A Death in the Highlands (14 page)

‘Good heavens, Euphemia. You’ll give me a heart attack jumping out like that. If you’ll excuse me, I must go and change.’ He set off at a smart pace towards his room.

‘I must speak to you.’

Mr Bertram ignored me and opened the door to his room. I followed him in. ‘Really, Euphemia! This is not seemly! Leave at once.’

I placed my back against the door. ‘I need to speak to you. It’s about Rory.’

‘I should have known! I can only advise you to disengage your affections and employ your reason!’

‘But I have new evidence.’

‘Evidence, or below-stairs tittle-tattle? Have you learnt nothing from our previous unfortunate misadventure? It is not our business to meddle in these affairs.’

‘Because the police do such a good job? We both know that not to be the case.’

‘This is different,’ snapped Mr Bertram. ‘There are forces at work here of which you can have no notion. You must stay out of it. That is an order!’

‘You think you can order me to disregard my sense of justice,’ I cried hotly, my breast heaving with indignation.

‘I think if you want to keep your job you will refrain from interfering.’

‘That’s to be my excuse, is it? What’s yours?’

‘What?’ Mr Bertram pulled off his tie with a snap. ‘If you have any care to your reputation, I suggest you leave. I intend to disrobe.’

‘Lord Richard. We both know what he is. Did you know his latest exploits included throwing estate workers out of their homes? Or did you help him do it?’

Mr Bertram had the grace to blush. ‘I have had no say in the management of this estate.’

‘So you wouldn’t know anything about a young woman whose father died of a heart attack shortly after he was turned out the cottage he’d lived in all his life? I’d say that was an excellent motive for murder.’

Mr Bertram swallowed. ‘I assure you, I know nothing about this.’

‘No,’ I said scornfully, ‘you merely dine at your brother’s table, live in his house …’

‘It is not his house,’ said Mr Bertram hotly.

‘Stapleford Hall belonged to your mother?’ I asked, suddenly wondering if I had misjudged him.

‘It was left for the use of her children. The first of us to have a legitimate heir, provided we remain living at the hall, will inherit it and a trust fund dedicated to its maintenance.’

I felt as if the breath had been knocked out of me.

‘That is why I was able to convince Richard to keep you on. I have equal say in the running of the house.’

‘Am I meant to thank you for that?’ I gasped. ‘You, who would live with that man, after what he has done, in the house built from blood money on the chance of inheriting it? You, who have your own income?’

‘My income is none of your business. Besides it would never enable me to afford the upkeep of such a property.’

‘I had thought better of you,’ I said quietly.

‘Euphemia, you have no right to judge me!’

‘No, though I do have every right to ask for your help in seeing justice done, but I see now your actions and morals are tempered by your worldly desires. I had thought you different from most men in that respect.’

‘This is completely and utterly inappropriate. I will not be spoken to in this manner by a servant.’

‘I apologise, sir. I now realise I was completely in error to ask you to be of aid. I need to find a gentleman of honour.’

Mr Bertram, who had been quite red with anger, now turned alarmingly white. I did not wait to hear what he had to say.

I fairly ran out of the room. My blood was up and I undoubtedly looked somewhat wild-eyed. I knew myself to be on the verge of hysterical tears, but I also knew I could waste no more time. Accordingly, when I saw Mr Edward enter the library I followed him.

‘Excuse me, sir. I have evidence that may lead you to reconsider your arrest of Mr McLeod,’ I said in a rush before he had even sat down.

Mr Edward poured himself a whisky and sat down in the armchair previously occupied by Mr Fitzroy. He took his time. I barely restrained myself from hopping from foot to foot. ‘Who are you, young lady?’

‘Euphemia St John, sir, the housekeeper.’

There was a slight cough at this and I realised that Mr Fitzroy had not departed the room, but merely moved a little away from the fire, which by this time was roaring nicely.

Mr Edward reached out his hands to the fire. ‘Scotland – all four seasons in one day,’ he murmured to himself. ‘Why the devil should I listen to a word you have to say, young woman? Does Lord Richard normally let you disturb his guests?’

‘It is a matter of justice,’ I said levelly.

‘More likely a case of handsome butler and a pretty, foolish wench,’ said Mr Edward.

‘You should listen to her, Edward,’ said Mr Fitzroy unexpectedly. ‘She has a good mind.’

Mr Edward settled back in his chair and sipped his whisky. He crossed one leg over the other and surveyed me for a moment. He had a most unremarkable, even bland face, but for the first time I noticed his eyes were very dark – almost black. I fancied I could see the flames of the firelight flicker across their depths in a most unnerving fashion. The shadowy gaze was unpleasant, but I also felt as if – and it is hard to find the right words – as if I was being looked into and fully observed. And yet, it was not the steadiness of his gaze that particularly disturbed me. It was that it was wholly dispassionate, cold and calculating. It took all of my will not to fidget under his examination, but I stood firm and thought of my mother staring down the butcher to whom she owed so much money.

Mr Edward shrugged. ‘Well, if Fitzroy thinks I should listen to you. Speak, girl. Make it quick.’

I thought for a moment and then presented my thoughts quickly and as neatly as I could.

‘One of the local women who works on the estate has a serious grudge against Lord Richard. He has forcibly evicted a number of tenants from their cottages, including her own father, who died shortly afterwards of a heart attack. On our first day here, she apparently forgot to wipe the wax polish off the main stairs and a serious accident was only prevented by chance. On the morning of the shoot she was eager to help one of our maids, Merry, sort out the gentlemen’s kit for the shoot. This was entirely out of character, as previously she had been surly and reluctant to be of service.

‘I suspect her to be a woman deeply disturbed by grief and a desire for revenge. I believe in both cases she intended Lord Richard to be her target, but her planning and execution is beyond her natural abilities, and that Mr Smith erroneously became her victim. Moreover, I have been assured by Mr McLeod that his membership of the communist party was a foolish lovelorn episode to impress a young woman and that he has not attended a meeting for many years. While I see that the evidence against Susan is also circumstantial she at least has a credible reason for wishing Lord Richard dead. There is no apparent reason to believe Mr McLeod wished any of the party ill.’

‘Good God,’ ejaculated Edward, ‘if she’s right, Fitzroy, we’ve been looking at this entirely wrong.’

Mr Fitzroy shrugged. ‘I couldn’t say.’

‘I want to speak to this Susan,’ said Mr Edward.

‘I’ll fetch her,’ I said.

‘No, you stay right here, young woman. I don’t want you forewarning her.’

‘I wouldn’t do that!’ I cried.

‘Your face would do it for you,’ snapped Edward. ‘Fitzroy, pop your head out and see if there is some servant you can send for her.’

Susan arrived a few minutes later. She walked hesitantly into the room and, seeing the two gentlemen present, immediately cast her eyes down. Her fingers fidgeted with her apron and I could see sweat on her brow. I did not immediately take this as a sign of guilt, but it did remind me how most servants behaved in the presence of their so-called betters. No wonder the inhabitants of this house oscillated between thinking I was a heroine and a harlot. In their eyes, only a servant who was one or the other would behave as I had.

‘I am Mr Edward, Susan. I need you to answer some questions truthfully. Can you do that?’

Susan nodded.

‘Is it true you left wax on the hall staircase in the hope someone would be injured?’

Susan flicked me a sly look under her lashes and I realised I had misjudged her. She might be uncomfortable in the company of her betters, but she felt in no way compelled to reveal the truth. My heart sank. I was no closer to saving Rory. Susan opened her mouth and my worst fears were realised.

‘Oh no, sir,’ said Susan in a quiet, respectful voice. ‘I couldn’t find the right rags. Someone had moved them. I was only away a moment. What’s she been saying?’ She jerked her head towards me. ‘She’s never liked me.’

‘Miss St John has been telling us about your father and his recent death,’ said Mr Edward

She swung round at me. ‘You meddling cow! That’s none of your business.’ Then her face blanched. Her tongue nervously flickered around her lips. ‘I’m sorry, Miss St John. I should never have spoke to you like that. It’s been a trying time for all of us. I hope yous will accept my apology.’

She gave me a tiny curtsy.

‘Of course, Susan, think nothing of it,’ I said smiling. In my heart I was exulting. She had shown her true colours.

‘You don’t like Lord Richard, do you?’ said Mr Edward with apparent sympathy.

‘I does my job,’ said Susan a little sullenly.

‘But you don’t like him?’ persisted Mr Edward.

‘It’s not my place to like him,’ protested Susan.

Mr Edward took a step closer, so he towered over her. ‘I believe you hate him. Don’t you?’

Susan said nothing.

‘Don’t you?’ shouted Mr Edward, in a voice so loud I felt my bones shiver beneath my skin.

Something in Susan snapped and she spat, ‘Would you like him if he turned your parents out of their home and left your children to starve?’

‘But your husband? Couldn’t he help you?’ I asked blankly.

‘Oh, you think you know everything, don’t you? Miss high and mighty, but you don’t know a thing. My John, my husband, he was killed on the estate. It was an accident, so the old master gave me a pension and let me keep my cottage. Lord Richard took that all away.’

‘Come now, Susan, admit it,’ said Mr Edward speaking now in a firm but strangely gentler tone. ‘Is it not possible you might have hoped Lord Richard would slip on the stairs before you returned to finish them? Is it not true that you would not have greatly cared if this had happened? After all, as you say, this man had done his best to take everything from you.’

Susan bit her lip and twisted her hands together. I could see she was doing her best to force her feelings down and play the dutiful servant once more.

‘I need you to be truthful if I am to help you,’ said Mr Edward.

It was at this point that I understood the masterly game he was playing. I opened my mouth to warn her, but Mr Fitzroy caught my eye and shook his head very slightly.

Susan said nothing. Her eyes darted back and forth between Mr Edward and me. She knew one of us was her enemy, but she was no longer sure which one.

‘Would it not have struck you as a kind of divine justice if Lord Richard had fallen? The man whose ruthlessness, it is not too melodramatic to say, drove your father to his death? The man who has taken the bread from your children’s mouths? Isn’t that what you wanted,’ persisted Mr Edward. ‘Justice? It is what we are all interested in here, in this room. We all want justice done.’

As they were meant to his words unlocked her anger. ‘Justice? How am I going to get justice? I’m nothing compared to Lord Richard.’

‘So you needed to take matters into your own hands. We all understand,’ cajoled Mr Edward.

‘The wains were starving. The old master looked the other way if we helped ourselves to a bit now and then.’

‘Doubtless why he ran out of money,’ muttered Fitzroy under his breath.

‘Am I to understand, Susan, that you are confessing to thievery?’ said Mr Edward.

Susan looked startled. ‘Like you say, it was only justice. He took everything from me and I took a bit back.’ She looked around at the faces in the room. ‘Isn’t that what this is about?’

‘And the incident on the stairs?’ asked Mr Edward.

‘I’m not saying I did it deliberate.’

‘But I think it is quite clear you wouldn’t have minded if he had fallen. I am correct, am I not?’ said Mr Edward.

Susan didn’t answer.

Mr Edward reached behind him and pulled out a book. He got up and advanced on Susan. Suddenly he reached out and grabbed her wrist. He slammed her hand down onto the book. ‘This is a bible, Susan. God will know if you lie. Did you wish Lord Richard harm?’

Susan struggled to pull her hand free.

‘Answer me!’ boomed Mr Edward.

‘Sir!’ I remonstrated.

‘Answer me!’ yelled Mr Edward again.

Susan collapsed at his feet sobbing. ‘God help me but I did hope he would fall. I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never done anything like it before. And he wasn’t hurt. You can’t arrest me.’

Mr Edward released her hand. He threw the book behind him onto a chair. ‘But Mr Smith was, wasn’t he?’

‘What?’ asked Susan wiping her tears away with the back of her hand.

‘Those fatal cartridges you placed in the shooting bags. That was meant for Lord Richard, wasn’t it?’

‘You’re away with the fairies. I dinna ken nothing about that!’

Mr Edward grabbed the girl by her arm and hauled her to her feet. ‘You were quite right, Miss St John, to bring this matter to my attention. It is clear this woman is of murderous intent and that her scheme fell awry.’

‘But I didn’t! I didn’t do anything to the shooting stuff. I wouldn’t know how.’

‘What did your husband do on the estate?’ asked Mr Edward.

Susan hesitated.

‘I can ask Lord Richard,’ said Mr Edward.

‘He was a gamekeeper,’ said Susan in a tiny voice.

‘And you would have me believe you do not know how a shotgun operates? You doubtless know better than the gentlemen themselves.’

‘Give me the bible,’ cried Susan. ‘I’ll swear on it. I’ll swear I didn’t harm anyone.’

‘I have no doubt you would,’ said Mr Edward. ‘Any woman would perjure herself to stay with her children.’