A Death in the Highlands (7 page)

‘To my mind he was the most normal of the lot.’

‘What about Mr Fitzroy?’

‘He’s not a proper gentleman, Euphemia.’

‘That’s not a nice thing to say,’ I said hotly.

Rory held up his hand. ‘I meant no disrespect, but you have to learn to differentiate between the toffs if you want to keep this job. Mr Fitzroy is a nice man, no doubt. He’s the son of a country vicar – some minor civil servant in the Foreign Office. Couldn’t spill his story fast enough to Willie the footman. He’s very wary of doing something wrong.’

‘Wrong?’ I echoed blankly.

‘He’s not used to mixing with the toffs on this level. Asked Willie to put him in the way of things at the lodge.’

‘Oh, poor man,’ I said kindly.

Rory winced. ‘You’re so naive, Euphemia. It’s all fine as long as things are going well, but the moment anything goes wrong then it’ll all be our fault. It doesn’t serve to get too close to the family or their guests.’ He gave me a hard look.

I became aware of how interesting the pattern of cracks on the ceiling was and mused aloud, ‘I would guess Tipton and Muller are bankers or work in the city? I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr McGillvary was in arms dealings. Lord Richard has dealings in all these areas. There has been trouble before.’

Rory did not follow the hare I set. ‘You keep evading my questions, but it is apparent you have an unusual relationship with the family. The master appears to loathe you, but yet you are here.’

‘I don’t think Lord Richard likes anyone very much and I do my job well.’

‘According to Susan, you call his brother by his Christian name.’

‘What? Oh! That was only because he was about to fall on the stairs,’ I said, then added more hotly, ‘Has she been implying something?’

Rory took a long sip of tea. ‘I think rather than be forced to make assumptions I’d rather you told me what was going on.’

I raised my hands helplessly. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Let’s start with how the last Lord Stapleford died.’

‘He was stabbed,’ I said.

‘By whom?’

I hesitated only a moment, but it felt like a lifetime. I would have dearly liked to take Rory totally into my confidence but I was aware that my tale was far too fantastic, and explaining the symbiotic relationship that had grown between Mr Bertram and I under the circumstances was as impossible to state as it would be to reveal my true origins. So I offered only the official line, ‘By a rogue communist.’

Rory dumped his teacup down on the table. Liquid sloshed into the saucer.

‘I know, it’s astonishing, isn’t it? I don’t believe they ever decided if it was a Marxist or a Bolshevik, but then so few people know the difference.’

‘And you think I might?’ Rory’s voice rose alarmingly. A faint flush of anger transfused his cheeks and his luminous eyes glittered harshly.

‘Of course not,’ I said quickly. ‘It was merely a reflection on the constable who conducted the case. I don’t believe the truth was revealed.’

‘I’ll see you at supper,’ Rory said abruptly and rose. He was gone before I could ask what I had done to cause such offence.

Supper in the servants’ hall was a dismal affair. The local staff heartily disliked their new master and distrusted his servants, while we, in our turn, wished for nothing more than to be home. Rory barely glanced at me. The atmosphere was thick enough with resentment that even one of Jock’s sharp knives would not have been able to cut it. I escaped as quickly as I could under the pretence of taking up more brandy to the library. The gentlemen were playing billiards, but might well retire there later. None of the younger servants were allowed to transport hard liquor unaccompanied and Rory made no move to take my place.

I hurried upstairs, clutching my tray. There were no servants’ passages on the upper floors, so I needed to move quickly if I didn’t want to be caught by any of the guests. I had already began to regret my plan when I heard voices from behind the library door.

Tipton’s voice said, ‘Look, old bean, I know it’s not the done thing to mention this kind of stuff …’

‘So don’t,’ said Lord Richard gruffly.

‘But I’ve bally well put you on the right track, had words in the right ears and generally helped a chap out. It’s what one does for the old Alma Mater, what? But it’s a two-way street, Dickie. I went out on a limb …’

‘Oh stop whining, Baggy, or I’ll set the fellows on you!’

‘We’re not at school any more. You can’t just bully a fellow.’

‘Be like old times,’ said Lord Richard. ‘I could do with a laugh.’

‘I’m warning you, Dickie, if you try …’

‘You’re warning me!’

Tipton’s voice rose high and wavering, ‘All I’ll say is influence can turn the tide both ways, Dickie.’

‘Why, you little …’

There was a sound of scuffling within and a yelping noise, which I presumed to have been uttered by Tipton. I had no desire to rush into a brawl, but I suspected, what Lord Richard could do, albeit unproven, and I doubted Mr Tipton did. Something smashed loudly inside the room. Tentatively, I reached out for the door handle. A hand descended on my shoulder.

I managed not to drop the tray and looked up into the soft brown eyes of Mr Smith. ‘I think I should take that in for you,’ he said with a slight smile. ‘Tipton does tend to bring out the worst in all of us.’

‘Then why was he invited?’ I asked entirely forgetting it was not my place to ask. ‘It seems like a recipe for disaster.’

‘Habit, I imagine,’ said Mr Smith. ‘Whatever his reasons, Dickie’s got the old gang together.’ I must have looked puzzled, as he continued. ‘Dickie, Tipton, McGillvary and I were all at school together. Muller was head boy. Bertie was my fag. Happy days.’

‘I don’t …’

‘No one liked Tipton much then either. He was debagged so often we used to tell him not to bother getting dressed in the morning. Fellows even used to hide his trousers. Never took part myself, but I imagine I’m guilty by association in his mind. But school days are about keeping your head down and keeping in with the sons of your father’s friends. That’s how the game is played, I’m afraid.’

‘Mr Fitzroy?’ I asked not wanting to pass up the opportunity for gathering information. I determined the wine at dinner must have loosened his tongue.

‘Foreign Office. Dickie’s trying to curry favour as usual. Landed a bit of a small fish, if you ask me. Nice enough bloke though. Pretty horrible being among all us lot.’ He took the tray from my hands. I beat a hasty retreat. Mr Smith had been nothing but charm itself, but naive though Rory might think me, I knew gentlemen didn’t generally gossip with female house servants unless they are interested in becoming much better acquainted.

That night I tossed back and forth in my bed. I had chosen not to use the housekeeper’s bedroom and was still sharing a room with Merry. I cannot say if this was because I felt that although I might allowably use her parlour, sleeping in Mrs Wilson’s bedchamber was usurping the real housekeeper’s status too much, or whether I simply wanted the company. Unfortunately Merry was snoring tonight.

Outside the rain appeared to have ceased, but the wind was whipping through the trees and rattling at the windows. I grew up in the country and the noises of the night rarely discomfort me, but tonight I was prey to grave misgivings. I searched my thoughts and could find no good reason for my fears. I therefore rationalised that I must have forgotten to do something and that it would nag at me until it was done.

I got up and stuffed my feet into my slippers. I had brought a hearty, thick and utterly unbecoming dressing gown with me and I wrapped this tightly around me. In the distance I thought I heard a faint slam. Doubtless I had forgotten to close a shutter. Carefully I lit the candle on my nightstand, shielding the flame with my hand so it did not disturb Merry.

Once I was sure the wick was well alight I stepped out into the corridor. It was very dark and the shadows cast by the single flame danced grotesquely around me. I decided not to take the servants’ small confined stone staircase and make use of the main stairs.

This was a mistake. As I stepped onto the main landing, the moon came bright through the long window that illuminated the double height of the staircase. It cast into sharp relief the bone-white skulls of the dead deer that adorned the hall. The shadows of their poor stripped antlers danced like a forest of knives around me as I crept down the stairs still shielding my poor candlelight. At this moment I wanted nothing more than Rory to appear and chastise me back to my room. There was a banging in the distance which grew louder as I descended. I wished I was able to rouse Rory for support, but it was unthinkable for me to approach the men’s quarters for anything less than a fire. I could use the dinner gong that stood at the bottom of the stairs, but I could almost hear Rory’s soft burr in my ear as he explained that my desire for company in pursuit of a loose shutter would not be deemed a good enough reason to awaken the household.

I reminded myself I had long lived by a graveyard and the dead had never troubled me. Another part of me objected that those dead, as far as we had known, had died of natural causes and not by being hunted and shot to death. Could deer come back as avenging ghosts?

You may appreciate that I was not in the clearest of minds as I followed the increasingly resonant banging through the house. It was with both shock and relief that I found the back door was open. I was relieved there was no preternatural reason for the disturbance, but it could not but occur to me that we might have an intruder on the premises.

I decided not to light a lamp, but to make my way quickly back upstairs. I would awaken Merry and together we would concoct a way of awaking Rory even if it was only to chaperone each other. I pulled the door to and locked it. It was only then that I noticed a faint yellow light cutting across the darkness away to my right, through the maze of passages that led to the kitchen. I had a sudden idea of what might be transpiring. I crept quietly, not towards the kitchen, but to the nearby larder. The door was ajar and, as I looked in holding the candle high above my head, I could clearly see our supplies had been disturbed. But was the intruder still present? It was at this precise moment I became aware of breathing behind me. I grabbed the nearest object that I could use as a weapon.

‘Do you think it is quite wise of you to investigate alone?’

The voice was right at my ear. I shrieked and dropped the candle. Mr Fitzroy retrieved it before the light was extinguished and had the pleasure of the sight of me in my very thick, tartan (a nod to our venue) dressing gown with a large dried sausage raised above my head in a threatening manner. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly.

‘I assure you, Euphemia, I am not your intruder. I came only in search of warm milk, but I fear my culinary skills are lacking. Perhaps you would be so good as to make me some?’

I lowered my sausage cautiously. ‘But the intruder …’

Mr Fitzroy took the sausage from my slackened grasp.

‘From the state of your pantry I would conclude they were long gone.’ He paused. ‘My milk?’

‘Of course, sir,’ I said shakily. I followed him back through to the kitchen. He sat at the table and observed me. I managed to locate the milk after only two unsuccessful attempts. I filled a small pan and took it across to the range. I let out a sigh of relief when I realised it was still warm. I would have had no idea how to relight it. I was acutely aware of Mr Fitzroy’s gaze following me.

‘I won’t be a moment, sir,’ I said.

‘There is no rush. It always takes time to accustom oneself to new surroundings or even new tasks.’

My hand shook slightly as I stirred the milk in the pan. He could not possibly know I had never done this before. He saw only a servant – and all servants must be able to do this for themselves. All servants who were raised in the usual way, that is. ‘Did you not hear the door banging, sir?’ I asked in an attempt to divert his attention.

‘I did,’ said Mr Fitzroy unexpectedly. ‘I was interested to see who would come down to close it.’

I poured hot milk over my fingers as I transferred it to a cup. ‘You did not think to do it yourself?’ I asked a little too sharply.

‘Hardly my place,’ said Mr Fitzroy. He rose and came over to me. ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘I appreciate your efforts, Euphemia, but you need to be more careful.’ The dimly lit kitchen was not helping allay my misgivings, but to my ears his tone was quite unlike that of the meek and lost young gentleman who had arrived at our door without a valet.

‘Careful, sir?’ I asked boldly.

‘That you don’t scald yourself, my dear.’ His fingers brushed mine as he took the cup from my hands. ‘I advise you to take more care.’

‘What do you mean?’ I demanded, but he was already gone into the darkness seemingly needing no light to find his way around an unfamiliar house. I picked up my candle and bolted back to my room. I shoved a chair under the handle of the door, but it was a long time before I fell asleep.

I awoke as a single, tiny shaft of sunlight pierced the thinnest part of the elderly curtains and broke upon my pillow. ‘Wouldn’t you know it?’ I said to Merry as I stretched. ‘Fine weather – just as Lord Richard ordered.’

There was no answer. ‘C’mon,’ I said throwing back the covers. ‘We’ve got work to do.’

It was only when I swung my feet out of bed that I noticed the chair was no longer under the door handle. I rushed to the windows and tore back the curtains. Light flooded the room revealing Merry’s empty bed.

After the initial thudding of my heart slowed, I collected my wits and noted there were no signs of violence in the room. Along with her person, Merry’s uniform was also missing. I hurried to wash and dress.

The servants’ stairs held no fear for me this morning and I quickly made my way along the passages towards the kitchen. A glorious smell of sausages assailed my nostrils. I broke into a run, almost colliding with Susan, who gave me a sneer, a muttered ‘Morning’ and an unnecessary bang on my elbow as she flounced past.