleford under control it’s worth investigating.’

‘By under control, you mean?’

‘I mean what I mean, Miss Martins. The man’s a damned loose cannon in more ways than one and now he’s a member of parliament he has even more potential for causing harm.’

‘What should I do?’

‘Return to the hotel and be ready to receive my instructions.’

‘Your instructions?’

‘Shall we say then my suggestions? You did, after all, come to me for my help.’

‘But I thought you would …’

‘Deal with it?’ said Mr Edward. ‘As you said, my dear, the evidence here is extremely thin. I may be able to give you some pointers when I have consulted our files, but I’m afraid that solving this puzzle will be down to you and Bertram Stapleford.’

‘But he will be tied up with the funeral arrangements. The family. He couldn’t possibly …’

Mr Edward rose. ‘Then you will have to find someone else to aid you. Good day, Miss Martins. I will give your grandfather your regards.’

‘I’d really rather you didn’t,’ I said.

Mr Edward smiled slightly and held the door open for me. ‘You’ll hear from me in due course.’

The young woman at the front desk gave me a cheery goodbye just as if I had come in to be fitted for a coat. I made my way down the dark and dirty staircase wondering what on earth I had got myself involved with.

I arrived back at the hotel to find Bertram in a terrible state. ‘Bea’s parents are abroad and her brothers are in the country or involved in some business that cannot be left. I’m not sure of the way of it, but in short they have asked that I begin the arrangements for them. Euphemia, I have no idea what to do! I’ve telephoned to Richard and asked him to send me more staff, but they won’t be here for at least a couple of days.’

I pulled my gloves off and threw them down on the table. ‘Then you are lucky you have me on your staff, sir, because I have considerable experience in the arrangement of funerals.’

‘Euphemia, you are a marvel.’

‘Who is Lord Richard sending?’ I asked, thinking of the difficulties of keeping Merry and Merrit under control in the circumstances.

‘Rory McLeod. Apparently, he was very keen to lend a hand.’ Bertram gave me a hard look. ‘I can’t think why.’

Chapter Eight
Tea with the Butler

The next four days disappeared in a flurry of details and arrangements. Fortunately, this gave Bertram no chance to discover whether I had followed through my plan to visit Mr Edward. When I returned to the hotel I had found him closeted with the local police. I next met him at breakfast when he was consumed with the problems of the arrangements before him and seemed to have forgotten our previous conversation. All his attention was turned to observing the proprieties correctly.

Rory arrived early the second day, but I only heard about this as I was so busy finding the correct venue (in this and other London-related matters, the concierge was able to give me excellent advice.) Then I was sending out the funeral notices. I received constant and demanding telegrams from the Wiltons, who were hotfooting their way across Europe as fast as possible. These communications were naturally addressed to Bertram and just as naturally he passed them back to me to deal with.

For the first time I was able to display to my own satisfaction that I was more than competent to be a private secretary. Being a housekeeper was not a dissimilar task except instead of dealing with a pickling crisis and linen overhauls I was involved in more administrative tasks. There were so many conflicting demands from various relatives that my diplomatic skills, as well as my planning acumen, were tested to the limits. I found it totally absorbing. On several occasions I caught myself up with a guilty start; I was enjoying this and it did not seem appropriate to be enjoying the arrangements of a funeral.

Bertram bent over my paper-laden desk. ‘I don’t believe Richenda could have done a better job,’ he said. ‘It was so unfortunate that she has been taken ill and this burden fell on your shoulders, but you have done magnificently. One could almost imagine you were born to this role.’

He meant this kindly and so I did not correct him that his stepsister would not and could not have done half as good a job. Richenda’s excuses for not attending had begun with her horse being sick, expanded to Baggy Tipton’s continuing presence requiring her to remain as hostess and finally, when all else had failed, she had declared a sick-headache which she felt was liable to develop into either a raging fever or a severe case of the chills. I think even Richard felt she was letting the side down, which was why he had taken the almost unprecedented step of leaving Stapleford Hall without either a housekeeper or a butler when he sent Rory to us.

Before he left Bertram touched me on the shoulder. ‘Glad you didn’t follow through on the plan of yours last night. We were both shocked and distressed – there’s no reason to trouble you-know-who. The local authorities are quite satisfied.’

Of course I should have corrected him at the time, but I can only offer as excuse that my mind was occupied with where to seat the Countess of X, who had unreasonably decided to accept her courtesy invite to the memorial service. If he challenged me later I would say my mind was taken up with the proprieties.

It was shortly before dinner that I was disturbed in the room I had been assigned as a working office. ‘Hallo, Euphemia,’ said Rory, his voice burring with his soft accent. He was leaning casually in the doorway quite unlike his normal upright posture when he was on duty at Stapleford Hall. ‘So this is where you’ve been hiding. Don’t you know there’s work to be done, lass?’

An indignant retort sprung to my lips, but I saw the twinkle in his eyes. I rose and went over to shake his hand. ‘It’s good to see you, Rory.’

Rory took in my desk. ‘Have you been arranging everything?’ he asked.

‘Mr Bertram is almost constantly out with Merrit seeing the arrangements through and visiting people.’

‘But you are doing all the formal planning and responding to letters and telegrams?’

I didn’t answer.

‘Am I right? That man works you like a dog.’

‘Oh come, Rory. He’s stricken with grief.’

‘Guilt more like. He’d only known the woman five minutes, so I cannae believe his heart was engaged. But he certainly should have known not to encourage her in this investigation business.’

‘You know about that?’

‘Her younger brother lives not far from Stapleford. He came round and made his views known to Lord Stapleford – loudly.’

‘Neither he nor his wife were concerned enough to take on the funeral arrangements,’ I retorted.

‘More than that. Richard is paying for all this. Apparently, Miss Wilton had been denied her heart’s desire not because she was a woman, as she fondly believed, but because her family felt her intellect and stamina were not up to a task that would place an intolerable burden upon her.’

‘Women being the weaker sex, of course,’ I said, my lip curling.

‘Euphemia, they were right in this case. The woman died.’

‘The hotel doctor said that given her condition she could have died at any time. Bertram said she knew that and she wanted to make the most of her time.’

‘Aye, well, I can see that. Just as I can see her family wanted to protect her.’

‘Come in, sit down and have some tea,’ I said. ‘I’ll ring for some.’

Rory came in and settled in a comfortable armchair. ‘You’re quite at home doing this, aren’t you?’

‘It comes to me more readily than housekeeping, I’ll admit, but even that is improving.’

Rory grinned.

‘It is.’

‘When the house isn’t falling down about your ears!’

‘Oh that! It all seems a thousand miles away now. The builders should be finished by the time we return.’

Rory’s face darkened.

I added quickly. ‘How will they manage at the hall without you?’

‘I have no idea,’ said Rory. ‘I’ve left copious instructions, but it will likely fall on Miss Richenda to issue day-to-day orders to individual staff.’

‘It will be chaos!’

‘She’s not as incapable as she lets people think. She did run the shelter for fallen women in London.’

‘I thought she only took an interest.’

Rory shook his head. ‘No, she was apparently very heavily involved. Her father’s will and her greed for Stapleford Hall changed all that.’

‘You don’t like her much, do you?’

‘She’s one of my employers. My liking or disliking is not applicable or appropriate.’

‘I’ve seen Mr Edward,’ I said desperately trying to divert Rory from our usual bone of contention. It did not have quite the desired effect.

‘You’ve what!’ thundered Rory.

‘With the police turning up and us being involved in another strange death I thought I should enlist his advice. He gave me his direction for that very purpose.’

‘Strange death?’

‘There was some talk of a doctor being here before the doctor actually arrived. Bertram thinks it was Miss Wilton trying to reassure him, but what with our visit to the asylum and the whole séance event and Mrs Wilson’s attack I thought there might be something all behind it. He did say …’ I trailed off.

‘Aye, I suppose you were wise to seek him out. You have a rare knack of getting into trouble. I take it he told you there was nothing to worry about?’

‘Actually he said he’d look into it and get back to me.’

‘What?’

‘He did say he wouldn’t have staff to investigate it himself and that I would have to take any matters into my own hands. As long as I could find someone to help me.’

‘Oh no. No way, Euphemia. Last time we got mixed up with that lot we almost got shot and we had to watch a man be executed. That’s not something I want to go through again.’

‘I’m not sure how much choice I have. I did more or less agree.’

‘Euphemia!’ exploded Rory.

Fortunately I was saved at this point by the arrival of the tea-tray. It is very difficult for a man of even common breeding who has an ounce of gentility in his soul to be angry around a tea-tray and certainly not a butler: there is the fine china to be considered.

‘So what’s the story you’ve concocted in your head this time?’ asked Rory.

‘I don’t have one,’ I said bluntly. ‘I have only bits and pieces. Mrs Wilson’s strange reaction to the séance. Her argument with Lord Richard. Her attack. Miss Wilton’s determined pursuit of Bertram. Her interest in the asylum – which I first thought was a hope that she could get Lord Richard incarcerated due to his previous activities, but Bertram assures me he has not divulged any family secrets to her despite her hints to me that he had. Miss Wilton’s declaration a doctor had visited when the hotel doctor was across town.’

‘Hmm, it doesn’t amount to much. Mrs Wilson was – hopefully is – a puritanical old stick and would be shocked at the mention of what I presume was meant to refer to a love-child. Lord Richard was in a foul mood that night. I heard him arguing with Tipton. Tipton even left the hall for a few days until Richenda managed to persuade him back. The attack was probably an opportunist burglar and, as for Miss Wilton’s death, it is tragic, but not unexpected. I have no doubt her story about a doctor was merely to assure Mr Bertram. He can be annoyingly persistent.’

I ignored this final comment. ‘When did Tipton leave the hall? Was it immediately?’

‘No,’ said Rory slowly. ‘The disagreement dragged on. It was sometime later.’

‘Was he at the hall the day Miss Wilton died?’

Rory thought for a moment. ‘No.’ Then he laughed. ‘You’re surely not suggesting he came to London and, what? Frightened Miss Wilton to death? I know his fashion sense leaves a lot to be desired, but …’

‘Rory, this is not a time to be humorous!’

‘Why would he do it?’

‘Miss Wilton was closing in on Bertram. He could have thought she’d get Bertram to the altar before he got Richenda there. First one to start a family …’

‘It doesn’t bear thinking about.’

‘No,’ I said.

‘Good grief,’ said Rory.

‘What colour are Tipton’s eyes?’

‘I have no idea,’ said Rory. ‘Why? You do ask the most extraordinary questions.’

‘I saw the eyes of my attacker.’

‘Then you must tell the police!’

‘I did,’ I responded. ‘Sergeant Davies advised me to keep the information to myself until the investigation had progressed further.’

‘He thought you were in danger?’ asked Rory aghast.

‘I think so. Which is why I was keen to come to London with Mr Bertram. But I fear the danger has followed us.’

‘Did Miss Wilton keep a notebook?’ asked Rory with that quickness of mind I found so stimulating.

‘Yes. I told Mr Edward this, but I fear the local police have taken it.’

‘And Mr Bertram had no idea what she was investigating?’

I shook my head.

‘So where do we go from here?’ asked Rory.

‘Wherever Mr Edward sends us,’ I replied.

‘Wherever that may be,’ muttered Rory darkly, but I was heartened to hear he did not correct my pronoun. It was a tacit agreement to help. But then I knew he would never let me go into danger alone. Really, I was as manipulative as Miss Wilton.

I got my answer sooner than I expected. A telegram arrived the next morning from AE. It said:
Advise visiting _____ Asylum in the county of _______. Late SS advisor and regular donator. Noted in family papers.