A Death in the Loch (6 page)

Read A Death in the Loch Online

Authors: Caroline Dunford

Tags: #Retail

BOOK: A Death in the Loch
8.17Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

‘Nothing?’ asked Susan again.

‘It was always more Merry’s thing than mine.’ I paused. ‘Do you we have a lady coming to stay?’

‘Pah!’ said Susan and Jock almost simultaneously.

‘Miss Flowers wants someone to get the soup out of her skirt and to do her hair for this evening.’

‘Does she? I don’t think you’ll find Merry offering after what happened upstairs.’

‘Miss Flowers wants her dismissed!’

‘What!’ I cried, outraged.

‘Euphemia, I’ve not long been a housekeeper, but even I’m aware that the dumping of soup in a lady’s lap is grounds for dismissal.’

I knew she was right and cursed Rory for his refusal to let me carry the tureen. ‘Have you given her her letters?’ I asked, referring to the practise of given a reference to an outgoing servant.

‘Thankfully,’ said Susan, ‘she is not a member of my staff. It will be up to Mr McLeod and Mr Stapleford to decide what to do. Personally I think whoever decided a tiny maid unused to serving should deal with that great cauldron of soup pot is a gormless eejit!’

Not all the words were familiar to me, but I agreed with the sentiment. ‘What happened to your footman?’ I asked.

‘Postie called to say his mother had taken a turn for the worse and they’d called in the priest. She lives down in the village. Scott, that’s the footman, is the apple of his mother’s eye, so he’s away to her side.’

‘We’re going to be very short staffed,’ I said.

‘I rather think he told Mr McLeod he was going rather than asked.’

I shook my head. ‘Of course he should have gone, but with Merry – out of the picture for now – at least, there’s only the three of us plus Jock.’

Jock banged down a pot and turned and shot something at me that I couldn’t make head nor tail of.

Susan gave a faint smile. ‘He says there’s no enough money in the world that could get him working above stairs among the loons.’

I nodded at Jock. ‘Believe me,’ I said earnestly, ‘I completely understand.’

Susan gave me a shrewd look. ‘There’s something funny going on here, isn’t there? It’s bad enough four of ʼem gave their names as Smith even though they’re not related…’

‘They’re all called Smith?’

Susan nodded, ‘Except yon high hied’jin who told me to call him sir.’

‘Blimey,’ I said borrowing from Merry’s vocabulary. ‘That must be the man from the ministry.’

‘Mr Ministry, is it?’ said Susan, who was deep in her own thoughts and not really listening to me. ‘There’s some kind of shady plot afoot, isn’t there? Not that I care. The worst thing to my mind is Mr Stapleford’s beard. Fair gives me the shivers that.’

‘I know,’ I said sadly, ‘that a handsome man could make himself look so badly.’

‘They’ll be a woman behind it,’ said Susan. ‘You mark my words.’

At this point I made my exit. I wanted time to talk with Bertram and Merry. I also wanted to be out of range for any more of Susan’s questions.

Merry was defiant, but scared. At Susan’s request she was staying in her room until Rory made his decision. I tried to reassure that her long history with the Stapleford family would stand her in good stead, but she argued every one of my points down as if was determined to head into tragedy. It was clear she was far too prickly to be otherwise consoled, so I would be better leaving her be.

I was literally wondering where to put myself, not in my room (with Merry), not in the kitchen (with questioning Susan) and not in any part of the house where I might run into the guests. I had come down to considering the stables, when I heard a ‘psst’. Bertram’s face appeared round the door of the small library. I immediately pushed the door open. Bertram staggered back.

‘Careful Euphemia,’ he said, ‘one of us ending up arse over apex is enough for today.’ He gave a broad grin.

‘It’s not funny,’ I snapped. ‘The wretched woman wants Merry sacked.’

‘Well, that’s not going to happen,’ said Bertram to my great relief. ‘Girl’s a tart.’ He gave his beard a frantic scratch. ‘Saving your presence.’

‘Not quite the words I would have used,’ I said, helping myself to a small sherry and pouring him a whisky. ‘But I agree with the sentiment.’

Bertram boggled at me with the glasses for a moment then shut the door. ‘I’m used to acting as a companion now,’ I said stiffly, ‘not as a servant.’

‘Well, yes, I know, but we’re undercover and all that.’

I sat down in one of the library’s wing-backed chairs and sipped my sherry. ‘Have you any idea what is going on?’

‘They’ve got a lot of maps of Scotland,’ said Bertram. ‘I caught one of them poring over a set in here just before luncheon. He scrunched them all up at once when he heard the door open. Terrible way to treat ʼem. Mind you when he saw it was me he seemed to relax a bit.’

‘And they’re all called Smith?’

‘Incredible co-incidence,’ agreed Bertram.

I gave him a long look.

Bertram sank down in the other chair. ‘You mean they’re using aliases?’

Now, I don’t want you to think for a moment that Bertram is deficient in cerebral material, but while it once seemed I was the less world-aware of the two of us, and in some ways I suspect I still am, the past few years have worn away my natural inclination to believe people are telling the truth. It seemed this had not happened to Bertram.

He slapped his hand hard on his forehead. ‘I’m an idiot,’ he said. I didn’t contradict him. ‘The other chap is definitely a ministry man and has completely avoided giving his name.’

‘He’s from the church?’ I asked confused.

‘The government.’

‘Which department then?’

‘I don’t think we’re meant to know,’ said Bertram. ‘I’m increasingly sure that we don’t have to do anything. Fitzroy really did just want people up here that he knew didn’t have other loyalties or affiliations.’

‘To what?’

‘To whatever is relevant to whatever they’re doing.’

‘And servants who won’t ask questions about their names.’

‘Or peek through their papers,’ said Bertram.

‘You have stayed in some dubious houses, haven’t you?’ I said. ‘No maid under my control would ever do such a thing.’

‘That’s because I pay a decent wage and when you were my housekeeper you were very fair with all the staff. Generally the richer the householder the more he begrudges paying his staff. The great houses still believe it’s an honour to serve in them or even to be accosted by their lustful offspring.’

My face must have shown my shock. ‘Sorry, Euphemia, I had a devil of a lot of wine at luncheon. Only way I could get through and now you’ve topped me up with whisky. I may spend the afternoon asleep in my room.’

‘How very upper-class of you,’ I said. Bertram winced. ‘What are the rest of them doing?’ I asked.

‘That’s the thing. They’ve asked Rory to turn the shooting room into a meeting room.’

‘I hope he’s locked up the guns,’ I said forebodingly.

‘Don’t put ideas into my head, Euphemia,’ said Bertram shivering. ‘Anyway, outside of meals they will be holding meetings. My presence is not required and neither is yours.’

‘So for once this could be not an adventure at all?’ I said.

‘Lord, let’s hope,’ said Bertram. His eyelids began to drop and it became clear our discussion was at an end. I turned over in my mind what I had learned and realised how very little it was. I didn’t think the Smiths were from the government. My best guess was that they were some sort of contractor or supplier, who were bidding for a government project. Presumably one that was to take place in Scotland if Bertram was right about the maps. They only reason I could think of it being so secret was that once it was known it was going to be very unpopular, which would again be why Bertram hadn’t been let in on the secret. Richard Stapleford MP definitely had interests in the arms business, and might have offered to lend the lodge to get back in the government’s good books, but it obviously meant something that it had been his younger brother who had been chosen to play host. But what?

Miss Flowers I dismissed as a secretary with ideas above her station. She must also be foolish enough to believe she had a bullet-proof reputation if she was happy to reside in a small lodge in the middle of nowhere with her boss (presumably)
and
four other men. I judged the men to all be around middle age, and thus presumably at their height of their careers. It also meant they had all reached the age when men generally believe they have the right to do as they please.

I finished my sherry, relieved the sleeping Bertram of his glass – who else was there to tidy up? – and decided that after dropping off the glasses at the kitchen I would go for a bracing walk. I closed the door of the library quietly behind me, concentrating on letting it click only ever so slightly, so I would not wake Bertram, and so did not notice the man behind me.

He tapped me smartly on the shoulder and I jumped in the air and gave a little shriek. I heard a muffled ‘What! What! What!’ noise from Bertram and then a giant snore. Clearly he was to be of no help. I turned and faced my accoster, schooling my features to copy Mama’s.
[6] 
The little man shrunk back.

‘Oh good heavens,’ he said in a soft voice, ‘I didn’t mean to startle you, my dear. Allow me to introduce myself; I am Mr …’

‘Smith,’ I said trying to make the one word sound as cutting as possible.

The man gave a wry smile. ‘Indeed,’ he said. He was slightly below my height with narrow shoulders and weak blue eyes behind round moon glasses. His hair though cut short was a burnished gold and extremely thick. Many a debutante would have given if not her eyes then her servant’s eyes for such a mane.

‘I was wondering if you would do me the service of posting my letter.’ He thrust a small, thick envelope at me that I took instinctively. ‘It is most important that it is posted today and that no one else knows of its existence. Affairs of the heart,’ he said and tapped the side of his nose. ‘I’m sure a pretty young woman like yourself knows all about such things.’

The letter did indeed smell of cologne.

‘Here’s a few pennies,’ said the blond man, tipping a few coins into my other hand. ‘Just between us? I know I can trust you.’ He gave his wry smile again and turned and walked off, displaying a very slight limp.

I stood looking down at the letter in my hand, a variety of conflicting thoughts running through my head. Rory appeared at the end of the corridor while I was still considering my options. I felt a flood of relief. I wouldn’t need to take the decision alone. But as he came nearer I saw his expression was as foreboding as ever and without thinking I stuffed the letter into my apron pocket.

‘Where is Mr Stapleford?’ he demanded.

I indicated the library behind me. Rory made a superb

humph

ing sort of noise that I thought only butlers of considerable maturity were able to deliver. ‘Have you nothing better to do than stand around here?’ He scolded. ‘If not, I noticed the rugs in the hall could do with a good beating.’

 

 

 

[6]
My mother, a lady of 4’11”, could make 6’ footmen cry with a single harsh word when she was young.

Chapter Nine:

A Highland walk proves most unsatisfactory

It would shortly be dusk. Unlike Merry, I have no fear of too many trees, but I was unfamiliar enough with the local countryside to wish not to be out after dusk. I also assumed, though Rory had not seen fit to tell me so, that he and I would be serving all the meals from now on. Susan might be housekeeper, but she had never served at table, and indeed in anything other than a Highland Lodge her training would be considered barely that of a ’tweenie maid. Of course, I had no intention of telling her this.

When I set out, with general directions from Susan for the main village where I would find a shop with a postal service, it was chilly but bright. However, I knew the Scotch weather all too well from my first visit and took a shawl with me to cover my head in case of rain. When you have as much hair as I do, being damp is not an option. After a walk through wet country lanes I am all too liable to smell akin to a wet dog.

Still I was away from all the stresses known and unknown at the Lodge and under a bright sky. I found myself whistling, a little tunelessly for music is not my talent, and walking with a skip in my step. The path Susan had set me on was barely a footpath at all. It wound between tall trees and skirted fields, some tamed, some still wild. I certainly did not need to be wary of passing carts. By my estimation I was about halfway to the village when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.

It is difficult to explain, but those of you who have had the feeling of being watched will know it only too well. It is like some primal animal instinct that warns you may now be prey. I became most aware of where I was putting my feet. I took the opportunity of bends in the path to look behind me, but despite my breathing becoming increasingly rapid I did my best not to show my alarm. It could be nothing more than a noisy village child curious about ‘them from the big hoose’.

Had I done the right thing in not telling Rory or Bertram about the letter? Bertram would have wanted to open it, but my conscience could not allow that. We were not directly employees of Fitzroy and no one had yet suggested to me that prying into the guests’ private affairs was why I was present at the Lodge. The letter did smell highly of men’s cologne, and I had been inclined to think it was a billet-doux even if the gentleman who handed it to me was most unprepossessing. I knew the world well enough to know if he was rich there would be some women who would happily respond to his advances.

A twig snapped behind me. What if I had got this all entirely wrong and the letter was some secret government missive that I had been entrusted with? What if it contained … here my imagination faltered. It was not a large letter. Surely the diagrams for new armaments would take up more space than this? I had never seen any, but I imagined them to be quite complex.

Naturally, considering armaments led me quickly down the path of what people do with such things and I began to wonder if I was in serious danger. The skin down both of my arms prickled. It became harder and harder to curb my impulse to bolt. Somehow I knew if I ran I would be chased. The stark beauty of the countryside around me took on a sinister turn. I could no longer hear the birds calling. No cattle lowed nearby. I scanned the horizon. I could see no sign of the village. I could also see no one else on the path or even working in the field. Of course, at this time of year there was little to do with the frost-covered ground. But it suddenly seemed as if the silence was unnatural. As if everyone had felt the same foreboding and fled.

Other books

Bitter Night by Diana Pharaoh Francis
Hostage by Willo Davis Roberts
Brazen (B-Squad #1) by Avery Flynn
Before My Eyes by Caroline Bock
Days of Awe by Lauren Fox
The Limit by Kristen Landon
House of Many Ways by Diana Wynne Jones