A Death by Arson (2 page)

‘Take her to her room,' I said to the men, who were already doing so, ‘I'll send for a doctor.'

Bertram pounded up the stairs. ‘Good God! Is the old girl all right? She's not…?'

I tapped him on the shoulder and made him descend the stairs before me. I seriously doubted he would be of any help. ‘No,' I said softly to him. ‘She appears to have fainted.'

‘Richenda doesn't faint,' said Bertram bluntly. ‘It's not the kind of thing she believes in.'

As Richenda was an out-of-doors, horsey kind of woman, who was overly fond of cake, and usually blunt to the point of self-endangerment, I would have agreed with him – if it hadn't been for the very obvious fact that she just had.

‘Well, she has now,' I said. ‘I am going to telephone for the doctor.'

‘Do you know how to?' asked Bertram doubtfully.

‘It cannot be that hard,' I said. I had never before had occasion to use the telephonic apparatus. ‘I can always ask Stone to do it for me.'

‘I'll do it,' said Bertram with the heartfelt relief of a man who has found a way to be useful in a difficult situation. ‘You should be with her. Get her maid and get the cook to make up whatever it is women have when they faint. What is that?'

‘I have no idea,' I said. ‘Though perhaps her maid will have some smelling salts to hand.'

‘Burnt feathers,' said Bertram. ‘That's what my mother used to use. I'll get some feathers from the garden after I've called the doctor.'

At least, I thought, it would give him something else to do. I hurried upstairs, hoping fervently that Richenda's sudden indisposition would have diverted Hans and Rory from their disagreement.

When I reached her room, I found they had laid her on the daybed. Hans was kneeling by her side, patting uselessly at her hand and calling her name. He looked up at me. ‘I have rung for her maid,' he said in a despairing voice. Rory hung back by the door. I sent him away to the cook to ‘fetch what was necessary'. I had no idea what might help Richenda, but Rory, who can be the perfect butler when he wishes, would no doubt have more idea than I. He gave me a startled look in response to my curt command and left sharply. Richenda's maid entered with a small glass bottle. I took it from her, and gently easing Hans aside I uncorked it under Richenda's nose. At once a vile ammonia smell arose. I slammed the stopper back in at once before my breakfast had occasion to revisit me. Richenda stirred, coughed and said, ‘Jupiter, why must you always wait until we are back in the stable? You bad boy!' Then she opened her eyes. I stepped back. Hans, in a most undignified way, threw his arms around his wife. Richenda squeaked in surprise. I turned my back so I would not see this unusual display of affection.

‘Good heavens, Hans! What on earth has come over you?' asked Richenda, sounding entirely like her normal self.

‘Oh my darling girl,' said Hans in tones that made me blush. ‘You gave us such a fright.'

I heard the sound of Richenda scrambling to sit up and decided it was time I rejoined the conversation. I turned round to see her, pale, but sitting steadily upright. ‘Euphemia?' she asked.

‘I found you on the landing,' I said. ‘You had fainted.'

‘Nonsense,' said Richenda. ‘I don't believe in fainting.'

‘Well, it appears, my dear,' said Hans in his more usual accent, ‘that fainting believes in you.'

Richenda frowned and I thought I saw a flash of concern in her eyes. ‘Hans, my dear, would you mind leaving me for a little while? I think I need some rest.'

Hans rose at once. ‘Of course, my darling. But promise me you will ring the bell if you feel unwell in the slightest.'

‘I shall keep Euphemia with me,' said Richenda. She nodded to her maid. ‘You may go.'

When we were alone, Richenda said, ‘You need to get me a doctor.'

‘One is on his way,' I said. ‘Hans insisted one was called the moment you were taken ill.'

A smile flickered over her lips and for once Richenda looked almost pretty. She would never be beautiful, but when she was happy there was a glow about her that was appealing. ‘He was the gallant, wasn't he?' she said. ‘I can almost forgive him for dragging us to Scotland.'

‘Oh, I don't think he will continue to insist upon our going, now,' I responded. ‘He is far too concerned for your well-being.'

‘Oh Lord, no,' said Richenda. ‘Now we will absolutely have to go. Damn it!'

Before I could ask her what she meant by this extraordinary about-face, Bertram erupted through the door, brandishing a handful of pigeon feathers. ‘Will these do? Am I too late?' he gasped. His colour was high and a sheen of sweat covered his face.

‘Sit down,' commanded Richenda, sounding quite like her normal self. ‘Euphemia, loosen his cravat! Heavens, Bertram, what do you mean running around like that? You will bring another of your dizzy spells upon yourself.' The words were sharp, but Richenda's tone was surprisingly gentle.

‘Thought you needed these,' said Bertram, sinking down onto one of the overstuffed chairs Richenda favoured in her boudoir.

‘Feathers?'

‘Mama used to have them burnt when she fainted.'

‘Your mother never fainted in her life,' said Richenda. ‘She was a formidable actress.'

Rather than taking offence, Bertram smiled at her. ‘Well, you seem to have gone one better for once, Rich.'

Rory entered with a glass of brandy on a tray. ‘Give it to him,' said Richenda, nodding at Bertram. ‘He needs it more than me.'

Rory placed the tray on a table and took over from my unsuccessful attempts to loosen Bertram's cravat. There was an expression of concern on his face. I was close enough to hear him say, ‘Again, sir?'

‘No,' said Bertram softly. ‘Just a little dizzy. All the fuss.'

Rory stood and addressed Richenda. ‘Might I suggest, ma'am, that Mr Stapleford is also seen by the doctor.'

‘Of course,' she said, looking Bertram over. ‘Might be an idea to go and hurry him up a bit. You can drive, can't you, McLeod?'

Rory nodded briskly and left the room. I passed the brandy to Bertram, though by now I rather fancied it myself.

‘What is up with you?' Bertram demanded of his sister.

‘I could ask you the same thing!'

‘I asked first,' said Bertram.

Richenda's face reddened. ‘I think perhaps,' I interrupted quickly, ‘it might be best if we wait for the doctor to determine your respective ailments. I am sure in the first instance he would advise rest.'

‘If I go to my room,' said Bertram, as ever accurately following my line of thinking, ‘McLeod will fuss over me like a damned mother hen.'

Richenda gave a little chuckle. ‘That I would like to see,' she said.

‘Well, Bertram, you can hardly stay here while the doctor examines Richenda,' I said. ‘You could wait in the smoking room, if you think you could manage the stairs.'

‘I'm not a ruddy invalid,' said Bertram, rising. ‘Send him to me when she's done with him.' He stalked out of the room.

‘He is, you know,' said Richenda when he was gone. ‘A ruddy invalid. That heart condition of his seems to be getting worse and worse.'

‘It's strange,' I said, ‘there have been times in the last few months when I have seen Bertram endure extreme circumstances and nothing untoward has occurred.'

‘Perhaps the thought of losing another member of the family in such a short space of time was a bit too affecting. Though personally I'm quite grateful for the thinning of the pack. If only Richard had the condition instead of Bertram.'

My father would have been shocked, but there was a part of me that could not help echoing her sentiments, so I kept my peace. I sat down on a chair. ‘Perhaps it's because he's getting fatter,' said Richenda abruptly. ‘He was never much of a horseman and I can't imagine that horse-riding is the sport of choice around his estate, among all those marshes.'

‘I had noticed his collar looked a little tighter,' I said. ‘Perhaps he could take up bicycling?'

Richenda and I looked at one another as the image of Bertram on a bicycle flashed through our minds. Then we both burst out laughing. Richenda laughed so much she began to hiccup. Tears rolled down my face.

The door opened and a man I had never seen before entered carrying a black doctor's bag. He must have been in his early thirties and he was astonishingly handsome. He had the fine chiselled features of a silent movie star and wide, soft brown eyes. ‘Mrs Muller?' he said, addressing Richenda, ‘I am Dr Glover. I have recently taken over the local practice. I believe you are recovering from a fainting fit, which your husband assures me is quite out of character.' His voice was a pleasant baritone and as soothing as any patient could hope for.

Richenda blushed scarlet. ‘Indeed, Doctor. I believe I know the cause …' She glanced over at me. ‘Euphemia, if you would please leave me with the doctor.'

Dr Glover raised an eyebrow in surprise and even I felt a little twinge of attraction. ‘It would be normal to have another lady present,' he said.

‘That won't be necessary,' said Richenda firmly.

‘Perhaps you might wait outside, Miss…?'

‘St John,' I supplied.

‘Well, perhaps you might wait outside, Miss St John; in case Mrs Muller decides she does require your presence.'

‘Of course, Doctor,' I said. I was not entirely sure of the proprieties of the situation. If Dr Glover had been, as he should have been, a man in his mid-fifties with a walrus moustache, I would have had no qualms about leaving her. But I thought Dr Glover was quite a different matter, and I suspected Hans might feel the same.

I had expected to find Hans pacing up and down the corridor outside, but I had reckoned without the English gentleman's fear of ladies' indispositions. There was no sign of him. Presumably, he was relying on me to send for him the moment he was required.

While I did not exactly press my ear to the door – even I would not stoop that low, unless King and Country required – I confess I did strain my ears, but all I heard was the low murmur of voices and at one point the outrageous sound of a giggle from Richenda. Regardless of my orders I was about to step inside the room, when Dr Glover opened the door.

‘Come in,' he said. ‘Mrs Muller has something to tell you.'

Richenda was sitting propped up on the daybed, a cushion under her ankles and a huge smile plastered across her face. She waited until Dr Glover had closed the door and then she announced, ‘Congratulate me, Euphemia. I am pregnant!'

Chapter Three
Uninvited interruptions

I opened my mouth to answer this unexpected declaration when there was a long, loud ring at the front door downstairs. Whoever was ringing the bell was not a model of patience, because I had barely regrouped my thoughts before the bell rang again. This time the sound lasted even longer.

‘I had better find Stone,' I said.
⁵

Richenda sat up in alarm. Her face paled immediately. She whispered urgently, ‘You mustn't tell anybody!' and sank back down onto her cushions with, I felt, a touch too much melodrama.

‘Of course not,' I said. ‘You will want to break the news to Hans yourself.' Richenda appeared to be on the point of saying more, but the doorbell rang again and I hurried off to find Stone.

He was standing in the doorway of the smoking room looking as torn and indecisive as it is possible for a man of his stoic disposition to appear. ‘The door, Stone!' I said.

Stone looked behind him. I peered past and saw Bertram reclining on a sofa, his cravat still loosened and his feet on a stool. Stone appeared to be in the midst of some internal struggle. Finally he said, ‘Have you seen Mr McLeod, ma'am?'

‘No, but he would hardly take it upon himself to open the door of Mr Muller's house.'

Stone's eyes swivelled until they were almost at the back of his head. I sighed. ‘I will stand guard,' I said. ‘Now please get the door before the caller wears out both the bell and my patience.'

I never speak harshly to Stone. He is an exemplary servant, so the words were barely out of my mouth before I regretted them. However, Stone's highly polished, squeakless shoes had already glided off down the hall to attend to his duty.

Bertram looked around and saw me. ‘Got rid of my watchdog, have you?' he said with a smile. ‘I'm not sure if he was protecting me from further ailment or if he feared McLeod would return to finish what he started.'

‘Rory started?' I asked confused. I came over and moved his footstool to a slightly more comfortable position.

‘It seems we have become notorious in this household for our tiffs. Stone assumed my indisposition was McLeod's fault.'

‘And you did not correct him.'

‘Well, he did not actually say as much,' admitted Bertram, ‘and to be honest I did not want Hans and McLeod bringing whatever argument is currently between them in here. I have a devil of a headache.'

‘What did the doctor say?'

‘The usual. Rest. No alarms or excitement. No red meat.'

‘That bit is new.'

‘Yes – new man, new-fangled ideas.'

‘Well, if it helps,' I said.

‘Good God, Euphemia, you can't expect a man to live without his steak!' He leaned forward. ‘Tell me, what's up with Richenda? It's not her heart too, is it? She has been putting on weight recently. I haven't dared to say anything, but it cannot be good for her health. I heard her positively panting as she climbed the stairs yesterday. You need to speak to her about it. Either that or ban your cook from making cakes.'

‘Should I do so, I believe it would be my life that would be foreshortened,' I said seriously.

Bertram laughed. ‘I take it if you can joke, then Richenda is in no serious danger.'