When the final question had been asked Madam Arcana indicated the tea trolleys that had been placed in the aisles. (I had been too wrapped up in her performance to notice their arrival.)
‘Dear ladies and gentleman,’ she nodded at the one young man in the audience, ‘do help yourselves to refreshment. It is all included in your ticket price and after a session such as this we all need to replenish our energies. I will join, but,’ she raised a finger and smiled, ‘no more questions for our spirit friends. On general topics I will be happy to converse.’
There was a murmur then a round of applause. With almost undignified haste seats were pushed back as people made a beeline for the cake. I had intended to sneak away, but a particularly fine macaroon drew my attention and reminded me I had not had any lunch. Besides, there was clearly more than ample cakes unless they all proved to have appetites like the young vicar’s wife. In the time I had hesitated she had polished off two slices of Victoria sponge and an iced biscuit.
‘You should certainly help yourself,’ said Madam Arcana appearing at my shoulder. ‘George, the concierge, had strict instructions to ensure you attended.’
‘From whom?’ I asked.
‘Why, me,’ said Madam Arcana. ‘I wanted to ensure you remembered my warning.’
‘Beware for my enemies,’ I said coldly. ‘I take it you are referring to Mrs Wilson’s unfortunate experience. I am surprised news has reached London so quickly.’
Madam Arcana smiled. ‘I hear many things from many sources. But what I wished to remind you was that the message referred to enemies in the plural.’
‘But I don’t have any other enemies,’ I said. ‘Besides, we weren’t exactly enemies, I merely disliked her greatly …’ My voice trailed off.
‘Excuse me, I have to check on someone,’ I said.
Madam Arcana handed me the macaroon. ‘Take this. You look as if you need it.’
Automatically, I took the confectionary she held out to me, so I was still grasping it in my hand when I arrived breathless and flushed, after several wrong turns, in the main entrance. I turned about me wildly and headed towards the main staircase. On it, descending, I met Bertram, his face streaming with tears.
‘Oh, Euphemia,’ he said. ‘She’s dead.’
Chapter Seven
Visiting Mr Edward
Poor Mrs Wilson. A wave of guilt swept over me. I had on more than one occasion wished she did not exist in my life, but I hoped I had never wished her dead. And in such a way.
‘Euphemia, did you hear what I said? She’s dead?’ Bertram’s voice broke. His face was as forlorn as Little Joe’s had been when his first pet died. Bertram was still two steps above me on the staircase leaving me with a dilemma. I could hardly approach and comfort him. I certainly couldn’t push past him and, even if he had the remaining sense to follow me downstairs, we could hardly conclude this conversation in a public place.
‘I’m very sorry,’ I said. ‘Perhaps we should …’ I attempted to indicate that we should return upstairs to our rooms.
‘But what do I do?’
‘I imagine the right thing to do would be to return home at once.’
‘But she’s up there …’ He faltered and looked up the stairs.
‘Dear God!’ I exclaimed. ‘You can’t … You don’t mean Miss Wilton! I thought you meant Mrs Wilson.’
‘Why would I care about that old harridan?’ said Bertram with more truth than charity. ‘My poor Beatrice. It has all been too much for her. I found her just now lying in her boudoir no longer breathing.’
‘Has a doctor been sent for?’ I asked.
Bertram shook his head. ‘She’s dead.’
‘It is not always that simple to tell if life is extinguished.’ I turned and ran down the stairs to the concierge.
‘’Allo,miss. Did you enjoy the show?’
‘George, something terrible has happened,’ I said in a low voice. ‘My – the honourable Mr Bertram Stapleford has this moment found Miss Wilton unmoving in her suite. He fears she is dead. Can you send for a doctor at once?’
George’s eyes flashed me a look of sharp intelligence. ‘I should be able to do better than that, miss. The doctor what she sent for is on his way.’
‘The doctor what she – that she sent for?’ I turned to Bertram, who was now standing behind me. ‘I thought the doctor had already visited her.’
‘That’s what she said,’ answered Bertram.
‘Our man’s a Dr Smith. Right good ’un, but very busy. If I’d realised it was so urgent I’d have chased him up.’ The concierge looked quite dismayed.
‘She had a weak heart,’ I explained.
‘It could have happened any time,’ said Bertram. ‘It’s one of the reasons she lived her life as she did. Running at it. She always knew she might not have enough …’ He swallowed noisily.
‘Why that’s tragic, sir. Why don’t I find you a nice quiet corner and a large glass of something? We’ll get that doctor here toutey sweet. Maybe the young lady’s right – maybe it’s only a deep sleep or coma sort of a thing.’
He ushered Bertram away, calling to a bellboy to round up Dr Smith and left me waiting at the desk. He was back a few moments later.
‘Would you be willing to come up to her room with me, miss?’
‘Of course,’ I said. Though my father had tried to shield me of necessity I had come into contact with more than one corpse as a vicar’s daughter. And since becoming part of the Stapleford household it would be somewhat of a relief to encounter a natural death.
‘It’s not like I think there’s anything strange going on, but in these circumstances we ’ave procedures to follow. I should ask the duty manager, but he’s on his break.’
‘Procedures?’ I asked alarmed.
‘I need to lock the door. Many of our visitors have travelled widely and there’s some nasty things they’ve brought back. ’Ad she been abroad lately?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Do many people die in the hotel?’
‘All the time,’ said the concierge with a twinkle. ‘Place is only slightly less dangerous than a hospital.’
‘What? Oh, I see what you mean. People only go to hospital when they’re sick. But the guests?’
‘Often old ladies, retired gents, and those that ’ave picked up something nasty. Sheer numbers of people what come through here there’s bound to be a dead body every now and then.’ He stopped outside her door. ‘’Ere, you weren’t close to this young lady, were you, miss? Only I didn’t get that impression. I’m usually good at reading people, but you know no matter how many times it happens on your watch it rattles you a bit. I ’ope I ’aven’t been inappropriate, like?’
I shook my head. ‘We were not friends. I would not have wished her dead, but I can’t say I am in any way as distressed as Mr Stapleford.’
‘Aye, I can see he had a right fancy for her. But as they say what’s for ye won’t go by ye.’ He slipped the key into the lock. It didn’t turn. ‘Seems like the poor young lady did my job for me before she died.’ He shrugged. ‘There’s many can only rest behind a locked door.’
‘But shouldn’t we check if she is still alive?’
‘Do you have any medical training, miss?’
‘No,’ I said and only just stopped myself from saying, but I have considerable experience with dead bodies.
‘Then I doubt there is anything you could do for the lady.’
‘But what if she’s dying! Alone?’
‘Mr Stapleford has reported her dead,’ said George. ‘That’s good enough for me.’
‘Let me go in,’ I urged. ‘Just to be sure.’
George squared up to me. ‘No, we don’t know what she died of. You’re not sure if she’s been abroad and I’m betting you have no idea if she’s been in contact with someone who has, so I’m putting me foot down. It’s a tragedy, but your death would only back it doubly so.’
‘I’m sure you’re exaggerating,’ I said.
‘Oh, the
tales I could tell you. You’d shiver your skin right off your bones.’
‘But she had a weak heart.’
‘All the more likely to make her succumb to disease.’
Short of wrestling the key from him by force, and I had no expectation of winning such a battle, there was nothing to be done. I made my way back down to the saloon and Bertram.
‘’Course, if she is dead,’ said George, ‘we will ’ave to call in the police. But we’ll keep it as quiet as we can for both your sakes and the hotel’s.’
My heart sunk down into my boots. Yet again Bertram’s name and mine would be connected with sudden death. It would be a wonder if we weren’t carted away by the police on the spot. However, I knew that any plea on my behalf to circumvent procedure would only bring suspicion down on both our heads, so I nodded, took a deep breath and went in to comfort Bertram.
He was not as I feared inebriated. The decanter George had generously provided stood untouched on the small table before him. In his hand he held a glass, but it was barely lower than a full measure. He looked up at me with the blank, startled stare I had seen on all too many faces of those recently bereaved in my father’s parish. My heart stung. He must have cared deeply for her despite the short time they had had together.
‘She said the doctor had been,’ he said. ‘She said he told her to rest and she would be fine. I’d never have left her alone if …’ He struggled to continue.
I patted his arm awkwardly. ‘No doubt she was trying to reassure you. She didn’t want you to worry.’
‘But it doesn’t make sense. She didn’t lie. She never lied to me.’
Now was not the time to assert my suspicions over Beatrice’s motivations, but I could not resist saying, ‘You were deep in one another’s confidence, weren’t you?’ I tried to make it sound comforting, but I knew I was taking advantage.
‘She told me everything,’ said Bertram, finally taking a swig of his drink. ‘I could, of course, never return the compliment. What you and I know, Euphemia. I had to keep her at arm’s length … With a family like mine, I couldn’t take advantage of her innocence.’
‘You mean … Oh dear God, this changes everything. I’ve been so stupid.’
‘Changes what?’
I considered for a moment. Was now the right time to raise my suspicions after all? It might make Bertram think a little less of me, but it would divert him. Only such a short acquaintance I strongly doubted that they had been in love. Although Bertram ever one to leap into situations with passion and lack of thought might well fancy it was so. It might also lead him into a devastating expression of grief. I took a deep breath. ‘I thought you might have told her about your brother. From the questions she asked I thought perhaps you might be considering attempting to get him committed. Before he did any more harm,’ I added.
‘Do you think I’m a fool, Euphemia? Even if Beatrice was no more than a gossip columnist with aspirations she would be unable to let such a story pass her by regardless of her personal feelings. Print was in her blood.’
‘But she hinted to me that she knew.’
‘Of course she hinted. Journalists always hint they know more than they do. It’s remarkably effective at getting people to be indiscreet.’
‘Oh,’ I said. When he was in one of his passions it was easy for me to forget that Bertram knew far more of the world than I, but every now and then he would remind me to shocking effect. On the positive side Bertram was now looking a lot more alert. He put his glass down.
‘But her questions at the asylum. It was as if she was trying to provoke them.’
‘I don’t know the whole story. She only told me that she had strong suspicions and would feel safer with me around while she investigated.’
‘Did she make notes?’
‘Of course she did! Well done, Euphemia! They’ll be in her room.’ He stood up.
‘Her room is locked.’
‘But I have a key,’ said Bertram pulling it from his pocket with a flourish.
‘Put that away,’ I said harshly, pulling down his arm.
‘I suppose it does give the wrong impression,’ said Bertram. ‘But Beatrice had an abnormal horror of hotel fires. She only locked her room when she retired. She wanted me to have a key in case anything happened. Made me promise I’d rescue her.’ He swallowed and reached for his glass.
A chill swept over me. ‘But her room was locked,’ I said. ‘She would lock it if she was resting, wouldn’t she?’
‘No,’ said Bertram. ‘Only when she retired for the night.’
‘The other doctor,’ I began.
‘You think there was one?’ said Bertram.
‘I am beginning to fear so.’
‘Good gad! I can’t believe it. I know we’ve had some extraordinary experiences, but not every death has to be murder, Euphemia. Some people do die natural deaths.’
Bertram handed me his glass and I took a sip of the fiery liquid. I choked slightly. ‘We have had more than our share of bad luck,’ I said.
‘I’m rather afraid the police will agree with you.’
We sat in silence for a few minutes. ‘I should contact her family,’ said Bertram finally. ‘I don’t know what I will say to them.’
‘I should ask to speak to her father,’ I said. ‘Her mother would be too distressed. They know of her heart condition, so although they will be naturally grief-stricken it will not be entirely unexpected.’
‘What about our suspicions?’
‘I wouldn’t mention anything until we know.’
Bertram paled. ‘And the arrangements?’
‘Her family will want to take charge.’
‘I shall offer any assistance in my power,’ said Bertram.
‘Of course.’
His face fell. ‘But I have no idea of what I can do.’
I took a large swallow of Bertram’s drink, handed him back the glass and stood up, ‘But I do. I’m going to see Mr Edward.’
‘What?’
‘He gave me a contact address in London in case I ever needed it.’
‘But, Euphemia, this is hardly security of the realm stuff!’
‘I don’t know what it is. But his words were if anything untoward begins again at Stapleford Hall they would be keen to be made aware.’
‘But Beatrice’s death has nothing to do with Mrs Wilson’s attack.’
‘Doesn’t it?’
‘How could it?’
‘I don’t know, but I have a feeling.’
‘Euphemia, you can’t go to that man with a feeling! Do you realise how important he is?’
‘I don’t know what he is,’ I admitted. ‘But I think we need his help.’
We argued for a while, but the concierge came back to say the doctor had arrived and they were now having a discussion as to whether the room should be opened before the police arrived. The doctor thought it should and George disagreed. ‘My manager is still on his break, sir. So it’s a bit of an awkward one. I thought you might be the best person to sort this out?’
Reluctantly Bertram went off with him. His parting shot to me was, ‘And don’t go anywhere, Euphemia!’
Of course I waited for them to clear the stairs before heading to my room and fetching my coat.
I gave the address Mr Edward had given me to the cabbie and was surprised when in a very short time we pulled up outside a large building. It seemed to be comprised of offices and apartments and did not in any way look like a government building. I climbed the dingy staircase feeling more and more as if someone was playing an enormous joke on me. When I arrived at the right floor the door in front of me bore the legend of a private detective agency. Had Mr Edward changed jobs? However, I had come this far. I knocked on the door and went in.
A smart young woman was sitting at a desk. She looked up brightly and smiled. ‘How can I help?’
‘I fear I may be in the wrong place,’ I said. ‘I was looking for Mr Edward.’
‘And you are?’
&nb
sp; I hesitated a moment and then gave my real name. Fitzroy had indicated he knew it and I was fairly certain what he knew Mr Edward would also know. The young woman gave me another bright smile and reached into her desk. She brought out a clipboard and traced her finger down a list of names. ‘Ah, here you are. Is this a matter of urgency?’
‘To be perfectly honest I don’t know. There has been one serious attack, possibly a potential murder, and another young woman died today, but that may have been due to natural causes.’
‘Were any of these persons of significance?’
I repressed the urge to retort that all human life was of significance. ‘One was the housekeeper at Stapleford Hall, the home of the Staplefords, and the other a daughter of the Wilton press family.’
The young woman nodded. ‘I think that will suffice,’ she said. ‘If you will follow me.’ She stood up and opened a door to the left. We entered a short passageway with no windows that led to another door. She opened this and showed me into a small room with a table and two chairs. There was a window, but it was grimy and barred. ‘Mr Edward will be with you shortly,’ she said and left closing the door behind her. I was relieved not to hear the sound of a key turning.
I went over to the window and tried to make out the view below, but it was too dirty for me to do so. I sat for a while, but found I could not easily stay still, so I contented myself with pacing and thinking about what I would say. By the time Mr Edward entered the room I had convinced myself this was a foolish errand, but had marshalled my facts into good order.
He looked much the same as he had in the Highlands. There was no reason why he should have changed but in this strange and shabby setting I had expected him to be different. But he remained a man in his middle years, with a mild and unprepossessing face except for a pair of extremely bushy eyebrows. He was wearing a very well-cut but underplayed brown suit. His voice, when he spoke, had lost none of its authority.
A Death in the Asylum (A Euphemia Martins Mystery) Page 9