A Death for a Cause (2 page)

‘In all the time I've served Mr Muller I have never known him show,' and at this point Stone bit his lip, ‘I have never known him show,' – and here his voice definitely wobbled – ‘
emotion
before the staff. Even in the bad days when the first Mrs Muller was still with us, he always kept himself well in hand.'

‘I fear he was alarmed by Mrs Muller's telegram,' I said. ‘He must have returned fearing the worst.'

‘I understand that, miss, and I have never thought Mr Muller to be lacking in the sensibilities natural to a gentleman of his standing. But a hat in the face, Miss Euphemia! It is quite without precedent.'

I did not make the mistake of offering to speak to Hans about the matter. I realised that it was a measure of how truly disturbed Stone was that he had even gone so far as to mention it to me. And then there was a moment, an horrific moment, when he had picked up the creamer before the teapot. Fortunately, he checked himself in time and replaced the milk jug before doing irreparable damage to this career. For such a faux pas Stone would have undoubtedly given himself notice to quit on the spot, but the moment passed. He retired back to his butler's pantry to calm his nerves and to do his best to wipe that last two hours from his mind. In some butlers this might mean liberating a part of the wine cellar, but Stone, I knew, took his consolation in polishing.

I had barely taken two sips of my tea when the gong for dinner sounded. I could barely imagine Stone's confusion. The poor man would not know if he was coming or going. I had already changed for dinner, and while it was unclear if this was the first or second bell, I made my way to the drawing room hoping for a little courage in the form of a small sherry.

Stone was present once more and his implacable face told me as far as he was concerned our previous conversation had not happened. I barely nodded at him as I collected my sherry from the tray he held out to me. His eyelids flickered at my cavalier treatment and I sensed his assent. Our respective positions were restored.
⁸

There was no one else in the room. I went to the window and drew back a heavy drape so I could watch the evening come into its full glory. We had yet to embrace the early dark nights of winter, but the shading of blues, purples, and greys across the vast expanse of sky that hung over the Muller Estate showed that twilight had already put on her evening dress and was preparing to come downstairs. Unlike my employers.

I spent a while at the window sipping my sherry. Stone appeared at my elbow to take away my empty glass and enquiring if I required another. I shook my head. With little else to do I made my way across to the piano. The lid was a little stiff. I ran my fingers across the keys. The instrument was in need of tuning, but not badly so. I played from memory some of the pieces my mother had made me practise for hours. The learning had been torture, but they were so ingrained in me by repetition that I could now play easily and with little thought. I gazed out of the window, watching the last sigh of the day and played on.

‘I didn't know you could play.'

Richenda's voice cut through my thoughts like the sound of a chainsaw during an afternoon picnic. I stood up quickly, closing the lid and almost trapping my fingers. ‘I haven't for a very long time,' I said, ‘but it seems some things never leave you. My mother was a hard taskmaster.'

‘Your mother?' asked Richenda.

Hans appeared behind her. ‘I haven't heard that instrument played since my wife died.' Richenda gave a loud snort.

‘I'm so sorry, Hans,' I said. ‘I didn't meant to bring back bad memories.'

‘Not at all. I shall get the instrument tuned for you. Perhaps Richenda …?'

‘Not on your life,' muttered Richenda under her breath, but aloud she said, ‘My talents are more on horseback than in the drawing room, my dear.'

‘Of course, my dear,' said Hans, ‘whatever makes you happy.'

I shivered. They were not normally the kind of couple who treated each other with open affection. Of course, Hans is the kind of man who opens doors, remembers shawls, ensures his wife always has to hand whatever trifles she might want,
⁹
but he and Richenda have never been a cooing couple.

‘Shall we dine?' asked Richenda brightly. ‘As Hans came back unexpectedly I have no other guests arranged, but I am sure dining
en familie
will be just the thing.

‘Delightful,' said Hans. ‘You must pretend I am not here and carry on as you two normally would without my supervision.' Hans's face remained unreadable, but there was something behind these words I could not fathom. I felt my appetite disappear. I wished someone would simply tell me what was going on. I looked around for Stone, but like any good servant on the eve of a family discussion he had disappeared.

Soup was already set out at our places. It had become the latest fashion to walk into the dining room and find the first course awaiting you. I wondering how long this soup had been waiting. Fortunately it transpired to be a cold pea and mint soup. At least, I assumed it was meant to be cold.

Stone reappeared to pour wine. Hans nodded at the bottle and turned to his wife, ‘As you were saying, Richenda, I think life in the country …'

‘
Pas deviant
, the servants!' exclaimed Richenda.

‘My dear, we are hardly discussing a grand family secret.' Hans turned his attention to me. ‘Euphemia, Richenda and I have decided that after all your recent adventures, and Richenda's lack of adventure, it would do the two of you a great deal of good to spend a few days in town. Richenda has never really had the experience of sampling London life and I find myself interested to know if it is something she would enjoy.'

‘Hans is talking of buying a London house!' exclaimed Richenda.

Her husband flicked an annoyed gaze in her direction. ‘It is far from decided,' he said levelly. ‘Whatever happens, as far as I am concerned this is the family home and where we shall be spending the majority of our time. The estate needs my attention.'

‘You have a factor,' said Richenda.

‘And excellent though he is,' countered Hans, ‘a country estate thrives best with the family in residence.' His tone was not unfriendly, but it was final.

Richenda bridled, took a hearty bite out of bread roll, and chewed aggressively. Hans ignored her and sipped at his wine. I began to wonder how I could feign some kind of mild illness.

Then Richenda swallowed. She gave Hans a blinding smile. I think like me, he also assumed this was indigestion, because neither of us were prepared for the tone and words she poured like syrup across the room. ‘Of course, I perfectly understand. Whatever you wish, Hans. As your wife I will always support you.'

‘And I you, my dear,' said Hans. A little sweat had formed across his upper lip.

‘Then you will be delighted to learn Euphemia and I are indeed planning a London trip. I am writing to my chosen hotel to confirm dates this evening.'

‘That is excellent,' said Hans, warily. ‘May I ask when you plan to depart?'

‘It is all almost settled,' said Richenda. ‘Do not worry. I have thought it all through and we will not need to drag you from office. Euphemia and I can manage perfectly well alone.'

One of Hans's eyebrows rose. ‘You do not wish me to escort you in town?'

‘Oh we will be perfectly fine,' said Richenda airily. ‘I am a married woman and Euphemia is my companion. There is no necessity for you to take time away from your office or whomever else – I mean whatever else keeps you in town.'

I shot upright. ‘Excuse me, I feel unwell,' I said and fled the room. I felt Hans's eyes on my back and I knew he felt betrayed, but there was no way I was staying to be an awkward third in the conversation Richenda was brewing.

⁸
I had already made a friend of one butler. Two would be going beyond folly.

⁹
In Richenda's case this is usually cake.

Chapter Three

Dark hints of what is to come abound, but I miss them all

‘Do you think Merry will be able to cope with Amy?' asked Richenda for only the fiftieth time since we boarded the train.

‘I think she will be fine, but if there are any problems you left very clear instructions that you were to be sent a telegram care of the hotel. Why, we can be back at her side within a day! The speed of modern methods of communication is quite breathtaking.'

‘Hmm,' said Richenda, pressing her face too close to the glass, ‘did you remember to tell cook to put the rhubarb cordial in the picnic hamper?'

‘Yes, but I hardly see why we needed the hamper.'

‘What if the train broke down?' asked Richenda. ‘You may be embracing all the advancements of the modern age, but I prefer to trust my travelling to a nice quadruped with sturdy shoes.'

‘We will be there in a mere several hours. Railway delays are almost so rare as to be unheard of.'

‘Then you had better get the porter to get the hamper down. I don't want it to spoil.''

‘But what if we break down?' I asked archly.

‘Get the porter, Euphemia,' said Richenda darkly. Richenda did not appreciate merriment where her food was concerned, but at least I had diverted her away from thinking about Amy. While I was as yet unable to fathom what was going on between Hans and Richenda, and I really did not want to know, in so much as I only wanted information to stay away from dangerous conversations and situations, I did believe a few days away from the never sleeping Amy and the confines of the Muller Estate would be good for Richenda. I pushed to the back of my mind my fear that she had some nightmarish plan of confronting Hans in London with a view to exposing his mistress.

Richenda's father had received his minor title for making his money in trade, namely arms manufacturing and running a small bank. As such Richenda had pretensions to ‘society', and since marrying Hans, and coming into her own inheritance, access to a great deal of money – at least by my standards. She did not, sadly, have the training or temperament to either cope with her current position nor the ability to ascend the slippery social ladder.

I could help her, of course. My mother's own training as the daughter of an Earl had more than equipped her to train me in the ways of society I was forever barred from attending. (My mother eloping with the curate, who was to become my father, had upset everyone a great deal. By which I mean she had provided goodly entertainment in smoking rooms and drawing rooms up and down the land to the extent that her mother had banned her name from every being mentioned again in her house. Fortunately she was only a girl and there were brothers to carry on the family name.) But there was only so far Richenda could be helped. She was stubborn and headstrong and although her marriage had brought out the very best in her and I knew her of good heart, I also knew that there was no way on God's green earth that she would ever be able to hold her own in a duchess' drawing room. If she had been born into a position of greatness, she would have been thought eccentric, and if noble and rich enough, ‘a great character'. As the daughter of a banker and married to man who made his living ‘working' in the city – and who did not even own his bank, Richenda and her manners would see her snubbed and excluded from the society she so longed to join.

Personally, I found it most confusing. I have always found the most congenial people work below stairs, although at the Muller Estate, where I arrived as a companion, I have never mixed socially with the servants below stairs. In fact, I reflected as the porter lugged down our very large hamper, and fields of fluffy sheep flew by, in some ways I was as much a fish out of water as Richenda. I tried to think of a cheering topic of conversation, but there was no need. Cook had included a large Victoria sponge, pre-sliced, and Richenda had already descended upon it, an expression of glee on her face and all difficult matters clearly dismissed from her mind. If only I could do the same.

The train station was loud, crowded and dirty. I had barely descended from the train and was in the midst of arranging a porter, when a smart young man in a grey, well-pressed chauffeur's uniform appeared. ‘Miss Euphemia? Mrs Muller? Mr Muller sent me with a car for you to take you to the hotel.' He flipped a coin at the porter and quietly bade him to ‘follow us, mate', before escorting us to the waiting the car. Richenda went forward to take his arm, but I nipped her ample waist. ‘Not done,' I whispered in her ear. Her eyes went wide. ‘Thank you,' she whispered back unexpectedly. I read in her face an uncertainty I had not seen before. Perhaps it would not be so hard to turn her from her London course and send us both back to the country. There I could show her how to be lady of the manor holding balls, dinner parties and all manner of entertainments that would feed her desire to feel important. At home she could be Queen of all she surveyed. In London, I feared she would be as little appreciated by society as the lingering smell of the stables that all too often hung about her.

The hotel was charming. The doorman looked smart enough to wait on the King himself. The railings beside the steps which led to the grand wooden doors were brightly polished, and the steps slightly more shiny than it is meant possible for stone to be. Bellboys took our luggage without being asked and loaded it onto brass trolleys. Doors were opened for us. It was made evident that we were to be allowed to breathe for ourselves, but not much more. At the desk the clerk had already been tipped as to who we were by the chauffeur, but Richenda then embarked on telling the bewildered clerk about her special needs. I cut her short. ‘It would be easier, do you not think, Mrs Muller, to have the manager come to our suite?' I tried to say it as kindly as I could and the clerk jumped on the idea with alacrity. Richenda managed to assent, perhaps a touch too regally, but she exited the conversation with grace. However, I noticed the faint blush on her cheeks. It had not occurred to me that she would never have stayed in a hotel before.