A Death in the Pavilion (5 page)

Chapter Eight
Misgivings

Richenda and I both came down for breakfast somewhat later than usual. The maid told us Mrs Muller had already completed her meal and had gone out to walk the gardens with Mr Bennie. Mr Muller had also breakfasted. He sent his compliments and regrets that he would not be available again until dinner time as he had to spend the day with his factor attending to estate business. I guessed he intended to give us time to think over our position or he might also be assessing his own intentions towards Richenda. I had liked her better than ever before last night, but she had looked a fright. He could well be testing his resolve to face her gorgon-style night hair in intimate situations. I have no experience of bedroom intimacies. Hope as well as sense tells me a man can love or desire a woman for who she is inside her fleshy shell, but a man, reasonably enough, does not expect to be frightened in his bedchamber.

When the maid withdrew I buttered myself a slice of toast and said airily, ‘So just us, Richenda. Shall we explore the rest of the attics?’

Richenda gave a shudder. ‘I don’t believe I ever want to enter another attic again in my life,’ she said. ‘But there are some things I think we should look into.’

‘Oh,’ I said, misgivings flooding through me.

‘I think the death of Muller’s wife bears a little more research.’

‘Oh for goodness’ sake, Richenda, haven’t we troubled the poor man enough? He opened his heart to you last night and broached what must have been a very painful subject. This is how you repay his confidence?’ This was a very forthright speech for a companion. I can only offer as my defence that my brain was too tired to censor my words. That and the fact I had found Muller very affecting.

‘Are you attracted to Muller too?’ spat Richenda.

‘No,’ I answered slightly too quickly. The truth was I found Muller surprisingly restful to be around. In recent years I had been surrounded by men who suffered from being murderous, passionate or jealous. Charm proved to be a pleasant change and even I had to admit that when he wasn’t trying to look perfect the English gentleman he was rather attractive. ‘All right, I confess I find him charming,’ I said, ‘but leaving that aside he’d never look as low for a bride as me …’

‘I don’t know why,’ snapped Richenda, ‘Wasn’t his wife the sister of a vicar or something?’

‘I only want to marry for love.’

‘Oh,’ said Richenda. ‘I didn’t realise you were a romantic.’

‘An incurable one, I’m afraid.’

‘So we are not in competition?’

In a thousand years I would never have dreamed that Richenda would ask me such a question. ‘We are not,’ I said with perfect truth.

‘Good,’ said Richenda. ‘Because you are much prettier than me.’ I gasped at this admission.

‘I’m not blind,’ said Richenda snappily. ‘Of course you have neither my fashion sense nor my money, so I have the advantage.’

‘Of course,’ I managed to say in a small voice, keeping a straight face.

‘I need you to help me find out what is going on here.’

‘I don’t think there is anything going on,’ I said. ‘Honestly. I’m enjoying the peace and quiet.’

‘H-rumff,’ snorted Richenda. ‘Why then was I one minute flavour of the month and the next Mrs Muller has no time for me and you’re the one helping organise the ball.’

‘Please,’ I said, ‘take that duty from me. It will be dull and tedious and long. Mostly writing invitations in copperplate.’

‘Oh, I don’t want to do it,’ said Richenda. ‘I wanted her to want me to do it.’

‘Oh.’

‘And that ridiculous display of German-ness the other afternoon. Just as I was getting acquainted with the Duke’s daughter.’

‘Earl’s,’ I corrected automatically. Richenda gave me a startled look. ‘Much lower rank,’ I added, ‘if that’s any consolation.’

‘I suppose so. I never did pay that much attention to that kind of stuff at finishing school.’ I suspected it was more that the daughters of noble houses paid no attention to her, a banker’s daughter, only recently ennobled. No one hated the nouveau riche more than the impoverished nobility.

‘Does it matter?’ I asked. ‘I believe she is not a permanent resident in the neighbourhood.’ Richenda shrugged. ‘It was bizarre and … and mean.’

‘Maybe she is simply old,’ I suggested gently.

‘Batty, you mean? Well, I want to know that too if I end up marrying into this family.’

I gave her a very level look and she returned it. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

‘As I said last night this may well be my last chance. If you help me, Euphemia, I won’t forget it.’

I didn’t answer simply because I couldn’t think of what to say. Richenda lent forward. ‘I’m sorry we haven’t always seen eye to eye. I have always followed my brother’s lead and that hasn’t been wise. And I haven’t been happy for a long time. You haven’t known me at my best.’

‘Yes,’ I said. Then coughed. ‘I mean no.’

‘Let’s start again,’ said Richenda. ‘I’m sure I will do something awful sooner or later, but this time if I do, it won’t be deliberate.’ She gave me a shrewd look. ‘I am aware that both of us are somewhat adrift in a man’s world. Different rivers perhaps, but we both have to look to our own survival.’

‘Yes, that’s true,’ I admitted. ‘Did you really set up a house for fallen women?’

‘And did I do it simply to annoy my father?’ Richenda studied her bacon closely then shoved the better part of a rasher in her mouth and chewed. I waited for her to speak. Goodness, but the woman made a lot of noise when she ate! ‘Yes, I wanted to annoy my father. When he married Bertram’s mother I was very young, but even then I felt he was disrespecting my mother’s memory. My late stepmother was a hideous snob, who got fed up of living in genteel poverty. She didn’t care for my father and I don’t believe he cared for anything but her money. I have no idea how he felt about my mother, but I have a few memories of her being kind to me. Of a gentle woman, who never raised her voice. So of course I decided that she had to have been the better woman. My stepmother made no pretence that I was anything but an inconvenience and made it clear that my looks were – inferior. How Bertram turned out so well I have no idea.’ Richenda blinked hard. ‘I am getting away from your question. Yes, I disliked my father and I wanted to irk him. I did also feel, and still do, that women have a hard time in this world and that this is generally the fault of men. I had a little legacy from my godmother. Not much, but I endowed a house to help fallen women – and by that I mean everyone from prostitutes to pregnant maids. One of my main aims was to find a way whereby women would not be separated from their illegitimate children. I’m sorry if that shocks you, but I have always felt that every child deserves a loving mother.’

‘Because you lost yours?’ I asked.

Richenda nodded. ‘Now this is getting downright maudlin.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And I was jealous of you. You turned the heads of every man when you entered our house and I thought you were taking advantage of that.’

I spluttered tea indignantly. ‘I know,’ continued Richenda, ‘I was wrong. You are as much a victim as me, except you are so very pretty.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Not for the compliment, but for being so honest with me.’

‘It doesn’t come naturally,’ said Richenda ruefully. ‘But Muller gave me a good example to follow last night.’

I nodded. ‘He is a very good man.’

‘Or does a good job of pretending to be one,’ said Richenda. ‘Being hoodwinked by my brother for years has made me a little distrustful, but you hit the nail on the head when you said how very charming he is. Everyone says it. Richard once told me he is known as the most charming man in the city. He’s never been known to raise his voice or be anything other than even-tempered. Now that isn’t natural. Even if he is a foreigner.’

‘You don’t trust him, but you want to marry him?’

‘I believe that is the normal marital state,’ answered Richenda. ‘But I would like to be totally clear he didn’t have anything to do with murdering his wife.’

‘Other than by getting her pregnant too often.’

‘Euphemia, such things are not spoken of!’

Several retorts sprung to my tongue ranging from commenting how much like my mother she sounded to that such things should jolly well be talked about, but admittedly not by us. Instead, I kept my thoughts to myself for once and only said, ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Not much,’ admitted Richenda. ‘It happened a while ago and she’s buried. We can hardly dig her up.’

‘No!’ I exclaimed in alarm.

‘I said we couldn’t,’ said Richenda reproachfully. ‘I was thinking you could ask around the servants. See if there is any gossip. There must have been something off about it for Richard to get Barker to mention it.’

‘You don’t think your brother was simply trying to cause trouble?’

‘Oh, I’m certain of it,’ responded his loyal sister. ‘But where there’s smoke.’

I sighed. ‘If it will make you happier I will ask as much as I can without arousing suspicion.’

‘Thank you,’ said Richenda. ‘And when I marry Muller I will keep you on as my companion. After all, he is in the city a great deal and this is the country.’ She said the last word with a huge sigh.

I, on the other hand, caught a glimmer of what could be a safe and quiet harbour for the years to come and an assured income for my family.

I should have known my course would never run that smoothly.

Chapter Nine
Secrets and Unexpected Guests

The next day Mrs Muller drew me to one side in the morning room and with much apologising asked me to start on the invitations. ‘I should ask Hans to get me a secretary, but most days there would be nothing for her to do.’

‘I take it you did not expect your son to restart your ball this autumn?’ I asked politely as she handed me a very long list of names and a heavy address book.

‘No, it quite took me by surprise. Since the death of my daughter-in-law Hans has not kept an active social life. In the last year he has started spending time with his old school friends and work colleagues, but he hasn’t …’ She paused delicately.

‘Shown any sign that he might be thinking of remarrying?’ I finished boldly.

Mrs Muller clutched my hands with her own. I barely held on to my bundle. ‘You understand, I am so glad. He loved her, but life must go on and he needs an heir for this fine estate.’

‘Of course. It is only natural.’

Mrs Muller continued to grasp at me. ‘I am so, so glad you understand. I would not want you to think Hans was fickle.’

‘My dear Mrs Muller, I have never thought that,’ I said, wondering why on earth it should matter to her if I did. I am, after all, hired help.

‘Excellent. Please use the morning room for your work. As you see the fire has been lit. I must now go and arrange with the cook what we need to serve and of course what we need to order.’

‘Will you be having flowers?’ I asked. ‘Autumn is not the best time for floral decorations.’

‘Oh, Bennie will sort something out. He has been with us for ages and is a most excellent gardener.’

I lowered my voice. ‘It was he who found her, was it not?’ I was definitely treading on dangerous ground here, so I added quickly, ‘He must be exceptionally loyal to stand by you through such a difficult time.’ Etiquette-wise I could be burning my bridges with Mrs Muller. I studied her reaction closely.

A number of different emotions crossed her face, but she settled into a gentle smile. This time she laid a hand on my arm. ‘No one should underestimate the value of loyal staff. Why some of them become like family.’

‘How lovely,’ I said, moving backward out of reach. ‘I must start on these cards.’

‘Excellent, dear,’ said Mrs Muller and left.

I sighed and settled down at the small writing desk. It took some effort to arrange the list, book, and cards in a manner that I could consult them, write neatly, and not knock everything on the floor. I had no doubt that somewhere Hans Muller had an excellent desk, just as I had little doubt I would not be allowed to use it. I had to make do with this inadequate piece of furniture, designed for the lady of the house to dash off little notes. To a man’s eyes, preparing for a ball was no trouble at all.

‘She likes you,’ said a voice from the door way. I turned round to see Lucy bearing a tray with tea and bread and butter. ‘I’ve been told to bring this up to you to keep up your strength.’ She set the tray down on a table in the middle of the room. ‘What you doing?’

‘Writing invitations for the ball,’ I answered shortly.

‘He’s having a ball!’ shouted Lucy. ‘The autumn ball? Oh my, I never thought he’d have another.’

With a sinking heart I realised the general staff had obviously not yet been informed. ‘Lucy, I shouldn’t have said anything. Please don’t mention it to the other staff.’

Lucy’s eyes shone and she tapped the side of her nose. ‘Be our secret,’ she said. ‘Who’s being invited?’

I pointed at the long list on the desk. To my surprise Lucy picked it up and scanned it. Her face fell. ‘Only the locals,’ she said. ‘And to think we used to be good for at least an earl. Some of the dresses of those ladies!’ She gave an ecstatic sigh. ‘I ain’t never seen anything so beautiful.’

‘Did the late Mrs Muller dress well?’ I asked.

‘She wasn’t one for very fancy clothes. Didn’t come from that background. She dressed pretty rather than posh, if you know what I mean. Respectable.’

‘She sounds nice,’ I said rather lamely.

‘She was. Lovely little thing. Broke her heart that she couldn’t carry a child to term.’

‘I imagine Mr Muller was just as upset.’

‘I think he was more concerned about her. He fell to bits when she died.’

‘Poor man.’

‘And then those hideous rumours that he had something to do with her death. Cruel, they were, cruel.’

‘You don’t think he did …’ I trailed off under Lucy’s fierce glare.

‘No, I jolly well don’t! I’m not saying there wasn’t something strange about her death, but Mr Muller loved her. He’d never have hurt her.’

‘Something strange?’

‘You’re a nosy one, aren’t you?’

‘Lucy,’ I took a deep breath. ‘I am only asking because I believe my mistress and your master are growing closer.’

Lucy let out a peal of laughter. ‘Her! He wouldn’t look at her.’

I did my best to adopt my mother’s best look of disapproval. (She still claims she once at eighteen made a Duke cry. Though she still refuses to tell me which one it was.) The effect was wasted on Lucy, who continued to rock with laughter. I did my best to chill my voice as I said, ‘I am much attached to my mistress. She has been very good to me.’

Lucy wiped her eyes. ‘Ah well, there’s none so blind as do not see,’ she said cryptically. She wiped her eyes. ‘I’m sorry, you’re obviously attached to her.’ She hesitated. ‘The master’s valet, Simpson, I had a bit of a crush on him – and he told me a lot of stories.’ I looked at her blankly. ‘Stories about the master and his fondness for pretty women.’

‘When he was married?’ I asked, shocked. I couldn’t imagine Muller as an adulterer, but then that could be the key to his success.

‘No,’ admitted Lucy. ‘Later. I mean after his wife died you wouldn’t expect him to live like a monk, would you? He’s a gentleman.’

I opted for not diving into those particularly muddy moral waters and asked bluntly, ‘What did he tell you?’

‘Oh, only that he knew the master favoured small, petite, brunettes. He never told me any real details like, but we was all curious to know if the master was going to marry again. After all a single man doesn’t normally keep up a big estate and we was all worried for our jobs.’

‘So he told you Muller preferred to entertain himself elsewhere rather than marry again?’

Lucy shook her head. ‘No, he told us when the master felt up to being interested in women again, as it were.’

‘How long after his wife’s death was this?’ I asked. I was beginning to feel very uncomfortable with this topic, but Lucy discussed it with the ease with which I imagine she would have discussed flower arrangements.

‘About a year and a half. Simpson said he definitely had a type and all respect due your mistress ain’t anything like it.’

‘You said there was something strange about his wife’s death?’ With Lucy in full flow I thought she might finally answer the only question I needed to ask.

Lucy gave me a thoughtful grin. ‘What’s it worth to you?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I reckon if your mistress has got her hooks into him – Lord knows how – then this kind of information would be worth something.’ She rubbed her fingers together. ‘You know, money.’

‘I shall ask Simpson,’ I said, as calmly as I could given the sudden sordid turn of events.

‘You can’t,’ said Lucy triumphantly, ‘he’s left. And I reckon I’m the only one he told. You wants to know. You can pay for the privilege. It’s nothing personal, but a girl’s got to look out for herself.’

‘I see.’

‘Look, you make up your mind if you want the information and if you does then meet me in the rose garden after tea and before dinner. That’s when both Cook and the housekeeper take their naps. Easier time for me to have a little chat.’ She stood up and fluffed out her skirts. ‘Now, I’ve got real work to do,’ and she flounced out of the room leaving the ‘unlike some’ unspoken, but heavy in the air.

I picked up my lists, but I found it difficult to focus. At Stapleford Hall we had all chatted about those above stairs, but I had never come across an instance of anyone attempting to sell information about the family, and in particular their love affairs. Though it is true I had had to once oust a press man from the garden. He had offered me money for information, but then the press are generally composed of a very low sort – or so my mother says.

Perhaps none of us wanted to think of Richard Stapleford as a lover; it was simply too ghastly a concept and would undoubtedly give one nightmares. Strangely it seemed the Stapleford’s’ servants were far more loyal than those of the charming Muller. The world would never make sense to me. I doubted Lucy had any real information for me. She would have been very young at the time, but perhaps not too young to attract the valet’s story. Still, could I take that chance? I would have to approach Richenda about the matter and see what she thought. I certainly was not paying for sordid gossip out of my own money!

Richenda stopped to check up on me shortly before luncheon to ask how I progressed. I told her of my conversation with Lucy. ‘Sneaky little cow,’ were the first words out of her mouth. Although I would not have put it in such terms, I nodded in agreement. ‘Just what we need,’ she added. ‘How much do you think we should pay her?’

‘I have no idea,’ I responded.

‘Don’t look so shocked, Euphemia. It’s quite normal for servants to make money out of gossip. Admittedly usually it’s between themselves or a ladies’ maid who is after her mistress’s cast-offs. It happens in all the great houses.’

And so it was, much later in the day, that I took a walk in the rose garden between tea and dinner. In the country it is normal practice to eat earlier than in town, but there is still a significant gap of time between the two meals. I wandered about with Richenda’s generous donation stowed in my purse and pretended to admire the flowers. After the long hot summer, autumn had come in rather brisk. After an hour I found myself begin to shiver. I had assumed Lucy would have some duties for the dinner period and was most likely to turn up closer to tea time. I was being proved wrong. Bennie, the head gardener, a short, blond-haired man in his mid-fifties had now passed me twice. Each time he had doffed his hat to me, but I felt a third time would arouse his suspicions. He was a dapper little man. Not at all like I had imagined a head gardener to be, but he had reverently introduced himself to me the first time in passing in order to point out the location of the prettiest blooms at this time of year. He became quite animated when he discussed the garden and I was not impervious to the fact that he had a particular kind of charisma when he talked about his work. The gardens were lovely and I had no doubt he inspired the men under his direction. I knew he worked closely with Mrs Muller and I felt certain that should we pass by each other a third time he would be liable to mention to her that I had been walking in the cold gardens alone for a considerable time. He might assume I delighted in his work, but I thought Mrs Muller would be liable to be more suspicious as I had previously shown no interest in the flower gardens or the magnificent floral arrangements in the house. The truth was that being raised as a country girl I loved the bright wildness of the hedgerows and found more formal arrangements stuffy and confining. I was careful not to say this to Bennie.

So I returned to the house cold, irritable and with my mission unaccomplished. I was thinking only of gaining my room and hoping that someone had already lit my fire as I strode across the hall. And so it was I walked into the back of a man standing stock still in the middle of the hall where I simply had not expected to find him, nor had he any business to be.. He turned and caught me by the elbows as we both stumbled about a bit.

‘Euphemia!’ cried Bertram, for it was he. ‘What the hell sort of place is this?’

‘Bertram, what are you doing here?’ I asked astonished.

‘Never mind what I’m doing here!’ he said loudly. ‘There’s a dead parlour maid in the drive.’